Page 53 of The Trap by Catherine
“—none of that should matter. I’ve watched and read and heard Margaret Gold talk about Jennifer so many times, and she’s able to say that Jennifer was incredibly kind and caring and her smile lit up rooms, and everyone who met her loved her, and she was so smart and hard-working and talented and she was going to do amazing things, and she’d already achieved so much, and Margaret has all these beautiful pictures...” Lucy exhaled. “The best resource for finding a missing person is not the guards, but the general public. But it feels like the people of Ireland haven’t”—another deep breath—“bothered looking for my sister. That they don’t care about her that much. And so I’ve been scared to tell the truth about her, in case it makes them care even less.”
The anchor inhaled sharply, evidently about to say something, but Lucy rushed on.
“Because that’s what happened, isn’t it? With these women. Tana wasn’t even thirty and she was getting divorced in a country whereFriendshas been on TV longer than that’s been legal. With Nicki, everyone just saw the purple hair and the short skirt and her supposedly stumbling around town. They disappeared, we filed reports, and nothing happened. Then the same thing happens to Jennifer Gold and withinhours, she’s front-page news. Why do you think that is? Yes, circumstances were a little different, but I think it’s mainly because she was young and beautiful. Because she hadn’t had time to do anything wrong yet, and everything she had done had been right. And she was walking her dog near her home in broad daylight.Justwalking her dog. Isn’t that what everyone said? As if Tana and Nicki had put themselves in harm’s way, somehow. As if they got what they deserved.”
“Well, now—” the anchor started, putting a finger to her earpiece.
“And what about Lena Paczkowski?” Lucy continued, her voice rising. “Her phone was found near where she was last seen, just like the others.Two weeks ago. But Operation Tide didn’t think she was one of the missing women. Why? What was it that made the difference? Was it her name? Was it too hard to pronounce? Would she be alive today if her name was, I don’t know, something like Sinéad McCarthy?”
“Oh my God,” Angela murmured.
“Girl has a point,” Don said under his breath.
“Lucy,” the anchor said firmly, clear now that she had all but completely lost control of the interview. “We only have thirty seconds left but, very briefly, what do you want to see happen now? You mentioned the minister. Will meeting with him be your next step?”
Without hesitation, Lucy turned to look right down the barrel of the lens.
“My sister, Nicki, has been missing for more than a year. Every single moment—everysinglemoment—that I’m awake, I’m wondering where she is. And I’m going to be honest: I can’t take it any more. I’m tellingyou, I can’t take it. I know you’re out there. You’re probably watching this. So please. I’m begging you. You don’t need to confess.” She glanced at something happening off-camera, something that seemed to panic her, and when she spoke again it was in a rush. “You don’t need to go to the guards. I just want to talk. I just need to know. But please tell me. Tell me what you did. Tell me where you left her. Tell me where she is now.” Her eyes had filled with tears. “Show me. Please. Come get me. I will go with you if you take me there. I will. I just need—”
Abruptly, the screen changed to an ad for breakfast cereal featuring animated chipmunk things singing about mornings.
Neither Don nor Angela said anything for a long moment. They just looked at the chipmunks and then at each other in stunned silence.
“They cut her off,” Angela said.
“About two minutes too late.” Don got the remote and muted the television. “Every half-cracked eejit in the land will be packing a bag now, getting ready to head her way. She’s just sent them all invitations.”
“Can we... Can we do something? Put a car on her or—?”
“No.” Don shook his head. “You only get that if you’re a witness, and even then only if you’re an important one. I can ring... Where does she live? Dundrum? I can ring the lads there and get them to put her house on their patrol routes, but we don’t give private individuals protection, even if they go and do something as monumentally stupid as this.”
“Even if she doesn’t get the crazies, she’ll get the press.”
“She’d better hope she does,” Don said. “At least if there’s cameras on her, that offers some protection.”
Denise came back into the room.
“More good news,” she said, throwing up her arms. “Roland Kearns called the incident room at Naas and demanded to speak directly to Hall to lodge a complaint about me. Said I accused him of trespassing and refused to take his concerns about his personal safety seriously. And he also managed to drop in that I’d mentioned I’d been in Wexford, which was news to my super.” She exhaled, annoyed. “I’m due in his office at nine o’clock tomorrow to explain myself.”
Angela thought Denise looked paler than before, tired.
Beaten, even.
“So,” Denise said, looking from one of them to the other. “What did I miss?”
THE DEATH ZONE
The wanting was always there, like a figure standing perfectly still in the shadowy corner of a room. At first, you don’t see them. You might not even sense their presence; you might presume you’re alone. But then, you catch something odd in your peripheral vision. Or a light gets turned on. Or they step out of the shadows, making themselves known.
And you realize then that you were never alone.
You are happy to know that, because it helps explain things.
I’d always had weird dreams, going back as far as I can remember. The kind other people might be desperate to wake up from, but I was always disappointed when I did. They stopped for a while after I first met Amy, but soon after we started living together, they returned with a vengeance. Now when I’d wake up from them, clenched and sweating, it would be beside her serene, sleeping body, and I’d start playing out scenarios in my head.
But I didn’t want to...
Look, I was never going to do anything to her. Ever. OK? Not to Amy. She’s my wife, my family.
