Chapter 39
She struggled to recall how she’d got out of the hotel room, to her car; how she’d driven the whole way to Templemore.
Her head hurt. Every limb throbbed.
She turned on the engine and pulled down the rear-view mirror to survey any damage.
Her face was ashen, streaked with tears.
Her lips were swollen. No blood or bite marks.
She scanned her eyes over her neck, tilting the small mirror, surprised to find no evidence of the assault.
The thought of the word assault brought fresh tears to her eyes.
She switched off the engine and dropped her head, crying in earnest.
She needed to shower. To rid herself of the image of that monster pinning her down on a hotel bed in a room too small, too warm, too sweaty and way too dangerous.
Sniffing back another bout of tears, she shook her head. She’d been stupid to go to his room. But no, she should have been able to trust him. It was his fault, not hers.
She felt pain in her arms, where he’d held her in a vice-like grip, making it impossible for her to flee. She glanced down at her legs, but it was too dark to see anything.
She fumbled for her phone, tapping the screen, and found the thread of crime-scene photos that McKeown had sent her.
But she couldn’t bear to look at them. She switched on the torch app and swept the phone the length of her body.
Her jeans were intact, and there was no way he could have stripped and raped her and then dressed her again, was there?
If he’d succeeded in raping her, she’d know, surely.
So what had he done to her? Assaulted her.
Even without it being actual rape, it was still a sexual assault.
Her training told her what she should do, but would that jeopardise her career? To have to admit to her stupidity. To have her body swabbed and examined. Her clothes taken and forensically analysed. She could not go through that. But she had to tell someone. Who?
Not her mother. No way. Was that what she’d been ringing her for during the night? Silly, because Chloe knew Lottie wouldn’t hesitate to take a gun and shoot McKeown stone-cold dead. That thought brought a wry smile, which in turn hurt her lips. She was damaged physically and emotionally.
Boyd? He’d tell her mother and they’d be back to square one. Katie? Her sister had enough to worry about, with little Louis and her lack of success in keeping a job. Chloe couldn’t burden her further. Her Gran? God, no.
There was no one in Ragmullin she could trust not to lose their head over this.
She lowered the window to allow in the cool early-morning breeze. A bird chirped somewhere in the distance, probably on a tree branch she couldn’t see in the dark. The sound grounded her in reality, as did the cold air.
She shivered. Wiped her tears. Gathered her belongings into her shoulder bag and steeled herself to leave the safety of her grandmother’s car.
Martina thought McKeown was a bit off colour, and by that she meant he wasn’t his usual asinine, obnoxious self.
‘What’s biting your arse this morning?’
‘Fuck off,’ he said.
That threw her. The vehemence of his put-down was another black mark against him. Something was definitely up.
‘Your wife caught you in another affair, did she?’
He stood up from his desk, his tall frame towering over her. ‘I told you to fuck the hell away from me.’
She almost toppled over as he brushed against her in his haste to leave the room. She eyed Kirby, who shrugged his shoulders.
‘Haven’t a clue either,’ he said.
Martina shook her head. ‘That man is a danger to humanity.’
‘Who is?’ Boyd strolled in, coffee cup in hand.
‘McKeown. He’s like a bull in a china shop this morning. I’m sorry I gave Chloe Parker his number.’ She felt a blush sweep over her cheeks. Shit. She’d promised Chloe she’d say nothing to anyone.
‘Why did Chloe want his number?’ Boyd asked, a frown furrowing his brow.
‘Oh, just something to do with a study assignment.’ She hoped she wasn’t landing the boss’s daughter in trouble.
‘She could have asked me or her mother to help.’
Kirby piped up. ‘I wouldn’t ask her mother for anything if I was Chloe. She didn’t agree with her going to Garda training college.’ He tapped his shirt pocket. ‘I’m going out for a smoke.’
‘Amy said you’d given them up,’ Boyd said.
‘What she doesn’t know won’t worry her.’ Kirby sidestepped him and escaped.
‘I think the same goes for the boss about Chloe asking me for Sam’s number,’ Martina said.
‘I’ll ask him what it was about.’
‘Might be best to say nothing. She probably didn’t even contact him.’
‘I’ll see later on. I’ve to go with the boss to Healy’s house.’
Boyd dumped the mug on his desk, leaving Martina alone to wonder what she had started by blabbing.
Should she give Chloe a call? Just in case McKeown had upset her somehow. She knew how easily he could do that. But what if his humour had nothing to do with Chloe? What if she hadn’t spoken with him at all? Whatever it was, Martina figured she was better off staying out of it.