Harvest

By Ger Conlan

Surviving a murder attempt on her life does not seem to have taught Lucy Courtney any life lessons – like not to meddle in other people’s business. When a pregnant and lifelong friend cries for help in finding her missing sister, Lucy delves in casting aside all notions of self preservation. Despite the help of former boyfriend, Detective Kevin Hartnett, Lucy becomes entangled in a vortex of events which won't leave her, or those close to her, unscathed.
The tenebrous underworld of organ snatching is not a place for the faint of heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ger Conlan
• Release date: Feb 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9780991765683

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HARVEST

By

Ger. Conlan

Copyright 2014 Ger. Conlan

First Edition

License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

cover art by Ivy Howard

Chapter 1

The thick-set woman muttered to herself as she waddled awkwardly but with quiet determination up the eight steps leading to the entrance of Limerick’s Henry Street Garda station. Beads of dampness glistened on her porcelain skinned forehead catching strands of soft black curls in the moisture. The exceptionally warm summer evening, a rarity in Ireland, which had the whole country in a state of sunburned bliss, was a contributing factor to her perspiring so much. In essence the main culprit of her excessive ‘glowing’ was the surplus weight she carried. There was a time, not so long ago she could have sprinted up these steps in a matter of seconds. Well, sprinted was probably an exaggeration, she was no athlete. Dashed? Maybe. But right now, reduced mobility, while inconvenient, was the very least of her worries. Clutched tightly in her hand was a recent photo of a young woman, and the reason for this trip. Once at the top step she paused to catch her breath all the while gently patting her massively pregnant tummy.

We will find her my little one she said softly and when we do, I will give her a piece of my mind …after I hug her…very tightly.

Inside the bustling police station, she reluctantly joined the inebriated, the rowdy and all manner of troubled people whose circumstances had culminated in them rubbing elbows in the narrow confines of the standing-only waiting area. Everyone faced the same direction waiting to reach the waist-high short wooden counter staffed by two gardai. She shuffled slowly forward trying desperately to ignore the odor of hygiene deficient bodies, alcohol soaked breath and general inner-city decay. It was six thirty in the evening and obviously rush hour for the Boys in Blue. One garda picked up the phone sending a code on the P.A. system and moments later two more officers joined their colleagues. It didn’t take long before a pointed pen held between two fingers summoned her authoritatively to the wooden counter. She exhaled discreetly dreading what was to come but following the fingers obediently.

Name? The young, tired looking officer asked robotically after hearing the reason for her visit.

Mags Thompson she replied with a clear and well-articulated tone reflecting years of elocution lessons imposed by her upper-middle class family. Electrocution lessons Mags had brazenly called them once to her mother; the cost of that folly was being signed up for another year of courses in addition to attending intensive etiquette class. The fun she had missed out on just to end up speaking and acting like a cast-off from My Fair Lady.Friends had been few and far between. It wasn’t until she finished high school that life became more normal, for a while at least. Her current state, however, reflected nothing of that privileged background. She was perspiring heavily from a mixture of profound worry, stress and the exertion of remaining upright for forty minutes. Painful pins and needles stung her thighs, while damp spread along the back of her pink chiffon designer top.

Mags? he reiterated.

Well it’s short for Mawrgret, she said rolling her eyes but if you write Mawrgret Thompson nobody will know it’s me!

Sweat trickled along her cheeks towards the edge of either jaw where it dripped lightly onto her chest. There wasn’t a tissue in sight so she used her hands to wipe the excess moisture from her entire face including her eyes, completely forgetting about the mascara hurriedly applied hours earlier.

Grand then, Mags Thompson it is the officer said putting the name on the report with the same pride as Jerome having completed the Vulgate. When he turned his attention back to the woman he found her look had gone from dishevelled to raccoon-like.

Ahm….right…and the person you’re reporting missing is your sister, Ciara Madden?

And is that Ciara with a k or a C?

It’s a C but a K-sounding C. Keer-a.

Right then. He returned to his report, filling in more boxes.

