“How about you, Maggie?” Devin says suddenly. “You like to party?”
I look up from my book, terrified. It feels like a trap. If I say yes, they’ll laugh. I can’t say no. I stare at him for a minute.
Then Erin says, “Maggie doesn’t party, guys. She thinks we’re all just so ridiculous. She’d rather stay in and study.”
There’s a moment of utter quiet. She meant it as a joke, but something in her voice tells us all that it’s not. I flush and look back down at my book, tears springing into my eyes.
“You’re such a bitch,” Jessica says.
“I’m totally kidding,” Erin says, too loud.
When the bus gets to the high school, I get off first and walk straight inside. I ask my mom to drive me the next few days, without telling her why. She doesn’t ask, but after a week she says she has a doctor’s appointment and I’ll have to ride the bus.
When I show up at the bus stop, Erin’s head is bent over something in her hands. Jessica’s not there.
“Hey, Maggie,” Erin says, too brightly. “Hey, you know I was just kidding, right?” She watches me. “That time. Totally joking around.”
“Yeah.” I can’t look at her. If I do, I’ll start crying.
I can hear Devin and Derek joking around as they walk down to the bus stop. They’re almost here.
“Hey,” she says. “Look at this.”
She’s holding a piece of paper out to me. I look down. It’s a photocopy of a phone book page. I’m confused until I read down the names and find “Flaherty, Brenda M.”
“Where is this?”
“The city,” she says. “She lives in the city.”
29
1993
The morning after I was followed, I woke up to a note by the phone in Emer’s writing: Erin’s da rang. Talked to Detective Byrne. Ring him when you can. When I went out to the corner shop for eggs and coffee, I picked up an Irish Times as well, and I was sitting at the table in the kitchen, eating scrambled eggs, when I read the small headline on an inside page: “Garda“í Say No Indication of Foul Play in Erin Flaherty Case: Active Search Suspended.”
The Gardaí say they have moved on from the initial stage of their investigation into the disappearance of American student Erin Flaherty and will suspend active searches. Detective Superintendent Ruarí Wilcox says that the working theory is that Flaherty is traveling and hasn’t been in touch with family and friends, and that there’s no evidence of foul play. Nonetheless, the Gardaí have been unable to definitively rule out an abduction in the Wicklow Mountains. Wilcox says that any members of the public with information about Miss Flaherty should call the Gardaí Helpline on 1-3045672.
The receptionist at the Irishtown Garda Station saw me coming and stood up as though she was going to physically prevent me from getting through.
“I need to talk to Detective Byrne and Detective McNeely,” I said. “I know they’re here.” The look on her face told me I’d gambled right.
“I’ll just check now,” she said. “I believe they may be in a meeting, however.”
“I’ll wait,” I said. I sat down and picked up an Irish Independent. It had a longer version of the same story, with a quote from a criminologist at Queen’s University Belfast saying that, with no evidence of foul play, the case does seem to be that of a “young woman who has decided to disappear of her own accord.”
It was Roly who came down to talk to me, sheepishly opening the door and coming to sit next to me in one of the hard plastic chairs.
“You called my uncle and told him you’re stopping the investigation.” He was staring straight ahead, not looking at me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Now, we’re not stopping the investigation, D’arcy. We’re—One phase has been suspended, pending further developments, now, and then we’ll see where we are. We’ve thoroughly investigated every lead there is, and if new ones emerge we’ll investigate those, too, but—”
“What about Niall Deasey? Have you thoroughly investigated him?” I said, too loudly. Roly winced. “And why didn’t you tell me? I’ve just been waiting for someone to call me back, like an idiot. What about her mother?” My head was pounding and my stomach actually hurt. I felt like I was going to throw up.
“D’arcy, you’ve been a bit erratic. There’s a feeling that you’re too involved. Now, I know that may be my fault, but for the good of the investigation, we need you to be patient and wait a little. Maybe you could go home for a bit and then check back with us when—”
“Erratic? You think I’m being erratic? Do you know what happened to me last night? Some guy followed me. He was there all the way home and when I got back to the house, he waited for me. I went and got a screwdriver because I thought if he tried to attack me I could—”
“D’arcy, please tell me you didn’t fight with some fella on the street.”
“No, but I waited and sure enough he followed me. I asked him if he knew anything about Erin and I swear he did. He had this look in his eyes.”
Roly ran a hand through his hair and said, “D’arcy, you’re making this very difficult for me. If there really was someone following you, you’d no right to confront him. It’s mad. He might have been a mentaller and he might have attacked you.”
“He might know something about Erin. I wrote down a description.”
“D’arcy.” He leaned in, his voice very low. He glanced up at the receptionist and said, “My job is on the line here. I’ve been told to keep you away from the investigation. I need you to stay away.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry, D’arcy. I’ll be in touch if there’s anything new.”
He stood up and started to walk away, but before he opened the door, he turned around again. His eyes were shadowed and I could see the strain on his face. He looked years older than the Roly Byrne I had met when I reported Erin missing. He said, “I really am sorry, D’arcy,” and then he was gone.
* * *
I went for a long run, nearly six miles, and took a hot shower in the empty flat when I was back. I had that light, anxious, hollowed-out feeling you have when you’ve just recovered from a hangover. I knew I should drink lots of water and have a quiet night in.
Instead I went to the Raven. The red-headed barman was behind the bar, and I sat on a stool and chatted with him while I drank cider and got the update on his girlfriend and told him about Uncle Danny and the bar.
A couple of older guys joined us and we all shot the shit for a while, until I was good and tipsy and the sun was gone and the streets of Temple Bar were full of people. I walked for a bit, feeling the hard elbow of my loneliness in my side. And then I took a right onto Eustace Street.
He was there, locking up, and when he saw me, he didn’t say a word. He just put the keys in his pocket. It was a dark night and his face was in shadow. I stood in front of him on the empty street. I was suddenly sober, the chilled wind coming off the river a jolt of adrenaline.