The Lost Child: A Gripping Detective Thriller with a Heart-Stopping Twist Page 10

  ‘Always been rented out. The original owner moved to the States, must be forty years ago now.’

  ‘That’s a long time to be renting out a property.’

  ‘It’s not my business. I’ve enough of my own troubles without concerning myself with others’.’

  ‘Don’t suppose you know who the estate agent is?’

  O’Dowd pulled at his chin, thinking. ‘No. Don’t know.’

  Kirby sighed again, deflated. ‘Here’s my card. We’ll need to take a formal statement. And if you remember anything else, please contact me.’

  ‘Told you all I know. I’ve work to be doing now.’ O’Dowd turned to his Land Rover.

  ‘You sure you’ve no idea who those men were?’ Kirby persisted.

  ‘Wouldn’t I tell you if I did?’ O’Dowd delved into the pocket of his jacket. ‘I think you might like this.’

  Kirby smiled, nodding his head. He rolled the cigar around in his hand before slamming it into his mouth. O’Dowd handed him a plastic lighter, then climbed into the Land Rover and set off down the lane.

  Kirby walked back to Lynch, cigar between his teeth, smoke rippling from the side of his mouth.

  ‘Grand man, but he’s like someone with anger management issues.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ asked Lynch.

  ‘It was like he was itching to box the face off the first one who crossed him.’

  ‘He’s probably a very busy farmer who doesn’t like having his morning’s work interrupted.’

  ‘Know a lot about farming, do you?’ Kirby pinched out the cigar between two thick fingers and carefully placed it in his inside coat pocket.

  ‘I thought you’d given them up?’ Lynch eyed him suspiciously.

  ‘I did. A few puffs do no harm.’ Kirby marched back to the car. ‘We’d better get to the hospital before that fella dies on us.’

  ‘I had a look at the body,’ Lynch said.

  ‘Dead, was he?’

  ‘Jesus, Kirby.’ She stomped around to the other side of the car. ‘The man was burned to death. Have you no compassion?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve plenty of that. Did you find any sign of the cannabis we smelled?’

  ‘There’s a concrete shed down the garden. But the whole place is a swamp after the rain and the fire crew. Uniforms will have to remain here, and then we’ve to wait for the SOCOs to get clearance before they can work the site.’

  ‘We? Ha, you’ll be acting FLO for the rest of the day.’

  ‘Not if I can help it.’ Lynch shut the door with a smug bang.

  Twenty-Eight

  Glancing into her old office, which one day would be her new abode, Lottie noted that it had been painted. At last. A ladder stood against the wall with a decorator’s paint-splattered table in the middle of the floor beside her old desk. All it needed now was new furniture and plenty of storage cabinets. She was sick of falling over box files. All on order, so she’d been told. Then she would have her own space back. Somewhere to think without an audience. Still no door, though. The plans dictated it would be full-length glass. Too late to order a solid one? For now she was stuck with her three stoogies, as Katie had once called her colleagues.

  Hanging up her jacket, she noticed that hers was the only one on the rack. Odd, she thought, that no one else was here yet. She carefully picked her way around the files stacked on the floor. Switched on the photocopier and copied the fragile newspaper cuttings from her father’s box. Two copies of each, so she could give one lot to Boyd. Well, he’d offered, hadn’t he? When she’d finished, she put a set on his desk and the other into her deep, cluttered handbag. She’d look at them when she got time. If she ever got time. She put the originals into her desk drawer. Opening the pharmacy bag she’d picked up on the way back from Annabelle’s, she sighed with relief at the sight of the blister packs of pills.

  Boyd arrived, hung up his jacket and sat down at his desk without a word. No chance of taking her pill, then. Maybe later.

  Writing her report on yesterday’s activities, Lottie couldn’t concentrate. Peering over the top of her computer screen, she saw Boyd lining up pages neatly into a folder on his desk. When he seemed content that they were straight, he took a packet of disinfectant wipes from his drawer and began wiping his keyboard.

  ‘What the hell, Boyd? What’s up with you?’

  He glanced up, a look of surprise creasing his eyes, as if he had only just become aware of her.

  ‘Up? Nothing. Why?’

