Tell Nobody: Absolutely gripping crime fiction with unputdownable mystery and suspense Read online

  Tell Nobody

  Absolutely gripping crime fiction with unputdownable mystery and suspense

  Patricia Gibney

  Also by Patricia Gibney

  The Detective Lottie Parker series:

  1. The Missing Ones

  2. The Stolen Girls

  3. The Lost Child

  4. No Safe Place

  5. Tell Nobody

  Contents

  Prologue

  Sunday

  Day One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Day Two

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Day Three

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Day Four

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Day Five

  Chapter 87

  Epilogue

  Patricia’s Email Sign-Up

  Also by Patricia Gibney

  A Letter from Patricia

  The Missing Ones

  The Stolen Girls

  The Lost Child

  No Safe Place

  Acknowledgements

  For my friends, old and new

  Prologue

  The smell of smoke from the chimneys in the housing estate clogged her throat. She hurried on, and tried to keep a tally of the seconds and minutes as they passed. But she became confused and lost count as another pain pierced her abdomen. She fell to her knees, her hands gripping her belly.

  Street lights directed her along the desolate lane that ran behind the terrace. Her jeans were saturated, and she wasn’t sure if it was blood or water. She hoped it wasn’t blood. As another pain ripped through her, she bit her lip to stifle the scream that threatened to erupt from her throat and escape out into the smoggy air.

  Rain pricked her skin like pellets from a gun. She was surprised by the feeling. Because before the shower had started, all she could feel were the sharp twinges in her lower body. It was pelting down and she had no coat. Her thin T-shirt quickly became saturated like her jeans and shoes.

  Turning left, she headed for the football pitch, but the lights were on and a crowd stumbled around the side of the clubhouse. Must be a party, she thought. As she headed back the way she had come, another shooting dart of pain creased her in two.

  ‘Not yet. Please!’ she cried at the rain-laden sky.

  The shower passed over. Within five minutes she had reached the tunnel snaking beneath the canal. No, she couldn’t go towards town. Someone would see her, and she didn’t want to be seen in this state. People gossiped enough as it was. She climbed the slippery slope towards the water. On reaching the gravelly footpath, she started to run along the edge of the canal, surrounded by reeds and cans and dirt. She thought she heard someone behind her. She hadn’t the energy to look back. There was no one there, she told herself. It was only the rats in the waters of the canal.

  And then there was another pain. And everything changed completely.

  Sunday

  ‘Goal!’

  Mikey Driscoll thumped the air as the ball landed in the back of the net. He was immediately engulfed by his teammates. Yes! He was a hero. At last. For the remaining five minutes of the under-twelves match, he played with a smile spread across his face.

  The referee’s whistle sounded, and whoops and cheers chorused through the air as the crowd filled the pitch. Mainly parents and families of the victorious boys. Mikey was hauled up onto someone’s shoulders. He no longer felt the smallest on the team. Now he was a giant. Yeah!

  He spied his friend Toby smiling up at him from the crowd, and he grinned back. As he was carried towards the gable end of the clubhouse for the presentation of the cup, he scanned the crowd for his mother. His heart dipped slightly. Of course, she wasn’t there. She’d never come to any of his matches before; why would she now? But it was a final. He’d sort of hoped … He gulped down his disappointment.

  Sliding to the ground from the unfamiliar shoulders, he sought out his teammates. Mikey might have scored the winning goal, but Toby was the captain and he’d get the cup. Mikey rushed to his side. Toby was taller by a good head, and Mikey had to look up at him, shielding his eyes from the setting sun with one hand.

  ‘Great goal,’ Toby said.

  ‘Ta,’ Mikey said. ‘Is it okay if I stay at yours tonight?’ He crossed his fingers. He’d already told his mother he was going to be staying over at Toby’s. Please say yes, he prayed silently.

  Toby hesitated. ‘I’ll have to ask my ma.’

  ‘Sure. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Why d’you wanna stay anyway?’

  Before Mikey could answer, he and Toby were jostled to the front of the crowd by the team coach, Rory Butler.

  ‘Come on, lads. Presentation of the cup and medals, then I’m treating you all to a McDonald’s!’

