Where the Wild Roses Grow Read online

  As she felt sorry for herself, Fiona suddenly felt a sensation in her left arm and also in her left leg. She couldn’t believe it. She wasn’t completely paralyzed after all? Maybe it was just the shock of the blow to her head that had paralyzed her temporarily? Neurapraxia was the name for it. A disorder of the peripheral nervous system in which there was a temporary loss of motor and sensory function due to blockage of nerve conduction. It usually lasted six to eight weeks before the patient would regain full recovery. She had read about it in nursing school. Maybe she would be able to walk again. Maybe. But if a swelling or bleeding within or around the brain caused it, she had to hurry and get to the hospital. She had to be taken to the hospital right away. She felt a small hope emerge inside of her. She had to alert someone. She had to get help somehow. But how?

  Michael leaned in over her again. With his fingers, he opened her mouth and forcefully made her bite down on a rose. She wanted to scream as he did it, she wanted to bite him, kick him and run out of there, but she couldn’t.

  Please, someone help me. HELP!

  Michael kissed her cheek gently before he pushed her body into the river, whispering the words:

  “All beauty must die.”

  25

  October 1977

  She was shaken badly by the incident with Shauna in the car as she watched her drive away with all of her money. She couldn’t believe anyone would take her money like that. Shauna had seemed so nice…

  Violet decided to shake the experience and walked into the campus. The University College of Dublin turned out to be a lot bigger than Violet had ever imagined. It consisted of many huge buildings, new and, according to Violet, as ugly as they came. Big grey square buildings with many small windows. It was nothing like she had pictured it to be. It was located at a park campus at Belfield south of the city.

  She knew Conan worked as an English professor at the School of English, Drama and Film. She remembered that he told her about how he taught them James Joyce and Neil Jordan, both writers who were graduates from University College of Dublin themselves. Violet dreamt of studying James Joyce and wanted to be like him one day. She wanted to know everything there was to know about the big writers of her home country. She wanted to be one of them one day.

  Violet walked into the front office and asked for directions to the School of English, Drama and Film and was told by the lady behind the counter it was located in the College of Arts and Humanities.

  “I don’t know where that is,” Violet said.

  The woman gave her a skeptical look when she saw her wet clothes, then handed her a map of campus, where she marked the building. Violet thanked her and left, holding the map in her hand. The way the woman had looked at her made her feel small and insignificant.

  Violet used the map to guide her through the campus. She had never been in a place with this many people, and she had to admit she felt kind of lost. All those faces passing her without looking at her. Where she came from, she knew every face, and they always looked at you and greeted you on their way, no matter how busy they were. These people were different. They were cold and distant.

  Violet found the building and entered. In the lobby, she asked to see Professor Conan.

  “Who might I say it is?” the lady asked.

  “Violet, Violet Gibson.”

  The lady looked at her with an odd smile. “Like…”

  “Like the woman who shot Mussolini, yes,” Violet answered.

  “Alright, then. I’ll see if I can find him.”

  The woman grabbed a list and looked at it, then turned a page. “He’s teaching right now.”

  Violet lit up. She had always wanted to hear him teach. “Can I watch him teach and wait for him there?”

  The woman shrugged. “I guess there’s no harm in that.”

  Violet was told where to find the class, then walked to the auditorium where she pushed the heavy door open. Violet gasped when she saw how big the room was. It was bigger than the church back at home where her dad dragged her every Sunday or every time she had done something wrong and needed to confess. It was mostly her brothers who went, but every now and then, she was dragged there as well.

  In the back, in front of all the blackboards, stood Conan. He looked so handsome there, and just seeing all the students paralyzed by his words and teachings made her love him even more. He was such a man. Such a handsome man.

  Violet found a seat and sat down. She listened as Conan talked about Romantic and Victorian literature. It was breathtaking. This was what she loved. This was her passion, what she lived and breathed for. And it was the love of her life that taught her everything.

  It felt like she had finally come home.

  After about fifteen minutes of listening to Conan, his eyes finally fell on her and he paused. She smiled and waved at him.

  Conan swallowed hard, then asked the students to excuse him and walked up to her. Violet had butterflies in her stomach as he approached her.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  He sounded angry. Like he wasn’t happy to se her. But how could that be?

  “I ran away from home,” she said.

  The entire room burst into snickering. Conan’s eyes grew wide and had little red lines in them. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her outside. Violet didn’t understand anything.

  “What do you mean you ran away from home?” he asked forcefully, as they came into the hallway.

  “I have come to be with you.”

  Conan shook his head. “Have you lost your mind? You’re fourteen. You should be in school.”

  “But…aren’t you happy to see me?” she asked.

  “Are you kidding me? You just humiliated me in front of two hundred students.”

  Violet’s heart dropped. “I have…I came to live with you.”