But you’re Thompson?

Correct! Mags said frustrated at the slow pace through which they were getting through this. She really needed to pee. But nee Madden. He nodded silently while taking in her pale blue eyes which darted nervously about, her full cheeks flushed.

And she was last seen?

Four days ago, exactly. So it’s well past the mandatory forty eight hours to commence a search. The officer was struck by these words and looked intently at this strange woman. Through the smeared eyes, he recognized the anxious expression having seen it so many times before. Yet he wondered how she was aware of this standard course of action.

You seem to be familiar with our procedure on missing persons.

I am, she exhaled after a hesitant pause.

So you know someone who went missing before? A loud gulp fell in her throat.

I do.

Would I be right then in thinking that your sister has gone missing on a previous occasion?

You would.

Recently? Mags sighed heavily.

It was years ago when she was only a teenager! She isn’t anything like she used to be. She is a grown woman now, whose idea of having fun by the way is watching British comedies on DVD! I mean I just don’t get how the Knights who say Ni can be funny after the fortieth time. Plus she dresses like bloody Maria Von Trap when she used to look like…well…adventurous!

The nod and accompanying cynical look told her Ciara’s file would be opened and scrutinized leading them to believe she had gone back to being a runaway.

Wait here please, Ms. Thompson, I’ll be back shortly.

Less than an hour later Mags exited the station fuming not only over the archaic attitude to her situation, but to the awful state she was in when finally catching a glimpse of herself in their toilet facilities. She looked ridiculous. No wonder they didn’t take her pleadings to heart. While she tried to convince them of the urgency in finding Ciara they were questioning the possibility that her sibling had chosen to leave of her own volition. They even suggested she had been unable to tell her over-protective sister about an upcoming departure for fear of disapproval. Worst of all, they didn’t appear to be in any particular hurry to even start enquiries. Everything she said had fallen on deaf ears. They tried to convince her that this sort of thing was not unusual behavior for a legally adult woman. Mags couldn’t deny that Ciara’s teenage years had passed more tumultuously than most and for that she was forever branded a trouble-making junkie, when nothing could be further from the truth. If anything, her younger sister had become the complete opposite. Mags would even describe her as being another person entirely. The conservative dress had replaced the hard core Goth menagerie; a penchant for anarchy was left behind for devotion to prayers, and binges that went on for days at a time were discarded for a strict almost punitive diet. In fact, Ciara displayed a total disinterest in general social life and friends making her a virtual recluse. Not that Mags wasn’t grateful that Ciara remained on the band wagon. God knows it must be a daily struggle to stay clean and sober but admittedly she could see there was no fun in the lifestyle her sister chose to lead. The expression all or nothing came to mind with no happy medium to balance things out. Perhaps there could be no other option to fighting her addictions. Still she would take austere Ciara over wild Ciara any day. Mags honestly didn’t know if she could handle seeing a relapse to the old lifestyle. Those terrible years were best forgotten. Mags had grown so used to calm, caring and dutiful Ciara who kept in regular contact throughout the day that her absence was unsettling.

Pausing at the bottom of the eight steps, Mags eased herself down onto the stone slab and took in a long deep breath. The warm evening air carried a heavenly breeze which helped lift the nausea, but not the heartache. Thinking in terms of a theatre play, Mags foresaw the upcoming delivery as a huge Broadway production and with only a week before opening-night a main cast member was MIA. There was no understudy to replace Ciara, not that anyone could. Disturbing images of what state her sister could be in pierced her heart. Her hands gripped tightly on both sides of her hair as waves of anguish pounded her chest.

