Page 22 of The Trap by Catherine
Mrs. Long frowned. “Yes?”
“I’m Detective Garda Denise Pope.” Denise took her ID from her bag and flipped it open. “And this is my colleague Angela... ah, Murphy.”
“Hi,” Angela said, smiling until it occurred to her that that might be inappropriate in a situation like this.
And her last name was actually Fitzgerald, but sure.
“We’re from the Missing Persons Unit,” Denise said smoothly. “We were hoping we could have a few minutes of your time...?”
A look of total alarm took over Mrs. Long’s face.
“It’s just a routine matter,” Denise added quickly. “We’re not here with any news or developments, I’m afraid. We’re in the process of conducting a review of all outstanding missing person reports from the last five years and we wanted to ask you some questions about how you came to file one for your daughter, mostly to ensure that we have all the information we could possibly have and that everything is up to date.”
Now Mrs. Long was looking uncertain. “My husband is due home soon,” she said, peering over their shoulders as if hoping that he was already there, so he could deal with the visitors.
“We could wait for him?” Denise suggested.
“No, I...” Mrs. Long reluctantly opened the front door wider and motioned for them to enter. “It’s OK. Yes. Come in.”
Crossing the threshold was like walking through a thick wall of cloying heat. It felt as if every window and door had been shut for a very long time, not just for these last few exceptionally hot days. In some distant room, country music was on low. The air smelled of cleaning fluids.
And Angela had never, ever seen so much pine.
The hall ceiling was covered in it. The interior doors were made of it. Through the open one at the other end of the hall, she could see pine kitchen units and a pine dining table and pine dining chairs. They were directed to the first—pine—door off the hall, which led to a living room with a pine fireplace, pine built-in shelving units on either side of it, and a pine coffee table.
Everything was just so, down to the throw cushions which had been fluffed up, carefully placed in a standing position and then expertly karate-chopped. There wasn’t a single item that could conceivably be classed as clutter or mess, or even evidence that anyone actually lived here.
Angela wondered if this was the Good Room, or if the entire house was just this pristine. Show-house vibes. Although, with the pine infestation, for a development that had gone on sale at least thirty years ago.
Mrs. Long motioned for them to sit down. “Will you have a cup of tea?”
“A glass of tap water would be great,” Denise said with a smile.
Mrs. Long looked to Angela.
“Same for me,” Angela said. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Long left the room, and they both stayed silent until they heard her footsteps reach the kitchen floor.
Then Angela whispered, “I think they like pine.”
Denise pointed at the shelves bordering the fireplace. “What else do you think?”
The shelves were home to an extensive collection of framed photos. Small ones taken generations ago, in black and white. Faded ones of what were presumably Mrs. Long’s and her husband’s parents, sitting in brown oval mounts with gold borders. Daintier, silver-plated frames engraved with cursive dates immortalizing various wedding days.
And traced in frames of various shapes and sizes, the entire life of a man who had grown from a chubby, ruddy-cheeked baby in blue dungarees to a tall, skinny twenty-something in a cap and gown, with a Holy Communion and a Confirmation and various sporting achievements and a Grads ball along the way.
“There’s no photos of Kerry,” Angela said.
“None at all.”
“Maybe they’re somewhere else? Or hidden away, because it’s too painful?”
“Maybe,” Denise said.
There were footsteps in the hall and then Mrs. Long was in the doorway, holding two matching glasses of water with ice cubes in each. She set them down on the coffee table and took two coasters from a drawer. She put the coasters on the table, moved the glasses on to them, and then wiped away the rings of condensation their first positions had left with the cuff of her cardigan.
Angela immediately picked hers up and started drinking it, hoping it would help cool her down.
