Only Lies Remain: A Psychological Thriller Read online

  ‘Well—’ Jack scratched his head. ‘You’re right, of course. All this time I believed that if I hadn’t cancelled our lunch, Danny might have told me why he felt the need to desert his family. But, of course, now we know he didn’t desert them, so my cancelling our lunch didn’t make any difference.’

  There was a knock on the door and the young man wearing glasses brought in a tray with three mugs of tea to which milk had already been added. In the middle of the tray was a chipped sugar bowl. A wet spoon covered in sugar lay beside it. ‘Thanks, Charlie.’ Jack passed around the mugs. ‘I had hoped for something more civilised, but we’re a bit rough and ready around here. Now, why do the police think Danny wasn’t at work on Thursday?’

  ‘They said Stephen Mannion reported at the time that Danny had been acting strange the week before he disappeared and had called in sick on Thursday and Friday.’

  ‘I am one hundred per cent certain he was at his desk on Thursday. I phoned before lunch. Maybe he went home early and Stephen got mixed up. He must have been under a lot of pressure at the time.’

  ‘No, that couldn’t be it. I’d remember if Danny had come home earlier than usual that week.’

  ‘What did Stephen Mannion say when you phoned him looking for Danny?’ Aoife asked.

  ‘He said he hadn’t seen him, but he’d let me know if he heard anything.’

  ‘Were things bad with his wife at the time?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’ Maura shook her head. ‘No, she must have been fairly stable because Steven phoned me later that evening to see if Danny had been in touch. I doubt he would have remembered if his wife had been bad.’

  ‘Well, isn’t it odd, then, that he never mentioned Danny not turning up for work the previous two days?’

  ‘I don’t know. Jack, do you think it’s odd?’

  Jack shrugged.

  ‘How much contact did you have with Stephen Mannion after Danny’s disappearance?’

  ‘Not much, Aoife. We spoke on the phone a couple of times. A few weeks later he made an appointment to come to the house to go through the paperwork needed to take Danny off the payroll, but his wife was rushed to hospital, so somebody else came instead.’

  Jack put down his mug. ‘Maybe we’re worrying about nothing. That young detective obviously wasn’t around when Danny disappeared. He’s probably interviewing everyone who ever knew Danny. I expect he’ll interview me any day now. I’m sure we’re just overreacting.’

  Aoife frowned. ‘We can’t sit around hoping for the best, Jack. This is Maura’s life we’re talking about. We have to do something.’

  A flicker of impatience crossed Jack’s face, then he smiled. ‘Anything I can do to help, Aoife. Just let me know.’

  *

  On Tuesday night, Aoife was going through her wardrobe looking for something appropriate to wear to the funeral. Her black skirt was too tight. She might get away with her black trousers if she remembered not to eat too much, but what would she wear with them? She was trying to decide between a grey jacket that was poor quality but in good condition and a black jacket that had frayed cuffs and a missing button when her phone rang.

  ‘Hi, it’s Barbara. I’ve spoken to Cian Mannion. He’ll meet you at his house at nine a.m. tomorrow morning. I’ll email you the address. It’s not the nicest place to work, but I know you’re desperate for money.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Don’t be late. I’ve recommended you, so I’m counting on you to be professional.’

  ‘I—’

  Aoife could hear children laughing in the background. ‘Greta, you know very well the children are not allowed in this room. Take them back to the playroom immediately. Aoife, I have to go. Honestly, you have no idea how difficult it is to find good staff.’

  Barbara was gone. It took Aoife a moment to process what she had said. She was a little stunned Barbara had remembered her promise. Aoife’s heart started pounding. She had been recommended for a job. She actually had a good chance of getting this one. All she had to do was not screw up the interview.

  TEN

  Cian Mannion was one of those nondescript men who would blend into any crowd. He was average height and average weight; his hair was neither wavy nor straight and somewhere between fair and brown. His house had the distinction of being old, but other than that it resembled its owner. The small room Aoife was shown into had dark, heavy furniture which swamped it. The carpet, although probably good quality, was brown with beige flecks. The wallpaper, also beige, had a faded brown pattern. A single painting hung above the fireplace. Its colour scheme so closely matched the wallpaper that it was difficult to tell them apart. Knick-knacks that appeared to belong to someone of a different generation covered every inch of the three side tables.

