Borderlands by Brian McGilloway Read Free Book Online Page B

decried the types
of liberals who would put fish before people and seaweed before food on the
table. His earthy, common-man rhetoric made him immensely popular, and even
those who personally disliked the man - and there were many - had to admire the
charisma he brought to the job. He had retired two years earlier, after
suffering a minor stroke, and rumours were circulating that, in the next
election, Thomas Powell Jr would follow in his father's footsteps and enter the
world of politics. Certainly he had the wealth and media savvy to undertake
such a venture as a vanity project, regardless of his sincerity or likely
success.
    "I'll
see what I can do, Miriam," I said, and smiled, I hoped sincerely. She
toyed with the top button of her linen jacket, perhaps inadvertently drawing my
vision to the lace decorating the top of the white satin camisole she wore
underneath. Perhaps. She looked down at it, then looked quickly at me,
following my gaze away from it, a smile dancing on her lips.
    "We'd
appreciate anything you can do, Benedict, what with this terrible business
about the young girl. Say, why don't you and
    Debbie
call for drinks over Christmas? We could catch up on old times; recall our wild
youth." As she spoke, she widened her eyes in mock promise for a second
and smiled lightly.
    I
returned the smile. "Perhaps we will, Miriam, but with the baby and so on,
it's difficult to get out."
    She
stood. "Merry Christmas then," she said and leaned toward me, placing
her hand lightly on my shoulder and offering her cheek, which I kissed
awkwardly, feeling all the more clumsy as she kissed the air beside my own
cheek. I caught the scent of coconut and it would linger in my memory almost as
long as the sensation of her cheek on mine, her breath fluttering against my
skin.
    I
watched her as she walked back through the main room of the station and out
past Burgess, noticing that a number of the other male staff in the room were
doing likewise.
    Caroline
Williams's face appeared in my line of vision. "Your wife is on the phone,
sir. Shall I tell her you're busy?" she asked, and walked away before I
could answer.

Chapter Four
     
    Monday, 23rd December
     
    Strabane
and Lifford straddle the banks of two rivers, the Finn and the Mourne, which
join the Foyle midway between the town in the North and our village in the
South, which are separated by a distance of half a mile. The Foyle then flows
for miles through Derry and on to Lough Foyle, where it joins the Atlantic. A
bridge spans the point where the three rivers meet and, traditionally, lies in
unclaimed territory, several hundred yards from where the British Army
checkpoint used to be during the Troubles and several hundred yards before the
Irish customs post. It was in this area of the borderlands that Angela Cashell
was found. Just at the customs hut, a sharp left turn brings you to Lifford
Community Hospital and, tucked behind but separate from it, Finnside Nursing
Home.
    I
sat in my car, smoking. Overlooking the river, I could see, on the curve of the
embankment further down, the crime-scene tape, still fluttering in the breeze.
I wondered about the Cashell girl's death. And I wondered why, when that
investigation was in need of much work, I was about to waste time on the
ramblings of a senile old man. I told myself it was out of respect for all
Powell had done for Donegal; I told myself it was to stop his son making public
complaints about Garda disinterest; I told myself it wasn't because, in a strange way, it brought me back into the circle of
Miriam Powell.
    The
home was fairly nice - or as nice as these places can be. The walls were
painted neutral colours, white and magnolia predominating. The carpet was dark
red. The scented candles and oil burners burning at various points in the
reception area failed to cover the unmistakable smell of disinfectant and the
faint hint of urine. The owner of the home, Mrs McGowan, waved at me from her
office and gestured towards the mobile