Where are you Sis? she called out softly pleading to the night sky. Come back please, I just can’t do this without you. In their dysfunctional family where turmoil was a daily occurrence, Mags was always strong and even keeled - the crutch upon which others leaned. With a constantly absent father, they were left to the mercy of a mother who could be violent one minute and docile the next. Depression would have her in bed for days at a time and she never failed to throw off the usual threat to Mags before locking herself away in the bedroom "nothing better happen to that child". Ciara was that child and the dutiful Mags stood guard over her until their mother died five years earlier. By then Ciara was a frequent runaway, a drug user and known to police. Their father had just been admitted to a long-term care facility with advanced Alzheimer’s disease. Through it all everyone had depended on Mags to keep it all going smoothly. And she did, no matter how tough things became, she had been strong until the other night. When Ciara failed to return Sunday night from the weekend getaway to Dublin, Mags was not concerned. At twenty-two years of age, a girl was entitled to go where she wanted in her own private way. Thinking along more rational lines, Mags believed Ciara wanted to prolong her stay in the Capital, but by Wednesday night concern quickly became worry and worry became dread. Mags had not remained idle though and contacted everyone she knew, none of whom were Ciara’s friends per say as she did not have any. The general reaction was of understanding and hope for her safe return, but at the same time Mags detected underpinnings of doubt about recidivism. Well they could think what they bloody well wanted she knew Ciara has not returned to her old ways.

Taking out her mobile from her handbag she tried calling Ciara and for the millionth time it went straight to voice mail. Just come home sis – Please, she implored. Ending the call she swore under her breath. Fuck it!!!!, she uttered through gritted teeth. Their mother would turn in her grave if she heard her children using language like that. The woman abhorred anything remotely common-sounding and was obsessive when it came to appearances and etiquette. Mags flipped the phone shut and jeered well you know whash Ma? I couldn’t give a rrats hoale she taunted in the flattest Limerick accent so aha- fuckin- aha.

Moments later she burst into sobs with the feeling that her mother continued to drive her insane posthumously. It was getting so hard to keep it together. Her head felt it would burst. Maybe she was going crazy. Just then two elderly ladies paused and looking with pity upon the obviously distraught woman asked if she was alright. Assuring them all was well she heaved up off the steps then waddled away up the street to where the car was parked. The strain of recent events was beginning to take its toll on Mags not only mentally but physically. Her blood pressure was far higher than normal and her limbs were swelling considerably with each passing day. Medical appointments were put aside to focus on finding her sister, and this disregard seemed to have her gynaecologist concerned enough to have left several authoritative messages on her mobile.

You are borderline pre-eclamptic Mags and you must go to the hospital immediately, both for yours and the baby’s sake. This is a very, very serious condition which must not be ignored. And she would go to the hospital, just as soon as she found Ciara.

As Mags shifted awkwardly behind the wheel of her ever-shrinking car, she took a sudden sharp intake of breath as the baby kicked hard. Another goal by star rugby player Thompson she announced while starting the engine. A quick check in the rear-view mirror to wipe away the tears was followed by a sharp shake of the head to pull herself together. Right! The show must go on. Cradling her tummy she said smiling nine days and counting little one, and don’t you worry, aunty Ciara will be there. She’s probably just off……trying to enter some convent or other.

Feeling, weary, grimy and plain fed-up Mags merged into Henry Street’s one-way traffic with the intention of going home to shower and change. The summer sky had turned a dark twilight as it gave way to the night. By some miracle another rain-free night was forecast. If Ciara had somehow become lost again, at least she wouldn’t be cold and soaking wet; starving maybe, but not cold, wet and starving. After passing the Franciscan church near Roches street Mags took a sharp left for Sarsfield Bridge and the adjoining Ennis Road instead of continuing straight on home. A visit to Ciara’s old haunts was deemed necessary at this point just in case the temptation of black-out drinking and drugs was too hard to resist. During those wilder years her sister had a few friends or drinking buddies on the Ennis Road. The plan was to canvass their homes to see if she was holed up with them. If not she’d make her way to the city center’s trendy pubs, then the seedier places and finally, the dark alleys.