  ‘Why did you leave your last job?’

  ‘I worked for DCA. You may have read about it in the papers last year?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Good heavens! That must have been an experience.’

  ‘It was certainly different.’

  ‘Right. Well, I’m looking for somebody to work part-time. I’ve been an art critic since I finished college, but I started an art blog last year and it’s really taken off.’

  ‘You’re an art critic!’

  ‘That surprises you?’

  ‘No, of course not. I didn’t mean—it’s just that—’ Aoife looked around the room desperately. ‘There isn’t any art here. Well, aside from that.’ She pointed at the gloomy print of workers in a field.

  Cian laughed. ‘It’s terrible, I know. This house has been in my family for generations. Everything in this room is either my mother’s or my grandmother’s. There may even be one or two things that belonged to my great-grandmother.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—’

  ‘No, you’re quite right. I suppose I should redecorate, but I rarely use this room. There’s an extension out the back and I spend most of my time there.’ He scanned her CV again. ‘Anyway, to get back to the job, I travel most weeks and I write a lot of art reviews and blog posts. I’m looking for somebody to make my travel arrangements, research articles for my blog, manage my diary, type up the book I’m dictating and help with research. Do you know anything about provenance?’

  ‘Something to do with proving that a painting isn’t a forgery?’

  ‘Yes. Ideally every piece of art should have a document listing the owner from the day it was painted. Then you could be reasonably certain it was the genuine article, but that’s practically unheard of.’ He began pacing the room. ‘From time to time there are major legal cases disputing ownership of a painting. They generate huge interest in the art world. If I could be the first to break a story about a major work of art, it would be a great way of bringing my name to the attention of the people who matter.’

  ‘What does tracing provenance involve?’

  ‘Painstakingly poring over documents, some of which are barely legible. I focus on the World War II era, so the documents are a little easier to read. Would that interest you?’

  ‘I’m always anxious to learn new skills. What kind of book are you writing?’

  ‘I’m only at the developmental stage at the moment. My dream is to make art accessible to everyone. Like the three tenors did to opera? The book is my first step. But I haven’t even decided on its format yet. I have to figure out a way to make it engaging. Something that a person who knows nothing about art would find interesting.’

  ‘Well, I may be able to help you there. I know very little about art, so I can be your target audience, and I trained as a journalist, so I might be able to help with the book.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ Cian put down her CV. ‘Aoife, I’ll be straight with you. I’ve been thinking for a while that I need a secretary, but this morning I had second thoughts.’

  Aoife’s heart sank. ‘Why?’

  ‘I started looking into the practicalities of hiring someone. I think I might have to form a company to pay you. Then I’ll have to hire an accountant
to do all the tax and regulatory stuff and get a lawyer to look at your contract. Even if I don’t have to set up a company, I’ll need someone to do your tax and salary.’

  ‘I don’t think my salary would be that much work. I’m sure I could learn to do it.’

  ‘Maybe, but what if I accidentally do something I shouldn’t? I’ve been reading up about employment law and it’s terrifying. If someone comes into my house and sexually harasses you, I’m liable.’

  ‘Not exactly. It would have to be repeated—’

  ‘And what if you got pregnant? I’d have to go through the whole thing again with someone else while you’re on maternity leave.’

  ‘I’m not planning to get pregnant.’

  ‘And even asking you that question is illegal. You see? It’s all just too difficult.’

  This was worse than screwing up an interview. For a moment there, she’d thought all her problems were sorted. Aoife picked up her bag. ‘Well, thank you for seeing me anyway.’

  Cian walked her to the door. He paused, one hand on the latch. ‘There is one way out of it. How do you feel about being paid in cash?’

  *

  Aoife was so excited she had barely hit the sidewalk before she phoned Jason.

  ‘I’ll be working three days a week. He’s going to give me thirty euros an hour and I’ll be paid in cash every Friday. Isn’t that amazing! I’ve never earned anything like that.’

