Chapter 72

72

Irene Dunbar hadn't slept a wink, and no amount of foundation could make a difference to the deep black rings sagging under her eyes. She nodded at Mona, and went into her office, kicking the door shut. She paced the floor with her phone in one hand and her takeout coffee in the other.

Should she call him? Would it make any difference? Three people with links to Cuan were now dead. And what about Shannon Kenny? The early-morning news had run a plea for information about the missing girl. All four were mid to late twenties, so they had to have other crossovers in their lives besides a stint in rehab. The gardaí had made the connection to Cuan very quickly, and she knew she was about to come under scrutiny from them and her board.

She put down her coffee, ready to make the call, just as Mona entered without knocking.

‘Sorry, Irene, but I can't stop thinking about Aneta. We should have enquired when she failed to come back to work. There was that incident the day the donors were here last February. Do you think something about them freaked her out?'

‘How would I know?' She hadn't meant to sound bitchy, but that was exactly how her words came out.

‘Well… you talked to her afterwards. She was a nice girl. A good worker. Imagine if she went missing back then and was held somewhere all that time. It doesn't bear thinking about, does it?'

Irene sat down and tried to think of a reply that would get Mona out of her office before she threw the coffee across the room.

But the receptionist wasn't finished. ‘I sent the email to the gardaí with the dates Aneta worked here. Also the dates confirming when John Morgan was resident.' She must have seen the shocked expression on Irene's face, because she added quickly, ‘That's what the inspector asked for. I wonder if I should send over Laura's dates too.'

‘Why in heaven's name would you do that?'

‘Because it might all be linked.'

‘Linked to what?' Irene clutched the coffee cup so tightly the dark liquid splashed over the rim.

‘To Cuan. I remember listening to a true-crime podcast once and?—'

‘I've calls to make, Mona. Don't send anything to the guards again unless I say so. Do you understand?'

‘Of course. I was only trying to help.' Mona slouched out of the office leaving a cheap tangy perfume trail in her wake.

Irene waited for a moment, then took three deep breaths before once again picking up her phone. She had a feeling the house of cards on which she'd created a successful business was about to come tumbling down.