she and Declan had been experiencing lately had anything to do with it. She didn’t like the way that last thought made her feel, so she struck out along the path, determined to run it and all the other thoughts out of her system.
As she made her way out of Ranelagh village, past the small line of bijou shops and bars, she let the breeze consume her as she instinctively ran faster. Her feet sent her on the usual route: rounding the corner at the top of Appian Way, past the road leading to the Royal Hospital and farther on towards Donnybrook. Turning left towards HerbertPark, she felt her body get into a more uplifting rhythm; she could hear the swish of her ponytail and the repetitive sound of her runners hitting the footpath, feeling the bounce as the ground resonated from the soles of her feet up through her body.
The faster she ran, the faster the questions about the murder came. What had led to the event? Why this victim? What had motivated the killer? She thought back to the images from the burial site, how murky everything had looked, alternating shades of grey and black. In the images, it looked as if the soil had eaten into the girl’s body, layering it, creating a sort of uniformity with the land, except for the small glint that one of the cameras had picked up – a silver crucifix around the victim’s neck, reflecting splintered light when all else was dark.
Entering the gates of Herbert Park, she took in the smell of recently cut grass, probably the last cut of autumn. Other than the odd rook and jackdaw cawing from the trees above, the park was empty, and as she made her way past the old stone water fountain, the cascading water blended with the sounds of the tall rustling trees.
The image Kate couldn’t get out of her mind was the school photograph of Caroline Devine, the photograph her parents had given to the gardaí. What struck Kate most was the girl’s smile. It was one of those large, unthinking smiles that children gave and it was, according to O’Connor, the clearest image Caroline’s parents had of her. They must have prayed someone would recognise their bright shining daughter and bring her back, but Caroline had not come back, at least not in the way her parents had hoped.
In the photograph, the girl’s blonde curls were held back by a narrow hairband, revealing tiny stud earrings, which reminded Kate of a pair she’d worn at that age. She could still remember being twelve, self-conscious, aware of her body changing, her parents not quite knowing what to do with her any more. Had Caroline felt self-conscious, no longer a child but not yet a woman? The few months since that school photograph must have changed things. The development of her body,visible in the mountain grave, meant Caroline had begun adolescence, newly formed sexuality like an undercurrent waiting to settle.
What had happened to her in the hours before her death? What, other than terror, had gone through her mind? Kate was familiar with the area, it was remote and if the burial had happened at night, considering the heavy rain and cloud cover at the time, visibility would have been difficult, giving all the privacy needed. The killer had taken great care to bury his victim, and she wondered whether it was an area he, too, was familiar with. She knew the age of the girl was going to make this case more difficult than most. The death of a young victim had a habit of elevating emotions. No matter what had led the killer to this point, Kate hoped she was right in her prediction to O’Connor. Either way, Caroline’s killer had crossed a line, and was only too capable of killing again.
≈
When she turned the key in the front door, Kate was surprised that Declan and Charlie still weren’t home. She checked her phone for messages. Just one, from Declan: ‘Got delayed, we’re grabbing McDonald’s.’ She managed to smile at this. If nothing else, her preference for correct spelling in text messages had finally rubbed off
As she made her way out of Ranelagh village, past the small line of bijou shops and bars, she let the breeze consume her as she instinctively ran faster. Her feet sent her on the usual route: rounding the corner at the top of Appian Way, past the road leading to the Royal Hospital and farther on towards Donnybrook. Turning left towards HerbertPark, she felt her body get into a more uplifting rhythm; she could hear the swish of her ponytail and the repetitive sound of her runners hitting the footpath, feeling the bounce as the ground resonated from the soles of her feet up through her body.
The faster she ran, the faster the questions about the murder came. What had led to the event? Why this victim? What had motivated the killer? She thought back to the images from the burial site, how murky everything had looked, alternating shades of grey and black. In the images, it looked as if the soil had eaten into the girl’s body, layering it, creating a sort of uniformity with the land, except for the small glint that one of the cameras had picked up – a silver crucifix around the victim’s neck, reflecting splintered light when all else was dark.
Entering the gates of Herbert Park, she took in the smell of recently cut grass, probably the last cut of autumn. Other than the odd rook and jackdaw cawing from the trees above, the park was empty, and as she made her way past the old stone water fountain, the cascading water blended with the sounds of the tall rustling trees.
The image Kate couldn’t get out of her mind was the school photograph of Caroline Devine, the photograph her parents had given to the gardaí. What struck Kate most was the girl’s smile. It was one of those large, unthinking smiles that children gave and it was, according to O’Connor, the clearest image Caroline’s parents had of her. They must have prayed someone would recognise their bright shining daughter and bring her back, but Caroline had not come back, at least not in the way her parents had hoped.
In the photograph, the girl’s blonde curls were held back by a narrow hairband, revealing tiny stud earrings, which reminded Kate of a pair she’d worn at that age. She could still remember being twelve, self-conscious, aware of her body changing, her parents not quite knowing what to do with her any more. Had Caroline felt self-conscious, no longer a child but not yet a woman? The few months since that school photograph must have changed things. The development of her body,visible in the mountain grave, meant Caroline had begun adolescence, newly formed sexuality like an undercurrent waiting to settle.
What had happened to her in the hours before her death? What, other than terror, had gone through her mind? Kate was familiar with the area, it was remote and if the burial had happened at night, considering the heavy rain and cloud cover at the time, visibility would have been difficult, giving all the privacy needed. The killer had taken great care to bury his victim, and she wondered whether it was an area he, too, was familiar with. She knew the age of the girl was going to make this case more difficult than most. The death of a young victim had a habit of elevating emotions. No matter what had led the killer to this point, Kate hoped she was right in her prediction to O’Connor. Either way, Caroline’s killer had crossed a line, and was only too capable of killing again.
≈
When she turned the key in the front door, Kate was surprised that Declan and Charlie still weren’t home. She checked her phone for messages. Just one, from Declan: ‘Got delayed, we’re grabbing McDonald’s.’ She managed to smile at this. If nothing else, her preference for correct spelling in text messages had finally rubbed off
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