Page 36 of Her Last Breath

‘There were a few break-ins, so he had this built.’

Noticing that Colin’s t-shirt had a distinctive and colourful pattern printed across it, Jane commented, ‘That doesn’t look very local.’

‘I did some time in the Congo as an aid worker, for Saving Lives.’

‘Foodbank manager and aid worker? Do you polish your halo daily?’ she quipped.

He blushed, brushing away the compliment.

‘Have you been here long?’ she asked.

‘A while. I retired from the aid work, came home. Volunteering here keeps me busy while I look for another paid gig.’

‘Did you ever come across a young woman called Alice Rogers?’

Jane showed him a picture of Alice on her phone.

‘Yes, she came here occasionally. Had two small kids, I think. It’s heartbreaking, people relying on us.’

‘I suppose you’re used to that from the aid work?’

‘You have to be or things can go very wrong. You become immune, so that you can be effective. Doesn’t always work.’

‘I can imagine. Did you ever speak to Alice about her life?’

‘Not that I recall, but Father Walsh did. He speaks to everyone that comes here. He says he’s the bleeding heart of this place, while I’m the accountant making sure there’s enough to go round.’

Father Walsh was out of his chair in a flash the moment he laid eyes on Jane.

‘Jane, it can’t be! Maeve Hacker’s little girl?’

‘Yes, Father,’ she said.

‘Come, come, sit, child,’ he said when Colin had left them alone.

Jane took up the second sofa chair in the small office, while Father Walsh started to fumble around his desk.

‘Now can I get ye a tea or coffee?’ he said, his strong Irish accent punching through. ‘I feel like the prodigal daughter herself has come home at last. Your ma must be thrilled.’

Jane didn’t trust herself to reply honestly, watching quietly as he made her tea. Time was etched on his face, just as it was on the faces of her mother and aunt. In her head she imagined them all the way she had left them twenty years ago, only to find they had all become older. Now they were frail, with translucent skin, veins showing through, liver spots on their hands and faces. Father Walsh moved slowly, but he didn’t seem to be ill or struggling physically apart from that.

‘Let me see now,’ he said, rummaging through his drawers after he handed Jane a mug of tea. ‘Here we go.’ He triumphantly handed her an orange Club.

‘You remembered,’ she said, suddenly overwhelmed by emotion.

‘Between me and you, it’s easy. I always gave the girls the orange flavour and the boys the plain one.’ He winked at her. ‘Now, what’s this you becoming so grown-up, you are a detective inspector? I feel old for sure. And don’t flatter my ego by saying I don’t look it – I have mirrors, my dear.’

He hadn’t lost his optimism, Jane thought. He was still the same man inside who had punctuated her childhood at those moments when God was called for. He had been a fixture until she had decided she didn’t much believe in anything and stopped coming to his church, although he maintained regular visits to her home after her father had left.

‘Tell me, are you here just to see an old friend, or on official business?’

‘Alice Rogers,’ Jane said.

His face darkened, the smile vanishing.

‘Ah yes, one of the women who comes to clean told me about her this morning. Said there was a report yesterday she’d been found. Poor thing, and those children.’

He stopped, looking at Jane intently. Was he thinking of the parallels with her own life?