After she had died her body was washed and her pants were put back on, inside out. Then two people – for she would have been prohibitively heavy for a person small enough to kneel on her to be capable also of carrying her – must have put her into a car. They drove her to behind Lifford Cineplex several hours after she died and threw her body down to the spot where we discovered it.
We waited until everyone had finished reading, Williams going over the report more slowly than the rest of us. "So," said Costello finally, "it fairly much confirms what we knew already, with a few more details thrown in. Especially the drug thing."
"Yeah," said Holmes. "Not uncommon to get low-grade drugs, especially E tabs. Though in saying that, I haven't heard of any of these substances being found before."
"I have," said Costello and I saw Williams nod slightly, as though in agreement. "Read this and see if it sounds familiar."
He handed each of us a copy of a letter dated September 1996, the paper still warm from the photocopier. The letter read:
Dear Student
As you are aware, An Garda work closely with your school to develop drugs awareness programmes to educate you about the dangers of drugs and ensure that none of you get caught in the cycle of criminal activity which drugs use can cause.
However, we are also aware that some of you may be using drugs or have been tempted to experiment with them. Therefore I write to you in particular to be vigilant over the coming weeks.
It has come to our attention that a batch of highly dangerous Ecstasy tablets has appeared on the Irish drugs scene and, while none has reached Donegal to date, it has been decided that all students in all schools in the area be made aware of this danger. The tablets, which are round, are about one centimetre in diameter. They have a yellow/brown speckled appearance and might taste slightly bitter. The Customs Office in Dublin has informed us that these drugs, which originated in Holland, will not have the effect of an Ecstasy tablet, but in fact contain a number of deadly chemicals and poisons, including rat- and flea-killer. The tablets can cause a range of symptoms, including breathing difficulties, convulsions, brain damage, and could cause death.
If someone offers you one of these tablets – or if you are suspicious of anything you are offered – DO NOT TAKE IT.
You can contact Letterkenny Garda station in confidence on 074 55584, or else contact your local Garda station or tell a member of your school staff. You will not get in any trouble and you might help save lives.
The letter was signed by Costello, with a further reminder to avoid the drugs completely. I vaguely remembered the letters being distributed by schools, though at the time I was working in Sligo on a breaking-and-entering team who were targeting local hotels and hostels.
"Sound like the same things," Holmes said, putting the letter down on the table.
"I'm surprised you don't remember it," Williams said, "working with the drugs squad in Dublin."
"Before my time," Holmes replied, then smiled good humouredly. "I'm still a young buck, me."
"God help us all," Williams said and hid her face behind the A4 sheet she held.
"Well, it's probably the same." I said. "So, we need to find out who gave it to her. Was it the same person that she was sleeping with?"
"And did they intend for her to be killed by the tablet or was it accidental?" Costello added.
"Yep. So, Jason, I want you to start bringing in the local drug dealers. Ask about, check bars and clubs again, Strabane and Letterkenny. See if anyone's selling this stuff. While you're there, flash about the photo of Terry Boyle too, maybe find out where he was last night."
"They're not connected though, are they?" Holmes asked.
"Not as far as I know," I said, "but if we can kill two birds with one stone…"
"There's no one else, Jason," Costello explained. "I've requested extra help from Letterkenny, but you seem to know the pubs and that. Might have more success than most."
"I'll phone Hendry, just so there's no jurisdiction nonsense about going over the border," I said. "Caroline, keep following up on that gold ring. I'll see if I can speak to Johnny Cashell, though he's looking unlikely; I can't see him drugging and abusing his own daughter. Besides," I added, "I don't think this was a sexual attack."
"Pathologist's report suggests consensual, Inspector; that doesn't necessarily mean it was consensual," said Williams.
"True. But all the same. Size, drugs, eye witnesses – everything seems to be pointing to Whitey McKelvey."
"If the wee bugger would show his face," Williams added.
"Maybe he has though, eh?" Holmes retorted, tapping on the CCTV videotape lying in front of us.
We set up the video and TV in the conference room at the back of the station and played the tape from the start. The tape began at 6 p.m. on Thursday 19th December, the time and date appearing in white lettering at the bottom of the screen. The images jumped from one view to the next every twenty seconds.
Williams leaned forward and fast-forwarded the tape until customers began to appear around 7.20 p.m. With each new arrival we paused the tape, looking for Angela and the person who had accompanied her – whom we assumed to have been Whitey McKelvey.
By 9.30 p.m. the bar was filling up and they still had not appeared, though we had noticed that a young man with a shaved head and a shoulder bag who had gone into the male toilets at 8.50 p.m. had yet to emerge. Holmes concluded that he was either a drug dealer or a homosexual. "Either way, we'll bust him if we see him this side of the border," he added.
As the tape progressed, the lights in the bar dimmed. Then the screen cut to the doorway and I caught of glimpse of a girl with blonde hair passing underneath the camera. She was dressed in jeans and a blue top, as Cashell had described Angela's outfit that night. Slightly behind her, again half-disappearing from view under the camera, was a thin figure with short, almost peroxide- blond hair, clad in jeans and a white top. The figure did not look up at the camera and so we could only see the top of the head and the bright hair. Holmes paused the shot and we all leaned a little closer to the screen.
"Is that him?" Williams asked, squinting at the screen.
"I think so," I said.
Holmes tapped the screen with his knuckles; "Ladies and gentlemen, Whitey McKelvey, I believe."
It was not as clear a shot as any of us wanted, but it seemed a reasonable assumption to make. We watched a further hour's worth of tape and saw Angela several times: in the queue for the bar, dancing, chatting to a group of girls by the toilets. That shot had almost passed when I saw a face I recognized and everything seemed to fall into place. The clothes were different, obviously, the pink uniform replaced with a tight satin grey top that accentuated every curve. She wore make-up and looked older, but there was no mistaking her – it was Yvonne Coyle, the girl who had been feeding Tommy Powell in his room the day before. At the same time, it suddenly came to me where I had seen her face before. It was with her cheek pressed against Angela Cashell's in a strip of passport photographs, placed carefully between the leaves of an unfinished romantic novel lying under the dead girl's bed.
I phoned Finnside almost immediately, while Holmes and Williams set about the tasks we had agreed earlier that morning. Mrs McGowan told me, with some annoyance, that Coyle had phoned in sick, having left early the day before.