Half Moon Investigations - Eoin Colfer [68]
Moments later the computer retrieved every occurrence of the eight names. Dominique switched on a DAT projector, casting the computer screen’s contents on to a whiteboard.
She tossed me a whiteboard marker. ‘Show me what you’re made of.’
I stood before the board, staring at the names, willing something to jump out at me. There were twenty index cards displayed on the screen. Most names featured in two cards, some in three. Family, occupation and residence. In no instance did the eight names all feature on the same card.
‘This is it,’ I muttered to myself. ‘The answer is here somewhere.’
I ringed the victims, then joined them with ragged lines. That didn’t teach me anything except how high I could reach on the board.
‘Four in the school. What about your other people? Where did you meet? Is this a wild-goose chase?’
I tapped Maura Murnane. The chocoholic.
Behind me, Dominique sighed. ‘Her mother is a holy terror, but Maura is a lovely girl.’
I turned sharply. ‘You know her?’
‘She babysits my grandson. He dotes on her.’
A piece of the jigsaw thunked into place. Something white flashed behind my eyes. This is the moment investigators live for. I took several deep breaths before talking.
‘Does she babysit for many families?’
‘Yes. Parents love her. I have her client list on file.’
I didn’t need to ask. Dominique was digging in a cabinet, caught up in the excitement.
‘What is it?’ asked Red.
I ignored him. I had to keep going.
Dominique handed me the list and I flattened it on the wall, scanning the names.
‘There!’ I shouted triumphantly. ‘James and Izzy Bannon. Their daughter Gretel is in third class at St Jerome’s.’
The connection. It was the school after all. We just had to cast our net wider.
I scanned the remaining names with fresh enthused eyes.
‘Isobel French.’
The young dance teacher’s name appeared on three cards. There were two entries under her name. One current and one from when she went by her birth father’s name.
I ran my finger across to Isobel’s family card. The name on the card was Halpin.
I thumped the board. ‘French is her stepfather’s name. She’s a Halpin.’
Red snapped his fingers. ‘See-saw Halpin in fifth class. She must be his sister.’
‘We just need one more.’
One more. So close.
Dominique switched on a laser pointer on her key ring, highlighting Adrian’s name.
‘Is that Adrian McCoy? The DJ?’
I could hear something in her voice. Excitement. Maybe we weren’t so different.
‘Yes. What is it, Mrs Kehoe?’
‘Adrian does some volunteering in the community centre.’
I knew what was coming. I felt it with total certainty. The same certainty experienced by people who suddenly remember where they left a lost item.
‘Two boys in his group, Johnny Riordan and Pierce Bent, are from –’
‘St Jerome’s,’ blurted Red. ‘I know them. They borrow Adrian’s decks sometimes.’
My forehead felt hot. It buzzed like a bar heater. ‘That’s everyone. We got them all.’
‘No. Not everyone,’ said Dominique. ‘Most people don’t report nuisance crime. But I hear about it.’
‘Well?’
Dominique pointed to a pile of files in her in-tray.
‘Take your pick.’
‘Come on, Dominique. Does anything stand out?’
Dominique thought about it for a moment. ‘Just one. A strange case. Martina Lacey. Someone sent her a paint bomb in a bunch of roses. Miss Lacey moved back to Dublin after the event. She was too shaken up to stay in Lock.’
I found the relevant file on the table. There was a mobile number listed.
I handed Dominique the file. ‘Would you?’
‘Of course.’
Dominique dialled the number on her desk phone, placing the call on speaker.
Martina Lacey’s phone was switched on. She answered on the third ring.
‘Yes?’ Her tone was wary. Scared almost.
‘Martina, this is Detective Byrne here, from the Lock station. We heard about the flowers you received, from a friend of yours. We’d like to take a look at your case and I wonder, could you help us out?’
Martina’s breathing rasped over the speaker. ‘I’m finished with