  Conan groaned loudly. “You can’t live with me. What would the faculty say? I would get fired.”

  “But…”

  Conan shook his head. “No buts here. You go home to your father. You go home right now. Do you hear me? I don’t want you here.”

  “But, don’t you love me? You said all those things. You…you made love to me…”

  Conan looked around, perplexed, like he was afraid someone would hear what she had said. Violet felt like crying. She had no idea what to do. Why didn’t he love her? Why was he so mad? Why wasn’t he happy to see her?

  “You can’t stay here, Violet. You’re just a child. You have to go home. Go now.”

  Violet looked into the eyes of the man she had loved so much, the man she had dreamed of a future with, the man she had adored and idolized for so many years. The desperation was eating her up from the inside. She wanted him to love her, she wanted him to take care of her…her and the baby.

  “But…but…you said…Please love me, Conan,” she said, crying, throwing herself into his arms trying hard to make him hold her. But he didn’t put his arms around her. She tried to kiss him, but he pulled away.

  “Violet!” he said angrily and pushed her back.

  She didn’t give up. Violet threw her arms around him and held him close to her body, while crying and pleading with him to love her.

  “Please, Conan. Please, don’t act like this,” she cried. “Don’t you love me like you said?”

  Conan grabbed her arms forcefully and pulled them away from him, then pushed Violet backwards till she fell onto the tiles. He walked to her, then slapped her across the cheek. He stood above her with his finger pointed at her.

  “Go home, Violet. Before I get really mad. Go home NOW!”

  Then he turned his back on her and walked back through the door. That was how Violet learned that some of life’s best lessons are learned at the worst of times.

  26

  July 2015

  Even though I had sex with him to cheer him up and make up for destroying everything with my curiosity, Morten was still angry with me when we woke up the next morning.

  Not real angry, jus
t a little grumpy and pissed. He didn’t want to take any part in this case, so I had to go to the police station alone and talk to them.

  Inspector Grady greeted me as I entered.

  “Miss Frost? You look well,” he said.

  “Thanks. I guess,” I said and sat down.

  Inspector Grady smiled and leaned back in his chair. “So, what can I do for you today?” he asked with his strong Irish accent.

  “I have a few questions about the case,” I said, thinking it was important I was careful not to offend the man.

  He smiled like he thought I was adorable. “And those are?”

  “I wonder about the rose. How come it wasn’t mentioned in any newspaper article or the TV reports? I haven’t seen it anywhere that she had a rose between her teeth. Why is that?”

  Inspector Grady shrugged. “We didn’t find it of importance.”

  “See, that is what I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t it be important?” I said.

  Inspector Grady gesticulated with his arms. The motion was a little exaggerated and told me I was on to something here. I was very good at decoding body language. Or so I told myself I was.

  “It’s a rose. She could have put it in her mouth, maybe to take a selfie or something, and then slipped on the rocks and fallen into the water. More people have lost their lives this year while taking selfies than to sharks, you know.”

  “Did you find a phone?”

  “No. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t one,” he said.

  “And you didn’t find her phone in her home?” I asked.

  Inspector Grady went silent.

  “I thought you might,” I said. “Did you find the place where she died? Did you find the bloody rock to determine whether she slipped or not?”

  “No,” he said.

  “So, I assume you’re still looking for that, am I right?” I asked.

  “Naturally. But it’s not that easy…” he let out a deep sigh and his eyes wandered like he had to be somewhere. “Listen, I gotta…”

  “I’m sure you can spare a few more minutes,” I said. “Just to clarify one last thing for a concerned tourist.”

  He let out a deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Of course.”

  “Have you been looking into the connection to the song by Nick Cave?” I asked.

  Inspector Grady looked tiredly at me. I elaborated.

  “Where the Wild Roses Grow?” I said.

  The way he tilted his head told me he knew exactly what I was talking about. He looked like he wanted me out of there as soon as possible.

  “I am aware of the similarities,” he said. “But mostly with the old legend that the song is talking about.”

  “So, it could be murder, am I right?”

  “It still doesn’t rule out the possibility of it being a coincidence, an accident, or a staged suicide.”

  “Have you found the man she was on a date with?”

  “No.”

  “Are you looking for him?”

  “Of course we are.”

  “Good.”

  I got up from the chair and gave the inspector my hand.

  “You know, I have done some research as well,” he said.

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. And guess what I found out about the famous Danish author Emma Frost?”

  I felt a chill run down my spine. “Only good things, I can imagine.”

  “Well lots of nice things said about her novels, but also about her abilities to illegally gain access to people’s and government computers.”

  So, that’s how it feels when the earth is burning beneath you.

  “I really should go…Thank you for your time, Inspector,” I turned to walk away.

  Inspector Grady rose to his feet. “How did you know it was a rock that killed her? We didn’t know until we were told in the autopsy report. It hasn’t been mentioned in any media.”

