Page 1 of The Last Bench

One

Vega

7 April 2025

Vega began walking along the trail at Carrigfoyle, a local beauty spot. She nodded as she passed several dog walkers and a young couple who were holding hands, beaming at the world and each other. She smiled back, thinking of her boyfriend, Luka. He’d like it here. Her favourite bench was free, so she sat down and took a sip of her takeaway coffee. The stunning vista of the Wexford countryside beneath her, centred around a beautiful lake, still took her breath away.

Vega pulled her mobile from her pocket and dialled Kieran’s number. Her editor at Ireland Today, the newspaper where she worked as an investigative journalist, answered immediately.

‘Hey, kiddo.’ His voice sounded scratchy, and he cleared his throat before adding, ‘You okay?’

‘Never mind me. How are you? Vega asked, her forehead creased in concern.

Kieran was at home, on sick leave, recovering from a bout of flu that had knocked him sideways and raised his blood pressure to dangerous levels. During her time at the newspaper, he’d never missed a day.

‘I’m grand. Can’t keep an old dog like me down. Sorry I’m missing today.’

Vega and Kieran had a long-standing tradition of meeting in his office every Monday morning with coffee. He’d go through her submitted copy, and they’d discuss ideas for new stories.

‘Never mind that. Just get better soon. Besides, I’ve got the best view in town here.’ She took a photo and pinged it across to him.

‘And here I was feeling bad about missing our meeting,’ Kieran said with a chuckle. ‘Fill me in on where you are on that drugs story.’

Vega gathered her thoughts about the investigative piece she was writing on the widespread use of drugs in rural communities. ‘It’s evolved from my initial pitch to you. I know the plan was to focus on the current drugs crisis, but, from the interviews I’ve completed, the story keeps bringing me back to the nineties.’

‘Who have you spoken to?’

‘A recovered addict, a dealer – who, of course, wants to remain anonymous – and a couple whose son died from an overdose in 1997.’

‘What age was he?’ Kieran asked.

‘His name was Stephen Grant and he was only eighteen. The dealer who supplied him with the drugs was arrested, though, and there was a court case in 1998. Looking into that has sent me down a whole new rabbit hole.’ She flicked through her notes. ‘The dealer prosecuted went by the name Hinges. He got the nickname because he spent years as a bouncer working every nightclub and pub door in Wexford. Until it was discovered that, besides throwing people out, he was also selling drugs. His name came up so many times in my research that it caught my interest. But I’ve been unable to locate him.’

‘I take it he was acquitted?’

‘Yes and no. He got off on a technicality.’

‘Maybe he doesn’t want to be found.’

‘I know, but . . .’ Vega sighed. ‘I feel there’s a story here.’

‘Then you need to trust your instincts and keep looking.’

‘I’m glad you said that! I found an on/off girlfriend of his, Julie, who said the last time she saw him was in August 1998. She was still annoyed with him for standing her up for a date. But she did say that Hinges had form, though, for disappearing for months at a time when he ran into trouble.’ Vega frowned. ‘She reckons he’s either started a new life in Spain, something he threatened to do, or he’s dead.’

‘Any other family members?’

‘His parents are dead. No siblings. But . . . I’m about to interview another family who lost a child to an overdose back in 1992. The Grants suggested I talk to them.’

‘I see what you mean about the story pushing you back decades.’ Kieran paused, then asked, ‘So you think this couple know Hinges?’

‘Well, they never missed a day in court during Hinges’s trial, so they were invested. I’d like to hear what they have to say. It might be another dead end, but they’ve raised tens of thousands for Aiséirí, a local addiction treatment centre for adults and teens. Tragedy leading to good might be a nice feel-good addition for the article too.’

‘I agree. How did they raise the money?’

‘They created a small maze of blossom trees at the top of their garden. They open it up to the public for donations every weekend in the spring.’

‘Good for them. Why don’t you give me a call this afternoon to let me know if they can point you in Hinges’s direction. If anyone can find him, you will. You’ve proved that, kiddo,’ Kieran said warmly.