  ‘You’re in your OCD mode. Something is up.’

  ‘Where are Lynch and Kirby?’

  He was diverting her, but she let it go. ‘I’d love to know.’

  She rang Lynch and listened to the call go to voicemail. Maybe she’d already left to relieve Garda O’Donoghue. She tried Kirby. No answer.

  Out of the office and into the incident room. Quiet as a churchyard at midnight. She stuck her head into a few of the other offices. ‘Any of you seen Lynch or Kirby this morning?’

  ‘They might be at that house fire,’ one garda offered.

  ‘House fire? I heard nothing about a house fire. What are they doing there? For feck’s sake! I’m trying to run a murder investigation.’ Lottie made her way back to her office.

  Boyd called up the incident report log on his computer.

  ‘House fire. Dolanstown. They’re there. First responders called for detectives to attend. One male deceased at the house, another badly injured. Suspicion of arson.’

  ‘This is all we need.’ Lottie slammed a bundle of reports she hadn’t had time to read onto the already crowded floor and planted her foot on top of them. She didn’t have the resources to lend to an arson attack, body or no body. And she needed the hospital CCTV checked. Someone had to have dropped Marian Russell off there.

  ‘There’s another incident report here.’ Boyd read from the screen. ‘A car found burned out early this morning, at Lough Cullion car park.’

  ‘Could it be Marian Russell’s car?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Find out. Then get everyone in for a team meeting.’

  * * *

  The incident room was packed within half an hour. No sign of Superintendent Corrigan. Good.

  ‘Let’s get this house fire out of the way,’ Lottie said. ‘Kirby, enlighten us.’

  ‘Cottage fire. Chief fire officer thinks it’s malicious. One dead male. Dental records will be needed to identify him. The second male is in hospital. Badly burned and minus a few fingers.’

  ‘Minus a few fingers? Explain?’

  ‘That’s all we were told.’

  ‘Do you think someone tried to burn the men out of the house?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘Hard to know until SOCOs have a look.’

  Lynch said, ‘We suspect it might have been a grow house. Strong smell of cannabis above the stench of burning.’

  ‘Interesting. Maybe they owed money, or were skimming. Hope we haven’t got a drug feud about to explode in Ragmullin. Put someone on the injured man’s ward. Just in case.’

  ‘At this rate, we should all relocate to the hospital,’ Kirby said.

  Lottie thought for a moment. ‘We have reports of a car burned out in the car park at Lough Cullion. It could be Marian’s. We’ll know later on.’

  ‘Or it could’ve been used by the scum who burned down the cottage,’ Lynch offered.

  ‘Why aren’t you at Kelly’s?’ Lottie said. ‘You need to relieve Garda O’Donoghue.’

  ‘Can’t someone else do it?’ Lynch folded her arms defiantly.

  ‘The FLO is still off sick,’ Lottie reminded her. She flinched as Lynch swiped her bag from the floor, cracking the strap against the desk. ‘Wait until we’re finished here, but then you’ll have to go. And remember, you’re still part of this team.’

  ‘Right so,’ Lynch said.

  ‘I need Emma watched for her own protection. Until we find out what actually happened to her mother. I’m going to have another look around the Russell house. Bo
yd, come with me. Kirby, find out what you can about that house fire and the occupants and investigate the car. Then we can hand it over to another team.’

  ‘Okay,’ Kirby said.

  ‘And draw up a list of Tessa Ball’s friends and interview them. Did you trace her last movements?’

  ‘Working on it.’

  ‘Do it. Also, find out if Tessa had anything to do with Belfield and Ball, Solicitors. And follow up on the gun we found at her apartment yesterday. Am I talking to myself?’

  Boyd stood up. ‘Report is in on Tessa Ball’s phone. The final activity was a call she received at 21.07 on the night she was murdered.’

  ‘And?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘It was from Marian Russell.’

  Twenty-Nine

  SOCOs had already been all over the Russell house, and Lottie had checked around the night of the murder, but now she wanted to have another look, in daylight. It was a converted two-storey farmhouse. A narrow hallway led to the extension, which housed the kitchen. Before the kitchen, a door opened into an anonymous-looking rectangular sitting room. Brown leather three-piece suite and a long coffee table.