  ‘Is he a criminal?’

  ‘Of course not. He doesn’t want to be bothered with all the legal stuff, that’s all. He’s paying me extra because technically I’m unemployed so I won’t have any pension contributions and I can’t claim sick benefit or anything, but who cares about that.’

  ‘It sounds very dodgy to me, Aoife. What if he doesn’t pay you at all or he pays you for a while and then comes up with some excuse for weeks and pays you nothing in the end.’

  ‘I’m getting cash every Friday. If he doesn’t pay me, the most I’ve given him is three days’ free work. It’s worth the risk.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Jason, it’s this or nothing, and I already agreed.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’re not making a mistake, that’s all I’m saying.’

  *

  What was she thinking of, phoning Jason? There was no possibility he would ever see her working as a good thing. Never mind. Maura would be happy for her.

  *

  ‘Cian Mannion? Stephen Mannion’s son?’

  ‘You don’t seem very pleased for me. It’s really good pay, Maura. And Stephen’s father worked with Danny. His dad must have mentioned the disappearance. In a small town like this, I’m sure everyone was gossiping about it. Cian might have information that would help us with the investigation.’

  Maura shook her head. ‘Cian was a teenager at the time. I doubt he was very interested. Why do you want to be a secretary, Aoife? What about your journalism career? You went through so much to get it started last year. Why abandon it now?’

  ‘I’m not abandoning it. I’m determined to work in journalism eventually. It’s even more important now that I’m a single mother. I submit stories to newspapers all the time, but I make very little money from it. I need a job that pays the bills.’

  ‘Maybe you could write about Danny’s murder once you find out who killed him.’

  ‘I’d thought of that, but I didn’t like to mention it.’

  ‘Don’t worry about upsetting me, Aoife. If anything good could come out of this mess, I’d be more than happy.’

  ELEVEN

  ‘Am I overdressed? I had no idea what to wear.’

  Aoife looked at Orla’s black designer suit. ‘Maybe a little. Normally only the next of kin wear suits. Keep your coat on and nobody will know. Thanks so much for coming, Orla. I’m dreading this. Bridget and Maura aren’t talking again, and Jason and his brothers are too upset to be sociable, so I’m going to have to be the go-between.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we be leaving?’

  ‘Oh God, yes.’ Aoife straightened her skirt. ‘Do I look okay?’

  ‘Here, wear my jacket.’

  Orla’s jacket transformed Aoife’s drab outfit. Looking at it gave her confidence. She took a deep breath. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

  *

  Like most Irish funerals, particularly country funerals, the church was packed. Distant relatives, friends, neighbours and work colleagues all turned up in force.

  Maura and her sons sat in the front pew on the right, the seats reserved for relatives of the deceased. Bridget refused to sit with them. She and her brood occupied the front pews to the left. Jack stood in the aisle between them. ‘I think you should do the second reading, Jason,’ he said as Aoife and Orla approached.

  ‘I can’t. Aoife will do it.’

  ‘She’s not family.’ Bridget grabbed the arm of a middle-aged man and ushered him forward. ‘Mike will do it.’

  ‘Very well. Aoife, you sit—who’s this?’

  ‘This is my friend, Orla.’

  Jack pointed halfway down the church. ‘The next of kin take the front seats. Friends sit at the back.’

  Orla gave him a smile guaranteed to stun almost anyone into submission.

  ‘Of course. I’ll move the minute the service starts. Right now I want to help Aoife get everyone settled.’ She nodded at the pews opposite. ‘Is that Jason’s grandmother and her family?’

  Her magic didn’t appear to be working on Jack. ‘Yes,’ he said, turning to Maura.

  Aoife counted six middle-aged men wearing what appeared to be brand-new black suits. Behind them sat several, mostly middle-aged, women and a smattering of teenagers.

  ‘They look manageable,’ Orla said. ‘You take care of Maura and her family and I’ll handle that lot.’

  *

  The funeral went without any major hitches. Aoife had worried there might be a scene at the graveyard, but Bridget and Maura stood on opposite sides and were both too upset to pay the other any attention. The problems started when they reached the hotel.

