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‘Can we sit down, Mrs Corr?’ Shona asked.
‘Suit yourself, hen,’ the woman said, and turned on her heel. Dan chose a spot on the sofa, but Shona followed the woman out into an equally spotless kitchen. ‘We’d like to talk to you too, Mrs Corr.’
‘I’ve the dinner to make. That one’s on special food.’ She nodded through the wall to her husband as if she’d gained the advice of a vet rather than a doctor. ‘Mair work for me, so it is.’ She looked defiant, but Shona noted the edge of fear in her voice. Marie Corr crossed her arms and nervously chewed her lip.
‘It will only take a moment,’ Shona reassured her, ushering her back through to the lounge.
When they were all seated, Murdo took out a picture of a young blonde woman laughing into the camera and held it up. ‘Do you recognise this girl?’
Shona saw the warning look pass from Paddy to his wife.
‘No, don’t think so,’ Marie said uncertainly.
Paddy shook his head. ‘What’s this lassie supposed to have done?’
‘She’s not done anything,’ said Murdo, ignoring the man and focusing on the woman, who seemed to be shrinking back into the armchair. ‘Marie, we need to find her. We’re increasingly concerned for her welfare.’
Marie reached forward and snatched the photograph of the smiling girl in the bar, pee
ring at it, hungry for every detail. She turned in her seat, shielding herself and the picture from her husband’s murderous looks. ‘Have youse lot got her?’
‘Got who, Marie?’ said Shona inching forward. She took a second photograph from Murdo, the post-mortem shot of the bracelet removed from the victim and held it out to Marie. ‘Who does this belong to?’
Marie stared at it for a moment. Then she took a deep breath. ‘That’s Isla’s bracelet. My daughter, Isla.’
My daughter, not our daughter. Shona noted the demarcation. A line had been crossed, a subtle shift in the power dynamics of the Corrs’ marriage. Marie was taking sole possession of their child, but Paddy Corr, even in his reduced state, wasn’t giving way without a fight.
‘Shut up, woman. We don’t talk to the polis. Our family is our business.’
But Marie ignored him. ‘This picture of Isla, where did youse get it?’
‘From a Facebook page belonging to Jamie Buckland,’ Shona said. ‘Do you know him?’
‘Isla doesnae do Facebook. But Buckie? Aye, they were pals from when they were wee.’ Now the barriers had come down the words flooded out. Shona knew the moment was coming when she’d have to give Marie the bad news. No matter how many times she’d had to deliver the ‘death knock’ it never became easier.
‘You’re sure it’s Isla?’ Shona knew she was putting it off. Paddy Corr’s eyes darted from face to face seeking an advantage but all attention had turned to his wife. Immobile and breathless, there was nothing he could do.
‘I’ve got some pictures in the kitchen. C’mon and see.’
Shona got up to follow Marie. Paddy turned to the now blank television screen, the rasping rhythm of his breaths the only sound in the room. Murdo had taken up a position in the bay window, one eye on the street outside. Dan’s attention was fixed on the carpet. All were waiting for the storm to come.
Marie pulled a small pile of pictures from a drawer. Blonde pigtails and a school uniform. The long, white veil of first communion. Older now, holding a baby. An uneven row of teenage faces, cousins sharing out the Guess-Who game of family features; blonde hair, blue eyes, short stature, high hairline, sticky-out ears. Marie recited their names, her son Lewis, then Siobhan, Matty, Josh, Paul and on the end, recognisably herself, Isla Corr. The girl in Buckie’s photograph, the girl with the bracelet. The girl on the slab.
‘Marie, there’s something I have to tell you,’ Shona began.
‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’ Marie said quietly.
‘I’m sorry, but the body of a young woman has been recovered. She was wearing the bracelet Murdo showed you. Her DNA was a match to Paddy. Do you have anything of Isla’s, a toothbrush or comb? No? Okay, we’ll do another DNA test with yourself, but I think you need to prepare for bad news. The young woman met her death through violence.’
‘It’s her. It’s her for sure,’ Marie moved the photographs around on the kitchen worktop like Tarot cards, as if a different combination could reveal a different fate for her daughter.
‘Why do you say that?’ Shona asked.
‘She’s gone off before, but always come back.’ Marie tore off a sheet of kitchen paper and pressed it to her eyes. ‘Ryan, you see. My grandson. He lives with me at the minute, but she’s never left him for so long. I knew something wasnae right. She was just getting back on her feet. Her man’s inside, he battered her and… she was just getting her head sorted.’ She sobbed. ‘Can I see her? Will I need to identify her? Paddy’s no fit, he can hardly leave the house.’
‘Marie,’ Shona began, ‘Isla’s body was recovered from the Solway Firth. She’d been in the water some time. Like I said, we can confirm her identity through DNA. There’s no need for you to come in.’
With the realisation that she’d never see her daughter again, dead or alive, Marie balled the tissue into her mouth and let out a stifled howl.