  ‘Minimalistic, isn’t it?’ Lottie said.

  ‘Bit bare, all right,’ Boyd said, stepping onto the teak timber floor.

  Lottie moved towards the iron-framed mirror hanging over the fireplace. She looked at her reflection before quickly turning to lift a couple of paperbacks from the coffee table. John Connolly novels. Beside the books, a mug containing an inch of cold coffee displayed evidence of the SOCOs’ handiwork. A half-eaten biscuit lay beside an open packet of cookies. Traces of life, halted mid-cycle.

  ‘Emma said she came in here because her mother was working in the kitchen. And then Natasha called and asked her over to her house.’ Lottie opened the door of the stove insert. ‘It’s very clean, isn’t it?’

  ‘Compared to the carnage in the kitchen, yeah.’

  Leaving the lounge, they headed up the stairs. Four rooms. One obviously belonged to Emma.

  ‘Typical teenager,’ Lottie said, and closed the door on the mess. It didn’t seem right to search the girl’s things. She’d been through enough already, with more heartache to come.

  The next room seemed to be a guest bedroom, followed by a bathroom. In the master bedroom, Lottie inspected the contents of the wardrobe, checking the pockets of the jackets. Nothing.

  The bottom two drawers of the dressing table held T-shirts and underwear. Opening the top drawer, Lottie observed sterling silver and costume necklaces with matching earrings.

  ‘I don’t think this was a burglary,’ she said.

  Boyd was standing at the window, looking out. ‘Nice piece of land.’

  Lottie closed the drawers. She joined him at the window and pointed down into the yard. ‘What’s that behind the shed?’

  ‘Looks like an oil tank.’

  ‘Don’t think so. They use solid fuel,’ she said, recalling the fire in the sitting room.

  Boyd said, ‘It’s one of those containers for storing coal.’

  ‘We’ll have a look inside it.’ She glanced around the room again before dropping to her knees to look under the bed.

  ‘Anything?’ he asked.

  ‘Dust,’ she said, getting up and wiping her knees. ‘Did you search the bedside cabinets?’

  Boyd lifted a book, glanced at it and opened one of the doors. ‘A few pill bottles.’

  ‘Here, let me see those.’

  ‘Paracetamol,’ he said.

  ‘Oh.’ Lottie looked into the second cabinet. ‘This one is empty. Must’ve belonged to Arthur.’ She ran her fingers under the pillow and between the mattress and the base of the bed. Nothing.

  Boyd opened a door beside the wardrobe. ‘En suite.’ Stuck his head inside. ‘Clean.’

  ‘Jesus, I hope I’m never murdered,’ Lottie said. ‘You’d have to fumigate the place before you could go looking anywhere.’

  ‘Nothing of note here,’ Boyd said, closing the en suite door.

  ‘What was that book?’ Lottie went back to pick up the hardback Boyd had moved a moment ago. ‘Culpeper’s Complete Herbal. Interesting. Quite an old book, too.’

  She flicked through the pages. ‘Such small font. Beautiful plant illustrations. Wonder why she had it?’

  Boyd looked over her shoulder. ‘Healing remedies?’

  ‘I’ll bag it. Might be something, might be nothing,’ Lottie said. ‘Let’s check out the yard.’

  * * *

  The rain had begun to spit again. Lottie bent down and opened the flap in the bunker. A couple of nuggets of coal rolled out at her feet.

  ‘Told you,’ Boyd said, leaning against the shed.

  ‘Make yourself useful and hand me that log.’

  Boyd rolled it over to her.

  ‘Hold on to it. I don’t want to fall.’

  Stepping up onto the log, Lottie lifted the top of the bunker.

  ‘Flashlight?’

  Boyd switched on the one on his phone and handed it over. ‘Don’t let it fall in.’

  She swept the light down and around the cavern. ‘Jesus.’

  ‘What’s in there?’ Boyd tried to peer over the edge.

  ‘Plants of some sort. We need to get the SOCOs back out here.’

  ‘As soon as you hand me back my phone.’

  ‘We’d better have a look inside the shed, too.’