  A cheer went up, and Mikey was swallowed up by the rest of the team, quickly becoming separated from Toby. He was sweating from the exertion of the game and the evening heat. Should he run home for a shower first? No. He’d told his mum he’d be staying at Toby’s, so he better not put in an unexpected appearance. Ah well, he thought, all the lads would be smelly, not just him.

  He took his medal from Rory Butler, and then Toby raised the cup. The crowd dispersed, and some of the parents sat in their cars waiting to bring the boys to McDonald’s. The team mini-bus was also ready to ferry whoever needed a lift. Mikey followed the tea
m into the dingy changing room.

  ‘That was the best game of the season,’ Rory said, clapping each of them on the back as they entered.

  Mikey liked their coach. Rory was maybe the same age as his mum. Thirty-something she always said when anyone asked.

  ‘I’m so proud of you lads. No more team talk, it’s time for celebration. Grab your things and I’ll meet you all at McDonald’s. Nuggets and chips are on me!’

  The boys cheered again before collecting their bags, then, still in their jerseys and shorts, and with their medals hanging on green ribbons around their necks, they set off with a cheer.

  Toby felt bad. Yeah, they’d won the final, and yeah, they were all sitting eating their nuggets and chips, and yeah, they had the coolest coach of any team in the county, but …

  Mikey was eyeing him across the table with his big, sad brown eyes. Shit, Toby thought. Maybe he could bring him home to stay tonight, like he’d asked. After all, Mikey had often stayed over before. But Toby didn’t want him there tonight. His big brother, Max, would be home, and Toby didn’t like how things felt in his house when Max was around. None of his family had come to the match, but that didn’t bother him. He was better off without them.

  He pushed his fair hair out of his eyes, his special cut, shaved all around with a mop on top, as his ma described it. Mikey had tried to keep up with him by getting his mother to put blonde tips on his. Looked shocking. Awful. But Toby never told Mikey that.

  Stuffing a chicken nugget into his mouth, Toby chewed hard. He’d known Mikey since junior infants; they’d been in the same class right through primary school. Now they were growing up. Moving on. Would Mikey still be his best friend once they were at secondary school? He hoped so. He felt sad now when he saw Mikey gathering his food wrappers, his medal swinging proudly as he went to put his rubbish in the bin.

  Laughter and chat surrounded him, but all Toby could hear was the silence between himself and Mikey. He kept watching him. Mikey was chatting to Paul Duffy, the team physiotherapist. Well, he wasn’t actually a physio, but he was a doctor. Next best thing. Everyone was here. Barry, the doc’s son, always tagging along and giving orders like he was the boss. He’s only fifteen, Toby thought, not the boss of me! Paul’s wife Julia, who washed the kit sometimes. Creepy Wes, the bus driver who brought them to away games. Bertie Harris, who thought he was the coach but was really only the club caretaker. And of course, Rory Butler. The real coach. Toby liked Rory and grinned over at him when he smiled his way.

  Stuff it, he thought. Mikey can stay with me. Max can piss off. His whole family could piss off. He gathered his empty nugget box and the remains of his fries and was heading to the bin when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He swung round.

  ‘Toby, you played so well today.’

  Toby shimmied out from under Bertie’s grip and grinned uneasily at the caretaker. ‘Yeah, thanks. It was a good match. Great fun.’

  ‘You played a stormer.’

  ‘But Mikey scored the goal.’

  ‘Great goal it was too. Young Driscoll doesn’t score too many, but that was an important one. Don’t forget the celebration party next Saturday night.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  Toby picked up his bag and looked around for Mikey. The place was packed and noisy. He was tall enough to see over the seated heads, to search and scan. But there was no sign of his friend.

  ‘Shite,’ Toby said. Just when he had decided to let him stay over. Ah well, it was Mikey’s loss.

  Mikey remembered that his mum would be at bingo, and anyway, she wasn’t expecting him home. But he had a key to the house. And Toby was being a dick.

  He hitched his bag on his shoulder, one hand on the medal around his neck, and talked to himself as he walked. So, first he’d have a shower, then he’d update FIFA on his PlayStation, and while that was running, he’d see what was on Netflix. One of the lads had mentioned a series called Stranger Things. It sounded really cool. He knew his mum would never allow him to watch it, but she’d be out, wouldn’t she? Yeah! He punched the air and began to jog. With the rest of his evening sorted, he felt a lot better.

