There was silence for a couple of moments. Then Vincent spoke.

‘Cormac rang from the Hollands’ garden centre. He said you told Fergus that you were coming to see me and you knew I’d killed Fiona. But I didn’t. Do you believe me now?’

‘I believe you,’ Tom said, his countenance grim. ‘Have you known Cormac a long time, Vincent?’

‘Sort of. He went away for a little while. He was Cormac but when he came back he wanted to be called his other name, the name his mother used to call him. I still think of him as Cormac – that’s what he was in school. He wasn’t happy here, when he was little. But he’s happy now. That big fancy house he’s got. Seven bedrooms it has!’

‘Thank you, Vincent,’ Tom said, before hanging up. He looked at the name written on the sheet of paper he’d printed out back in the office.

Cormac Charles Lane-Ryan.

CHAPTER 34

Charlie, 1984

It was so dark. So very, very dark. Not the sort of blackness you get used to, either. To move, Charlie had to feel around the walls with his hands. He’d become familiar with all the objects on the floor and the shape and size of the cellar. The paint tins he sat on, the length of pipe he held onto when he was relieving himself.

The pain from the last beating had subsided, but the little boy imagined it was just a temporary relief. He’d tried to hit his grandfather back during that attack, but the older man barely registered the blow. It was like the flapping of tiny wings against a larger predator.

As each day passed, Charlie wondered if anyone would come for him. Did anybody even know he was there?

Cold and hunger had been replaced with despair and abandonment.

More than anything, he wanted his mother.

On one of the nights, Charlie had no idea which one or how long ago, his grandfather had opened the cellar door and thrown down some dinner scraps.

The little boy had discovered a tap at the edge of the cellar, so he’d had water to drink, but that hadn’t been enough to stem the hunger pangs that gnawed at his swollen belly.

He was so grateful for the food that he swooped on it without thinking, stuffing soggy potatoes into his mouth. He had swallowed so fast, he’d almost vomited, his stomach contracting and trying to repel the now foreign feeling of sustenance.

It took a few minutes before Charlie realised that his grandfather was still standing at the open hatch, looking down at him.