  I turned and smiled, holding my poise. “I must be very good at guessing, then. Good day, Inspector.”

  27

  July 2015

  I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I felt sweat spring on my upper lip. How could I have been so stupid? It was less than a year ago I had gotten myself in trouble back home because of my hacking and now I was right back at it again? Morten was right. It was only a matter of time before it got really serious for me. I had to be more careful.

  I texted Morten and let him know I was done. We had planned to go visit the Powerscourt Estate, a huge estate outside of town that was used for a location in the movie The Count of Monte Cristo. It was supposed to be quite spectacular. Morten wanted to pick me up after I was done at the police station.

  I walked down the street to get rid of the feeling of being observed through the windows of the police station. That Grady guy had made me feel really uncomfortable in there. There was something about him that rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe it was just the fact that he was on to me that made me feel this way.

  I reached a small roundabout with a bench and beautiful flowers planted in the middle. Roses, naturally.

  I sat on the bench and texted Morten to let him know where to find me. I was hoping he would be in a better mood than this morning. I was looking forward to walking around the estate and along the Glencullen River with him. The weather was perfect for it. There were so many beautiful wooded forest areas to walk around in, and I had heard that there was a waterfall that was supposed to be Ireland’s highest. I really wanted this day to be great for the both of us.

  I spotted the car as Morten drove up to the roundabout. He rolled the window down and smiled at me. It felt good to see him smile again. I hated when he was mad at me. Even though I could still tell he was upset, I got the feeling he was trying to hide it to make the best of our vacation.

  Morten whistled like he thought I was hot. I laughed.

  “Can I give this beautiful lady a ride somewhere?”

  “Well, yes, kind sir,” I said, playing along. “I just got off the four o’clock train to town, and now I don’t know what to do with myself. Now, you’re not one of them serial killers my dad told me to avoid, are you?”

  Morten laughed. “Get in, you crazy woman.”

  I jumped in. Morten drove off.

  “So, did you talk to them?” he asked.

  I didn’t know if I wanted to involve Morten further in this. I definitely didn’t want him to know that the inspector had called me out on the hacking. He would only get angry, so I decided not to tell him.

  “Yes. They already knew about the song,” I said.

  “Ha. I told you so, didn’t I? People always assume police officers are too stupid to see the obvious. Of course they already knew.”

  There was a lot I wanted to say at this point, but I decided to keep it to myself. It would only spark another fight, and I didn’t want that. Not now. Not when everything was going so well between us.

  “Of course they did,” I said, trying to close the conversation. I really didn’t want to discuss this anymore. I didn’t want to tell him I thought something was very much off in the investigation. I bit my lip to keep my mouth shut.

  “So, Powerscourt Estate, huh?” I said instead. “That should be interesting, don’t you think?”

  “Mmm…” he said pensively, and took a turn out of the village. Forest and trees now surrounded us, along with green pastures as far as I could see. Morten seemed to be in his thoughts.

  “So, what’s going on with you?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Nothing. I just got off the phone with Jytte earlier. It was just something she said. Don’t worry about it.”

  The sentence struck me like a blow to my stomach. I hated when he kept me out like this. I wanted to know what was going on between them. Jytte was a teenager and often gave her father a lot of problems. Morten somehow believed he should keep these things from me so I didn’t worry, but I really wanted to know. It was a big part of his life, so I should know.

  I decided to let it
go for now.

  “I really wanted to see that waterfall you talked about,” I said. “Maybe we could buy something to eat somewhere and take it with us out there and have a picnic. The weather is behaving well today, don’t you think?”

  Morten looked at me. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

  28

  July 2015

  “So what do you suggest we do?”

  They were having a meeting. Mary Margaret had gathered several of them and had them come to her house. She knew it was risky to meet like this, but she also knew how the rumors and worry had spread among the population of the small town as fast as a wildfire.

  It had them all worried, and the faces of the townsfolk in her living room were filled with just that. Anxiousness, distress, concern.

  “What does this mean?” was one of the questions posed that Mary Margaret had no answer to. She herself was in shock over the death of Bridget. Some in the room suggested it could be a coincidence, maybe even suicide. But Mary Margaret knew it wasn’t so. She still had the letter in her study to prove it. But she didn’t pull it out. She didn’t tell the others about the letter. It would only add to their concerns. It would only spread panic among them. And that was all she could do right now…avoid having the panic spread.

  “How about Father Allen?” someone asked.

  “Why isn’t Father Allen here with us today?” another asked.

  “He is just as much a part of this as the rest of us. He should be as concerned as we are.”

  Calling Father Allen as much a part of this as us, was a huge understatement, if you asked Mary Margaret, but she didn’t say anything. She had hoped he would be there, but he still refused to believe that it was more than just a bluff. As usual, he was certain he was untouchable and that it would all blow over soon.