  He crossed over at the traffic lights and headed towards the tunnel to take the shortcut home. He hated the tunnel under the canal. Yuck. He was always thinking the walls would crack and he’d drown in the muddy water.

  He kicked an empty beer can, and as it echoed back at him, he heard a vehicle rumble up alongside him. He kept walking. It kept pace with him. Turning around, he peered in through the side window. When he saw who it was, he smiled.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  ‘Jump in. I’ll give you a lift home.’

  ‘Ah, it’s okay. It’s not far.’

  ‘You must be knackered. I’m headed that way.’

  ‘Okay, so.’

  Mikey walked round to the passenger side and opened the door. He sat in and snapped on the seat belt. He heard the click of the automatic locks sliding into place.

  ‘Good Lord, Mikey, you stink.’

  ‘I do, don’t I?’ Mikey laughed nervously.

  ‘I can fix that.’

  ‘What do you mean? I’m nearly home. Plenty of hot water there,’ he said, though he knew he’d have to wait half an hour for the immersion to heat up the tank.

  The driver took a left when the traffic light turned green and headed up over the Dublin Bridge.

  Mikey looked out of the window, confusion knotting in his chest. ‘Hey, that’s the way to my house. Back there.’

  The driver stared straight ahead. Silent.

  ‘You’re going the wrong way.’ Alarm spread through Mikey’s body.

  ‘Oh Mikey, this is the right way. Don’t you worry your little head. Trust me.’

  Mikey slid down in the seat, his feet resting on his bag, and risked a look sideways at the driver. Trust me? No, Mikey did not, but there wasn’t much he could do now, was there?

  Day One

  Monday

  One

  The flight from New York arrived into Dublin Airport early. It was exactly 4.45 a.m. as Leo Belfield waited in line at Passport Control. He wasn’t nervous. He had nothing to hide. Nothing to declare. He was a captain in the NYPD, after all. But he knew that the secret of his birth, and the secret of his family from this country, where he had never before set foot, were things to be kept quiet. He had found out a lot in the last six months. Ever since Alexis, his mother, had suffered her heart attack, he had discovered things about his family he was sure she’d never intended telling him. But he didn’t know it all. Not yet.

  I am here now, Alexis, he thought. In the country you tried to leave behind. The country you never wanted me to know about. Looking for the family you denied me.

  He smiled at the passport control officer and answered the mundane questions.

  ‘On holiday, sir?’

  ‘Yes, I am on holiday.’

  ‘Travelling around?’

  ‘I’ll be staying in the Joyce Hotel in Ragmullin.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Ragmullin. Down in the midlands. Lots of good musicians hail from that neck of the woods.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Leo replied. ‘This is my first visit.’

  ‘Hopefully the first of many.’ The officer stamped the visa and handed Leo back his passport. ‘Have a nice stay.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Leo muttered to himself as he pocketed the blue passport. ‘Not so sure at all.’

  Detective Inspector Lottie Parker flicked the ash from the butt of her cigarette and watched it sizzle in the cracked concrete at her feet.

  ‘They’re bad for you.’

  She looked over her shoulder to see Detective Sergeant Mark Boyd standing beside his car, leaning over the roof, dragging hard on a cigarette of his own.

  ‘Pot and kettle,’ she said, and turned her head to continue staring at the ruin that had been her home until five months ago.

  She sensed him moving nearer.

  ‘Staring at it won’t help,’ he said.


  ‘My life has gone up in smoke.’

  ‘You’re still alive. Your kids are okay. It’s a sign that you have to move on.’

  She sighed, and dug her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans. ‘I know it’s just concrete and clay.’

  ‘That’s a song, isn’t it? I seem to remember my mother mentioning it.’

  ‘How would I know, then?’ She shook her head. ‘And please don’t attempt to sing it.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘What brings you here anyway? Surely not to join me in wallowing in misery?’ Her house had burned down in February. She’d thought it was arson, but it had turned out to be an electrical fault. She still wasn’t convinced that was the only cause, though.