WHYTE LIES Read Online Free PDF Page B

Dublin City loomed into view. Faith sighed; she hated traffic, and there was nothing worse than rush-hour traffic in the capital city. She blew the horn, tempted to put the siren on.
    “We’ve got at least another half hour of this, boss,” said Byrne. “There are roadworks for the next few miles up ahead.”
    “To hell with this,” said Faith. She leaned out the window and stuck the siren on the roof. Immediately, the traffic parted, and she drove through, taking the first exit off the motorway towards Clontarf: a coastal suburb, located two miles from Dublin’s city centre.
    Ten minutes later, they pulled up outside a red-bricked Georgian house, overlooking Dublin Bay. The news crews were already there. Photographers and journalists were standing by, waiting to pounce on any titbit of information. Faith ignored their questions and camera flashes as she pushed open the gate at the end of the garden. Plunkett and Byrne were hot on her heels. Faith rang the doorbell and steeled herself.
    “Who is it?” demanded a voice from inside.
    “DCI Faith Whyte. I’d like to speak with Conor and Mary Gleeson, please.”
    The door opened a crack. Faith flashed her badge.
    “Come in.” The door opened a little wider, and the officers entered a dark hallway. “I’m Conor Gleeson.” He gripped Faith’s hand firmly. “What’s going on?” He was a short man in his late sixties, with thinning grey hair and intense brown eyes.
    “Is your wife home?” asked Faith, looking away.
    “Yes, she’s in the kitchen. This way.”
    They followed him down the hallway to a room at the back of the house. The kitchen was bright and airy and led out to a stunning garden that was in full bloom. A plump woman with white hair and glasses stood by the oven. She was pale beneath her tanned face.
    “The police are here, love,” said Conor, putting an arm around her. “This is Mary, my wife.”
    “I think you should sit down,” said Faith.
    “Just tell us, please,” said Mary, “is it them?”
    “I regret to inform you that the bodies of your son and daughter-in-law were found last Sunday in Killarney,” said Faith. Her voice cracked as she delivered the devastating news.
    Mary shook her head, not wanting to believe it. “Are you sure it’s them?”
    “I’m afraid so. Your son’s driving licence was in the car.”
    “What about the girls?” asked Conor.
    “Lucy is in Killarney hospital, and Megan is temporarily in the care of Social Services.”
    They nodded, struggling to take it in.
    “What happened?” asked Mary.
    “We believe they were murdered.”
    “Murdered? Who would want to kill them? They were ordinary people.” Mary put her head in her hands.
    “Did they have any enemies?” asked Plunkett, all business with his notebook and pen poised.
    Mary raised her head and glanced at her husband. She started to say something when he silenced her with an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
    “As my wife said, they were ordinary people. My son’s a lecturer, and Amira works part-time as an interpreter and translator. They don’t have any enemies.”
    “I’m sorry for your loss,” said Faith, hating the banal words, “but I have to ask you some questions.”
    “‘Sorry’ won’t bring them back, will it?” snapped Conor.
    Faith looked away. She didn’t know where to put herself. The police had called to her door once, many years before, so she understood his hostility.
    “We’ll need you to identify the bodies, sir,” said Plunkett, coming to her rescue.
    “We must get the girls,” interrupted Mary. “My God, our poor babies. They must be frightened out of their minds.” She jumped up and grabbed her handbag off the kitchen counter. “How could we have let this happen?”
    “None of this is your fault,” said Faith, “before you go anywhere, Mrs. Gleeson, I doneed to ask you both some questions.”
    Mary replaced her handbag on the counter. “I’ll make tea,” she said. Her hands shook as she