  While Boyd made the call, Lottie jumped off the log, headed into the wooden shed and snapped on the light switch. A myriad of paint cans and tools lined the steel shelves on one wall. Logs were stacked against the back wall.

  Standing in the clutter, she wondered about the plants and the Culpeper book. Had Marian Russell got a little sideline going here? If so, it might make sense of someone trying to stop her, but it wasn’t a reason to murder Tessa Ball. And Kirby had thought the cottage set alight earlier might have been a grow house. Interesting.

  ‘I want those logs moved,’ she told Boyd. ‘There might be something beneath them. How soon before SOCOs arrive?’

  ‘Not long.’

  ‘Good. We might be getting somewhere at last.’

  ‘You might be, but I’m not.’

  ‘You wait for the SOCOs,’ Lottie said. ‘I want to speak to Emma.’

  * * *

  At Bernie Kelly’s house, she was greeted at the door by Garda O’Donoghue.

  ‘Gilly,’ Lottie said. ‘Where’s Detective Lynch?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her since yesterday, and I really need to get home to shower and change.’

  ‘Go ahead. I’ll stay until you get back, or until Lynch gets here.’

  Gilly grabbed her belongings and escaped.

  ‘Tea, Inspector?’ Bernie Kelly asked.

  ‘No thanks. Just a word with Emma.’ Lottie stepped into the claustrophobic sitting room.

  ‘Make yourself at home, why don’t you?’ Bernie said with downturned pale lips. ‘I’ll tell her to come down.’

  ‘Still in bed?’

  ‘Teenagers.’ She attempted an eye roll; Lottie thought Bernie’s plucked eyebrows made her look like a strained prune.

  Emma sauntered into the room and flopped onto an armchair. Her hair was a mess and the clothes she was wearing looked too small for her. Poor girl. She needed some of her own stuff soon, Lottie thought.

  ‘How’s Mum?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Still in an induced coma.’

  ‘I want to see her.’

  ‘I can take you,’ Lottie said.

  ‘And my dad? Where’s he?’

  ‘He’s helping us with our enquiries.’

  The girl shot out of the chair. ‘Why? He didn’t do anything.’

  ‘Please sit down, Emma.’ Lottie placed a hand on her arm. Emma shook her off.

  ‘Have you arrested him?’

  ‘No, but we’re exploring all possibilities. Your grandmother has been murdered. I need to find out what you know.’

  Emma’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t know anything. I want
to see Mum and Dad. You’ve no right to keep me cooped up here. I’m a free citizen, last time I checked.’

  ‘It’s for your own safety.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve heard that before.’

  Lottie wondered how she’d missed the memo where it said teenagers no longer had to respect their elders.

  ‘Did Garda O’Donoghue or Detective Lynch tell you about your mother’s injuries?’

  Emma bit her bottom lip. Tears loomed in her eyes. She nodded.

  ‘And you’ve no idea who would do something like that to her?’

  A shake of her head, with a sob. ‘It’s all my fault. I just want to see Mum.’

  ‘How could it be your fault, Emma?’

  ‘I wasn’t nice to her,’ the girl cried. ‘I sided with Dad all the time. I know she’s not the best mother in the world, but she’s my mum and I made her life a misery.’

  Lottie wanted to put an arm around her, to comfort her, but after the previous rebuff, she kept her hands firmly in her pockets.

  ‘The night of your granny’s… death, are you sure you saw nothing unusual around the house?’

  ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘Why were you so late going home? Was it usual for you to be late?’

  Emma shrugged. ‘Depends on what me and Natasha are watching on the telly.’

  ‘So you were watching Netflix, is that correct?’

  Emma hesitated, eyes searching out the corners of the room. ‘Yup… I think so.’

  Lottie watched her closely. ‘Orange is the New Black?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The programme you were watching?’

  ‘Oh, yeah. That’s what we watched.’

  ‘You’re sure of that?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘So you were here with Natasha and Bernie from six thirty p.m. until you went home around half past ten?’

  ‘Yes. Well, no…’

  ‘That’s what you told us originally. Is there anything you want to change or add?’ Lottie studied the girl carefully; she was sure there was a lie in there somewhere.

  ‘I was here and we watched the telly. Can I get some clean clothes? Natasha’s are a bit small.’