In the last month life certainly had gone from normal to nuts. Everything currently hitting the fan started with Tim leaving her high and dry. Those first few weeks without him, she couldn’t function. Tim had always been there for her from the moment they first met. It was at Helen Connolly’s eighteenth birthday party. Helen was crazy for Tim and told everyone she was going to ‘have him’ that night. Well Tim had other plans and danced with Mags all night with not so much as a glace toward a very disgruntled Miss Connolly. A decade on she discovered Tim was afraid to be the father he had long sought to become. It was simply unfathomable how the well-educated man she had known and loved could just walk away so callously. There was no argument, no big fight – nothing – but a silent parting. Of course they had their problems like every other couple had, but to simply walk away like a little boy afraid to face his responsibilities was distressing to the say the least. He had given no news whatsoever as to where he was. Off in bloody Never, Never land she murmured while driving across the calm waters of the River Shannon wherever that is - probably next to an effin convent.

*

The first ring of the telephone jolted her from a deep, restful sleep, momentarily sending her into confusion. She squinted at the illuminated red digits of the bedside clock and rolled her eyes. Four twenty in the morning –so much for having a lie in!! By the time the second ring sounded Lucy Courtney had sat upright all the while mentally canceling her first real day off in three months.

Hello she said sharply, sounding far more alert than she felt. The desire to ask ‘who the hell is calling at this hour’ was suppressed as the voice of reason urged her to hear the caller out.

Issam there? the slurred jocular tone asked before burping loudly. The raucous chorus in the background erased any doubt as to who was on the other end of the line.

Fergus she sighed morosely more as a form of recognition than a greeting. The man had been warned not to call during the night, but that obviously went in one ear and out the other. Her eyes glanced to the figure sleeping soundly by her side, and a deep line formed in the middle of her brow. Once again he had managed to steal prime bed space during the night leaving her the luxurious edge of the mattress. No wonder her right side ached.

Euh Lucy? Fergus called down the line have ya fallen asleep there?

No she stated in another sigh hang on. I’ll wake him. Trying to wake a man out of a state of unconsciousness most could only ever experience under a general anaesthetic was not easy. She stifled a yawn then asked Fergus, Which one is it this time? The piercing twang of an electric guitar roared down the line. Fergus’ voice screamed Black Dog baby, Black Dog!!!!! ‘rand Lucy continued with a bored tone all the while setting the volume of the receiver to maximum level then pressed speaker. She placed it against Sam Dougherty’s ear. The blast of the first screeching chord was held for a long moment filling the room with a high pitched timbre which did not succeed in budging her bed-fellow. Fergus broke into song. Well, singing isn’t how it should be described, caterwauling would be more accurate. The man had talent as a guitar player but not when it came to vocals. Sam would always say Fergus could wake the dead. She considered herself officially awake.

Sam and Fergus were childhood friends and now newly graduated students from Limerick University. They were embarking on a three month ‘tour’ of Europe where they had managed to find a few gigs in various Irish pubs. The duo was immensely popular on campus for their performances at the local student pub, where a few nights a week they belted out renditions of songs from artists like Cat Stevens, Simon and Garfunkel, Bob Dylan and more. Fergus’ love of the electric guitar and rock hits from the seventies began in his teenage years but knew no success of any kind. Sam convinced him to play acoustic guitar to fit with the folk genre, which Fergus did, albeit reluctantly. His electric guitar was kept as an alarm clock for Sam.

Lucy was still holding the phone next to his ear when Sam bolted straight up. The shoulder length shaggy blond hair, toned body and blue eyes set in boyish features gave him a certain charm she had found so irresistible in the beginning. He gave her a momentary look of confusion followed by a thumbs up to the phone and a sleepy thanks to Fergus.

Shag off . I’m awake! As Lucy replaced the phone on the hook she felt Sam’s strong arms around her naked body.

You’ve a plane to catch, she said pushing him away.

Lucy he scowled, I won’t see you for three months! She didn’t say it would be a great relief, but that’s exactly how she felt. Sam wasn’t a bad guy but had become too egocentric for her liking. Maybe he had always been high maintenance she just hadn’t seen it until later into the relationship.

