The Lost Child: A Gripping Detective Thriller with a Heart-Stopping Twist Read online

  Surely Annabelle hadn’t ratted her out? No. There was doctor–patient confidentiality to consider. And she hadn’t been scheduled for a visit. She’d just turned up. Had someone been following her? But how would they know about the pills? The drinking? Boyd. No. He wouldn’t go behind her back. Definitely not Boyd.

  But it had to be him, she thought, twisting her hair through her hands.

  ‘Boyd, you… you arsehole.’

  * * *

  Before the team meeting, Lottie cornered him outside the incident room.

  ‘Thanks a bunch,’ she whispered through gritted teeth, standing legs apart, hands clenched in fists in her jeans pockets. She caught sight of the flecks of hazel in his eyes sparkling under the tubed light.

  ‘What are you on about?’ Boyd said. His jawline hardened. ‘You on something? You look as wild as the weather.’

  ‘Don’t, Boyd. Don’t get me started. Someone sent an anonymous email to Corrigan about me and I won’t stand for it. You hear?’

  The light faded in his eyes. ‘You think I’d do something like that?’

  Shit, wrong call, Parker. She clasped his hand.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m just wound up. Who would do that to me?’

  He pulled away from her pressing fingers. ‘Well, it wasn’t me.’ Turned on his heel. Pushed open the door to the incident room and disappeared.

  Leaning against the wall, Lottie rubbed her fingers round her eye sockets, attempting to dispel the pain that was about to explode. Taking a pill from her jeans pocket, she snapped it out of the blister and swallowed it dry. Now she had to face the troops with possibly one of them mutinous.

  Forty-Three

  Standing in front of the incident boards, Lottie said, ‘Today is the day we find Emma Russell, and cement the evidence against her father, Arthur Russell, for the murder of his mother-in-law, Tessa Ball, and the GBH of his wife Marian. We put this to bed! Right?’

  An unenthusiastic murmur rippled through the assembly. Maria Lynch sat with her phone in her hand, texting. Kirby lounged back on two legs of his chair, puffing on his e-cigarette. Lottie wasn’t entirely sure it was allowed indoors, but now wasn’t the time to raise it. The rest of the detectives and uniformed gardaí were equally unmotivated. And Boyd was glaring.

  ‘Come on. We have a couple of murders to solve and we’re not going to do it by sleeping on the job.’

  ‘A couple?’ Lynch looked up, pocketing her phone.

  At last they were engaged.

  She pointed to Tessa Ball’s photograph. Not the death-mask one – her driver’s licence photo, where she looked like a human being. The two pictures hung side by side on the board.

  ‘Okay. So far this is what we have. Tessa Ball, aged seventy-six. Retired solicitor. Signed her house over to her daughter Marian Russell five months ago. Up until then, Tessa had lived there herself. She then moved to an apartment beside the defunct St Declan’s Hospital.’

  Kirby shuffled uneasily on his chair. They all had memories of what had happened last May inside the corroded walls of St Declan’s.

  Lottie outlined the details of the assault, concluding with, ‘Death was blunt-force trauma to the back of the skull, causing a fatal brain aneurysm. A baseball bat found outside the back door is consistent with the weapon used. Traces of Tessa’s DNA were found on it. Also fingerprints that we can attribute to Marian and Arthur Russell and their daughter Emma. Russell says he bought the bat as a gift for Emma about five years ago—’

  ‘Odd gift for a young girl,’ Boyd interjected.

  Ignoring his comment, Lottie continued. ‘No other fingerprints or DNA were found on it. Either the killer wore gloves, or he may be a lot closer to home.’

  ‘Or she,’ Boyd said.

  ‘You know what I mean.’ Lottie flicked through the pages on the desk in front of her.

  ‘Motive?’ Boyd pressed.

  ‘I’m getting there. Arthur Russell is our number one suspect. He had the opportunity as well as motive. Marian had a barring order against him.’

  ‘He is currently in custody,’ Boyd said. ‘We arrested him late last night once his solicitor eventually arrived. Superintendent Corrigan has extended it for another six hours.’

  ‘Okay, we need to work fast because when that time expires he will have to apply to the Chief Superintendent for the additional twelve hours. After that it is charge or release time. We need more evidence. On the night of the attack, