The Rosary Garden by Nicola White (good books to read for women txt) 📗

A tall Garda dipped his head as he entered the kitchen, removed his hat. Ali was confused. It was one of the Guards from Rathmines. She had met him in the Rosary Garden. How could he be investigating Joan’s death?

‘We can give you a few minutes to pack a bag, but we have to hurry,’ he said. ‘We need to get back to Dublin before teatime.’

‘You can’t take her away,’ said Joe. ‘Something happened here this morning – she’s very upset.’

‘I’m afraid our thing trumps yours for the moment, Mr Devane, we need her in Dublin.’ He turned to Ali. ‘You’re not under arrest, but Detective Swan would be obliged if you’d come back with us to help with our enquiries.’

‘Is it the baby?’

The Guard’s expression changed, shifting from formality to a kind of regretful softness.

‘Yes, Ali,’ he said gently, ‘it’s the baby.’

As they drove away from Buleen, she asked the policeman if they had arrested somebody, but he said he couldn’t tell her anything. He suggested she take a nap meanwhile, and Ali obediently curled up on the back seat, her seething head cushioned on her hastily packed rucksack.

‘This is where I was told to bring you.’

The evening sun glinted off lines of parked cars and spread a mellow light across the old stone of St Enda’s hospital. Ali had woken up as the car stopped. Her tongue felt sticky and she had a headache.

‘But it’s a hospital.’

She thought they would take her back to the station at Rathmines, or maybe home.

‘This is where Detective Swan said. He’s probably inside.’

He helped her out of the car and shoved the rucksack under his arm. A bunch of nurses smoking by the hospital entrance gawked. Inside the panelled foyer a young woman in a belted mac stood waiting. Beyond, through glass doors, Ali could see the over-lit glare of the hospital, trolleys and oxygen tanks parked against the walls of a long corridor.

The woman nodded at the Garda. She had short black hair and quick expressions. She smiled at Ali.

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Gina Considine. DI Swan asked me to meet you. Good trip? Everything okay?’

Ali nodded back automatically, though nothing was okay.

The woman’s handshake was strong, not exactly a shake, but a steady, held grip as if she was trying to communicate trustworthiness through her skin.

‘I’m sorry about all this,’ she said. ‘There’s no other way to be sure.’

‘Be sure of what?’

Detective Considine glanced at the policeman, who gave a brief shake of his head in response.

‘Thanks, Liam,’ she said. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

She took Ali’s arm in a firm hold and led her into the hospital.

‘I’m sorry nobody explained things. It’s a bit sensitive.’

Ali wanted to explain about Joan, to blurt out everything that had happened, to make this woman understand that she wasn’t up to whatever it was she was asking.

‘We’ve got to a stage in our investigation where we need to clear certain people from our enquiries. The only way to do that is to ask them to give a blood sample and have a quick examination.’

‘Right. But why do you need me?’

‘You’re someone we need to clear,’ said the detective, looking at her intently, something like a warning in her eyes.

A yelp jumped from Ali’s mouth. ‘It wasn’t my baby!’

The detective held her gaze, let a moment pass before speaking. ‘I’m sure that’s what the doctor will say.’

‘Someone I know killed herself last night.’

Considine frowned. ‘Well – I’m sorry to hear that. We can’t force you to cooperate right now, but if you don’t, we’ll have to bring you here again tomorrow. It will happen, Ali, so easier just to get it over with, eh?’

She glanced past Ali, as if waiting for someone to appear in the corridor.

‘Is my mother here?’

‘No, though I did speak to her this morning,’ said Considine. ‘The thing is – your mother says she doesn’t know where you were at the time of the child’s murder. Your friend Carmen has told us you were in the convent grounds. And you managed to discover the body in a place that you had no real business being in.’

‘I didn’t – Fitz did.’

‘There’s other things too.’

It was only the two of them in the big hallway, but Ali felt crowded. She hadn’t had the chance to have that bath. The sweat and alcohol and smoke fumes of the night before would still be clinging to her skin. She was in no state to be peered at, or poked at or whatever. Despite the sleep in the car she felt frayed, like she might cry if someone said ‘Boo’ to her. She needed to be home; she needed to be clean and alone, and have a think about what had happened to Joan.

‘I can see you’re upset,’ said Considine.

Ali bit the inside of her cheek hard to stop the tears from coming.

‘Would it be you that examines me?’ she asked.

‘No, we have a proper doctor for that.’

Ali didn’t recall saying yes, but neither did she say no, and so she found herself in a cold room, sitting on a paper sheet on an examination bench while a nurse in a plastic apron opened cupboards and set out implements. She had been told to take off her ‘lower things’, so she removed her jeans and pants and then her socks, because they looked odd on their own. She was glad that her T-shirt was long, and pulled at the hem of it with both hands until it was tented over her knees.

The nurse approached with a syringe and asked Ali to look over at the door. The detective’s face hovered there, framed in a small glass window. Ali felt the prick on the inside of her elbow, and the sensation of a needle stretching the underside of her skin. She started to feel wobbly, and was aware that the nurse kept shooting her hard little looks. Once, she heard her click her tongue against her teeth.

‘Sorry?’ said Ali.

‘Nothing. Doctor’s