Their meeting was almost cliché; a folk singer sees girl in audience, catches her eye, dedicates a few songs to her, she’s a little drunk, feels special and agrees to go on a date with him. Fast forward a year and all she could say was they had nothing more than a non-committal routine of sorts where the sex was nice but there wasn’t much tying them together emotionally. Nobody was to blame for the way things turned out. They just allowed a convenience of sorts to develop. His trip to Europe was what she needed to bring things to an end.

Sam, I’ve been thinking…

I’m starving Luce he muttered sleepily any chance you’d put on a fry.

You’ll have time to make yourself a fry.

I know! But it always tastes better if you make it for me. He turned over on his side all the while taking what was left of the covers. Go on love, will ya and make it for me?

The place will be stinking of grease!

Yeah, but that perfume you wear would overpower a horse. Masks everything! Her mouth opened agape at this insult to Dior. How could walking into one spritzy mist possibly create the fog he was referring to? She was tempted to list his umpteen annoying habits but decided it wasn’t worth the bother. Instead, she proceeded with the decision she had taken some weeks earlier.

Sam, I really don’t think we should be together anymore…

Luce! he exclaimed turning brusquely to face her with an expression of alarm. What are you talking about? His sudden intensity was making her feel uncomfortable.

I just feel…that we’re not right for each other anymore.

You’re breaking up with me!!!, incredulity written across his face because I asked you to make me a fry!!!

It has nothing to do with…..

…and on the morning I’m leaving on a European Tour?

You’ve got three gigs in two pubs. I wouldn’t consider that a tour, per se. Sam was clearly insulted.

They’re the confirmed gigs, but we have offers for others, you know that.

Look, I’m happy you’re getting this opportunity but I don’t feel we should…..

God Luce – you can be such a cold hearted bitch at times! That comment stung.

Sam, you had better leave now! He was about to say something when the phone rang again. Knowing it was Fergus she picked it up and snapped he’s awake, okay!!

Lucy? the woman’s voice asked. Puzzled, Lucy checked the caller ID and saw the name Mags Thompson.

Mags!! She gasped, something must be really wrong! Mags, I’m sorry. I thought it was Fergus calling back. Are you all right? What’s wrong?

I’m just outside Luce, came the weary voice I saw your car and thought….can I come in?

Out…..outside the house? Lucy was really concerned now goodness, yes of course, come on in. She pulled back the covers and bolted out of bed, ignoring Sam’s ramblings about a lift to the airport then promptly threw on yoga pants and a fleece hoody before dashing downstairs.

It had been at least four months since Lucy had seen Mags, and that realization brought with it heavy pangs of guilt. But the lack of communication was not entirely due to a heavy study schedule and the intermittent company of a bed-friend, Lucy had deliberately taken a step back from Mags’ because of on-going tensions between them. She had preferred to put it down to respective changes in lifestyles, or maybe even something as tired as raging hormones rather than admit to a fading friendship.

Her hand was on the front door handle when Sam appeared at the bottom of the stairs, parts of his hair standing upright on his head. A white towel was wrapped low around his slim waist and despite the disappointed, sleepy scowl on his face, he was for all intent and purposes, handsome.

My flight leaves in two hours, can you please make this quick? She threw him a murderous look as he bolted upstairs and began packing his suitcase. Mags, who had extracted herself from the car seat greeted Lucy and the friends hugged each other for a long moment in silence before Lucy stepped back to take in Mags’ bump.

Wow she said in complete awe that baby looks just about ready. With a wide smile she replied eight days and counting.

It’s so good to see you Lucy said smiling all the while observing the dire change in her best friend. Dark circles hung low under sad blue eyes while her usual shiny black locks of hair sat unkempt and dull below her jaw. Water welled in Mags’ eyes, you too Luce.

Come on into the kitchen and tell me what’s going on.

Am I disturbing anything?

Nothing at all Lucy smiled reassuringly. Her friend looked horrendous and even seemed to have skipped on personal hygiene. Something had gone very wrong somewhere.

Tell me how things are going?

Before I say a single word, I urgently need to pee and eat – in that order. While Mags used the washroom, Lucy phoned a taxi for Sam and asked them to honk the horn when they were outside. Then she went