  Bridget and Maura had been delayed by people offering their condolences. Aoife arrived shortly before them. All the tables were now taken, but the mourners had left the two top tables vacant for the family. As Aoife watched, Bridget headed straight for the smaller table. Her family filled the seats beside her, then poured into the larger table, leaving just enough space for Maura and her sons to join them.

  ‘Oh God! That woman! Why would she make Maura sit with her family? She’s going out of her way to make the day as difficult as possible.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Aoife. I’ll handle it.’

  Orla strode over to one of the sons, touched his arm and whispered in his ear. The son spoke to his siblings and they all rose. Four of them surrounded Bridget and ushered her to the bigger table.

  ‘Okay, that’s sorted. Anything else I can do?’

  ‘Oh my God, Orla, how did you manage that?’

  ‘I told the son that his mother was sitting in a draught and she’d be more likely to catch a cold at such an upsetting time.’

  ‘You’re a genius.’

  ‘I have my gifts. Oh, here’s Maura. I’ll go distract Bridget.’

  ‘You can do that?’

  ‘It’s easy. All I have to do is sit close to one of the sons. Half the reason they got her to move was she was distracted watching me.’ Orla smothered a laugh. ‘I’m sure she sees me as the next generation of tart out to lead one of her little boys astray.’

  Sure enough, when Maura entered, Bridget didn’t even glance in her direction. Her gaze was focused on Orla, who was sitting between two of the middle-aged sons, nodding sympathetically. ‘Mam’s furious,’ Aoife heard one of them mutter as she walked past. ‘She wanted Danny laid out at home and the service in our local church.’

  ‘Of course she did.’ Orla patted his hand. ‘But Danny’s sons would have felt very out of place in a house they didn’t know. Maura wanted them to feel they were the chief mourners at the funeral. Wouldn’t Danny
have wanted that?’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ the man said, nodding at Maura.

  ‘And Maura did compromise. She agreed to have the meal here in Bridget’s local hotel. Even though everyone had to trek halfway across…’

  Aoife thanked God for Orla. She could charm any man with a pulse. Well, any man except Jack. After the first glance, Jack had completely ignored her. During the funeral service, he had been behind the altar, assisting the local parish priest. Now they were seated in the hotel dining room, he seemed unsure where he belonged. While everyone else ate, he darted from one table to another, never stopping anywhere for longer than a few minutes.

  Jason had chosen to sit with his work colleagues and Evan was surrounded by his college friends. The other three boys flanked their mother, occasionally glaring at their grandmother. Aoife sat opposite, trying to distract them. The tables at the back were occupied by Maura and Bridget’s neighbours.

  Sitting in the corner nearest the door, Aoife was surprised to see Tadhg and a bunch of young lads, presumably from the halfway house. Why were they here?

  The room was emptying and Orla came to sit with Aoife. ‘The uncles are taking Bridget home. Don’t worry, they promised they wouldn’t let her anywhere near Maura.’

  ‘Thanks so much, Orla. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’

  ‘It wasn’t any problem. I was glad to help and they’re quite a nice bunch, really. One or two of them even spoke to Maura when their mother was in the ladies’.’

  Aoife laughed. ‘Real heroes, aren’t they?’

  ‘Don’t mock them. She’s one scary woman, that Bridget. I wonder if she was always like that. Have you met Elaine?’

  ‘The daughter? We spoke for a few minutes. She said she would be staying with Bridget for a few week—’

  ‘Excuse me, are you finished with those?’ Tadhg pointed at their glasses.

  ‘You don’t have to tidy up, Tadhg. The hotel will take care of it.’

  ‘The hotel didn’t want to give us this room today. There’s a wedding here this evening. Jack promised them we’d clear the room and set it up for the wedding.’ He brushed his hair out of his face. ‘The clearing up is the easy bit. What do we know about setting up a room for a wedding? Kevin worked in a hotel, so he can tell us how to set the table, but there’s a load of flowers none of us has any idea what we’re supposed to do with.’