Erin Hart - Haunted Ground

The voice in the receiver was not her father, but a disembodied, breathy whisper that was neither male nor female: “Leave it alone.”

“Leave what alone?” Nora demanded. “Who is this?” For a fragment of a second, her thoughts concentrated on Triona. She was sure she’d told no one here about her sister’s death.

“They’re better off.”

“What do you mean? Who’s better off?” Nora’s brain pitched wildly in its half-conscious state, until she hit upon another possible meaning.

“Do you mean Mina and Christopher Osborne? What do you know about it?” The only response she received this time was the flat-line buzz of a dial tone.

Was it just a crank call, some bizarre accident? And if it was about Mina Osborne, why should anyone call her? Who knew she was even interested? Nora searched her memory, trying to figure out who knew she’d been out at Bracklyn House. She sat in the dark amid the rumpled bedclothes for several more minutes, trying to work out some answers to a relentless torrent of questions. Not least of all, she had to convince herself that the call had actually happened.

It was no use trying to sleep now. Her eyes traveled the room, and rested for a moment upon the laptop sitting on her desk. There was one simple way to find more about the basic facts of Mina Osborne’s disappearance. She crossed to the desk and pressed the necessary keys to connect to the Internet. The Irish Times website came up before her, and she quickly went to its archive search. She typed in “Mina Osborne,” but hesitated before pressing “Search.” What was she prepared to find out? And what about the consequences? She and Cormac might find themselves in trouble if they knew any more. This was her own private compulsion; why drag him into it? And yet he was the one who had agreed to go back to Bracklyn. Perhaps his own curiosity was as great as her own. Nora hesitated a second longer, then pressed the button. In an instant, a list of articles appeared. She scanned the headlines:

Concern Grows for Missing Woman and Boy

Search Is Widened for Missing Mother and Child

Woman and Child Missing for over Nine Weeks

Gardai to Resume Bogland Searches Today

Search for Missing Mother and Child Cut Back

Gardai Baffled by Disappearance

Osborne Critical of Gardai over Handling of Case

Women Who Are Dead or Missing

Files on Missing Women Are Reopened

Gardai to Examine Serial Killer Possibility

She opened the first story, dated almost three years ago:

Concern is growing for the safety of a mother and child who have been missing from their Co Galway home since Thursday. Mrs Mina Osborne and her son Christopher were last seen on Thursday afternoon walking along the Drumcleggan road on the outskirts of Dunbeg.

Garda divers have searched Lough Derg near their home, while 60 people, including neighbours, civil defence, and the Order of Malta have searched a five-mile radius around their home, including bogs and marl holes. Gardai have talked to a number of people to try to locate the missing mother and child.

Mrs Osborne is of Indian descent. She is described as 5′5″ in height, of slim build, with long black hair and brown eyes. She was wearing an Aran jumper, wine-colored pullover, purple scarf, blue jeans, and brown leather boots. Christopher Osborne is of mixed Indian and Irish parentage, and is described as 2′6″ in height, with black/brown curly hair and brown eyes. He was last seen in his collapsible pushchair, wearing green corduroy overalls, a yellow-and-white-striped jersey, dark blue jacket, and red wellingtons.

Just before she disappeared Mrs Osborne went to the local AIB branch at 1:27 p.m. where she was filmed on closed-circuit security cameras making a withdrawal. She also stopped at a local shop to purchase a new pair of wellingtons for her son.

Gardai do not think Mrs Osborne would have accepted a lift from anyone along the walk home, and have no evidence that anyone picked her up. “She’s not somebody who would go off,” said Detective Sergeant Brian Boylan of Loughrea station. Mrs Osborne’s husband said she would never make plans without informing him of her whereabouts. Gardai say there was no sign of a struggle along the road, and that no one reported seeing or hearing anything unusual.

Anyone with information is asked to contact Loughrea Garda Station on (091) 841333 or the Garda confidential telephone number, 1-800-666222.

Nora devoured every scrap of information, alert for any discrepancy, any fissure that might serve at least as a temporary foothold. Looking through the list again, another headline jumped out at her:

Gardai to Examine Serial Killer Possibility

The Garda commissioner, Mr Patrick Neary, has ordered the setting up of a special detective task force to examine cases of missing and murdered women, and to see if there is a serial killer in this State. The move was prompted by the disappearance on August 12th of Fidelma O’Connor (20), a student nurse last seen walking near her home in Abbeyleix, Co Laois. There are similarities between the disappearances, mainly that the women were last seen walking along or near busy rural roads.

What better way to avoid suspicion than to make your wife’s disappearance look like the work of a serial killer? It could work, especially in the absence of any physical evidence. The next article gave a list of all seven disappearance cases that had been reopened. None of the seven women had ever been found. All had been alone when they disappeared. None had had a child with her, except Mina Osborne. Nora remembered Devaney’s discomfort about this detail. There was something else as well, she learned from this newspaper account. The seven women were nineteen or twenty, and Mina Osborne was twenty-nine years old. Nora stared absently at the words glowing on her computer screen. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning. She remembered the look on Jeremy Osborne’s face when she asked if he’d been watching that video. He hadn’t been allowed to answer. If she played it right, maybe she could get the boy to talk.

Cormac threw off the sheets and sat up on the edge of the high bed. It was no use trying to sleep; he’d be better off doing something else. He switched on the lamp and checked his wristwatch on the bedside table. Twenty past two.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have gone back to Kilgarvan. The visit had only dredged up the confusion he’d thought was long past. He’d come back last night, and flung himself into his solitary work at the priory all day long. He should be worn out, and yet his mind would not rest. He had lain in the bed in that hyperaware state that sometimes accompanies sleeplessness, eyes open, trying to make out the looming shapes in the unfamiliar darkness. The room felt airless, despite the window he’d cracked open.

He hoped Nora was getting on all right in Dublin. For a brief second, he allowed himself to imagine her pale neck and shoulders contrasted against the dark green sheets on the bed beside him. He put out a hand and felt the warmth of the place he had lain. Enough of that, he told himself. It wasn’t that he was a monk. He’d been involved, at various times, with several intelligent, generous women he’d cared for deeply; every one had taught him a great deal. But in each relationship, he’d somehow felt more like an observer than a full participant. He should have felt like a participant, surely. And he knew they had perceived this lack in him, since each one had called it quits before he managed to figure out what wasn’t quite right. Now Nora Gavin had managed to unsettle him in a way he’d never been unsettled before. He remembered the expression on her face as she sang, the way her smoky voice dipped and slid so easily through the notes, finding unexpected intervals that had pierced him through. But it wasn’t just the beauty of her voice that struck him; he also marveled at her bravery. Singing unaccompanied must be the next thing to stripping off in a room full of people.