The Girl Who Lied(104)

Kerry heard the sound of the line clicking and then Ed’s voice.

‘Kerry. Now you’re the last person I expected to hear from. What’s up? My secretary said it was urgent and I’m guessing the mutual friend is Erin.’

‘Hello, Ed,’ said Kerry. ‘I’ll get straight to the point. Erin’s in a bit of bother with the Guards, you know, the Gardai, the local police.’

‘Really? That doesn’t sound like Erin at all.’

‘Long story, but the fact of the matter is, she needs you to confirm to the Guards that you were with her the other night, here in Ireland.’

‘Why does she need me to say that? What’s she got herself into?’ There was a certain compassion lacking in Ed’s voice.

‘A local girl has gone missing and the Guards think Erin had something to do with it. Erin couldn’t have because she was with you.’ Kerry kept a check on his growing impatience. ‘Now, will you get in touch with the Guards and say so?’

‘Why are you ringing me and not Erin? Where exactly is she?’

‘Jesus, you ask a lot of questions,’ said Kerry with a sigh. ‘She’s at the local station being questioned. They haven’t charged her with anything yet and you could make her life a whole lot easier by making a statement saying she was with you.’

‘I don’t owe Erin anything,’ said Ed, his voice terse. ‘In fact, she owes me. Did she ever tell you how I looked after her? Gave her a job. Educated her. Gave her access to so many things: people and contacts she would never have had the chance to meet in normal circumstances. No, I don’t suppose she did. Trouble with Erin, she doesn’t know when she’s onto a good thing. You can take the girl out of Ireland and all that…’

Christ, Kerry wanted to give the pompous Englishman a slap. He was glad the Irish Sea separated them both at the moment.

‘This isn’t really a great time to be pointing the finger. Erin needs your help. Seriously needs your help. Can you do this one last thing for her?’

‘What happens if I refuse to help?’

‘Erin is charged for murder. Something she didn’t do.’

‘That sounds very dramatic.’ There was a scoffing tone to Ed’s voice.

‘As I said, it’s serious.’ Kerry shook his head at Sean and Fiona who were perched side by side on the sofa. Sean gave a quizzical look and mumbled something to Fiona. He then got up and went over to the desk and scribbled something on a piece of paper, before giving it to Kerry.

Ed was droning on about how busy he was and didn’t know when he would find the time. ‘I run my own business,’ he continued. ‘It’s not like I can jump on a plane at the drop of a hat…’

‘No one’s asking you to hop on a plane. Just phone them,’ said Kerry. He gave a quick glance at the paper. ‘You could be charged with withholding evidence. Perverting the course of justice – if you refuse to help.’

‘I’ll speak to my lawyer before I decide on anything,’ said Ed. ‘He’ll be in touch soon.’ With that he hung up.

‘Any luck?’ said Sean.

‘He’ll do it,’ said Kerry. ‘He’s just being an arsehole about it, that’s all.’





Chapter 36


A night in the cells at the Guards’ station isn’t as bad as I imagined it would be. I stretch my arms and roll my head from side to side, sitting up straight to relieve the ache in my lower back. The pillow is wafer-thin, to match the slither of mattress, but then I assume they didn’t try to make you feel comfortable. I wonder how long I’ll get for murder. Maybe if I get a good solicitor I can get the sentence reduced to manslaughter.

Being here in the cell doesn’t seem like real life and I’m having a hard time making the connection. I feel removed from what is happening. My emotions are numb. Is this what it’s like when someone is in denial? Is this the mind’s way of protecting itself? I know at some point it’s going to feel real, but while my mind can shield me with this lack of conscious connection, I won’t fight it.

The cell is cold and I pull the grey woollen blanket around me, ignoring the scratchy fibres and the musty smell, which has transferred from the fabric onto strands of my hair and wraps itself around me like a new skin.

I hear the sound of keys in the lock and the cell door opens.

‘Breakfast,’ says a female Guard. She passes me the metal tray and then retreats without saying another word, locking the door behind her.

I look at the two slices of toast and mug of what I assume is tea. It’s hard to tell without tasting and I have no intention of doing that. I put the tray to one side.