No Second Chances: A British police dog-handler mystery (Daniel Whelan #4)(12)

In the early hours of the evening, darkness still half an hour away and the children home from school, Hawkers Yard was a hive of activity, much of which stopped abruptly as Daniel drove in. Perhaps two dozen pairs of intensely interested eyes followed the progress of the old Mercedes estate as Daniel drove down the central avenue, and doubtless many others observed them from behind net curtains.

The children, many of whom fell in behind the car as it passed, had a certain look about them, compounded of arrogance, bullishness and a measure of wariness, that Daniel felt he would have recognized anywhere. There were a number of girls among them, dressed to impress in miniskirts and strappy or strapless tops despite their tender years and the coolness of the evening.

The caravan Zoe directed him to was, like those around it, large, fairly new and immaculate, its immediate environs cheered by AstroTurf and numerous pots of late-flowering annuals. A flight of steps flanked by more flowers led to an open doorway screened by a curtain of iridescent glass beads.

As Daniel parked the car on the roadway in front of the van, the curtain twitched aside and a statuesque woman stepped out onto the top step. She had tightly curling black hair drawn into a ponytail and coal-dark eyes. Gold hoop earrings and bangles gleamed against her deeply tanned skin. She held a baby straddled on one hip and a toddler peered curiously round her legs, one pudgy hand entwined in her long skirts, the thumb of the other plugging its mouth. The woman’s gaze narrowed as Daniel stepped out of the car but when Zoe appeared on the other side, she relaxed a little.

‘’E’s not ’ere, love,’ she stated, before either of them had time to speak. ‘’E’s gone with the old man.’ Her voice held the Irish burr characteristic of her people.

‘Where have they gone?’ Zoe asked.

‘I dunno, love.’ She spoke to Zoe but her gaze kept flickering between the girl and Daniel. ‘Men’s business. I don’t get told an’ I don’t ask.’

‘But …’ Zoe’s voice reflected her disappointment. ‘I don’t understand. He didn’t say anything about going away. Why did he go without telling me?’

She shrugged. ‘Like I said – men’s business.’

‘But when’s he coming back?’

The woman shifted the baby to a more comfortable position and looked beyond her visitors towards the small crowd that had gathered.

‘Siobhan O’Malley, your mother’s looking for you! Where’ve you been?’

‘I bin along of our Jimmy,’ came the jaunty response. ‘Our ma knows where I am.’

‘That’s not what she told me. Cut along home now, before your father comes looking.’

Daniel looked over his shoulder and, seeing him, the young girl in question tossed her head then turned and headed away from the group with the hip-swinging gait of a catwalk model, casting a backward glance to make sure she had been noticed. She couldn’t have been more than ten or twelve years old.

Apparently satisfied, the woman on the steps returned her attention to her visitors.

‘Dunno, love,’ she said in answer to Zoe’s question. ‘Could be this week or could be next. Mightn’t be till Christmas, for all I know.’

‘But it can’t be that long, surely?’ Zoe protested. ‘Did he …? I mean, was anything left for me? He had something of mine.’

‘Didn’t say nothing to me about leaving anything,’ she said, uninterestedly. ‘But ’e ain’t no thief. If it’s yours you’ll get it back eventually. Who’s yer friend?’

Zoe ignored the question, saying instead, in a voice that was on the verge of cracking, ‘But I must have it now; Shane knows that. Why isn’t he answering his phone?’

‘Because ’e left it behind. S’on my kitchen table,’ the woman stated, her eyes still on Daniel.

‘Hi. I’m Daniel Whelan,’ he supplied. ‘A friend of Zoe’s.’

‘That’s a name from the homeland.’

‘I’m Irish on my father’s side but from way back. And you are?’

‘Maire Brennan. Shane’s my boy. Look, Zoe, you’re a nice girl but you don’t belong here with our kind. Go and find yourself a nice country boy to settle down with.’

‘But you don’t understand!’ she persisted. ‘I have to speak to Shane, it’s important!’

‘It really is,’ Daniel put in. ‘We’re not going to make any trouble for him, we just need to speak to him.’

‘Well, I don’t say as I’d tell you iffen I did know but God’s honest truth is that I don’t,’ the woman said with an air of finality, taking a step backwards and pulling the curtain aside with her free hand.

‘But that’s crazy! You must know where your own bloody son is!’ Zoe blurted out.

Maire’s eyes flashed angrily, and from the doorway of a neighbouring van, a male voice was heard, enquiring if she wanted any help. Moments later a man appeared on the step wiping tattooed arms on a towel. He was built like a power-lifter and wore black jeans and a red vest, which revealed bronzed skin covered in tattoos.

She waved her hand. ‘No, I’m OK,’ she replied, then to Zoe, ‘You keep a civil tongue in your head, miss, or there’s nobody who’ll be telling you anything!’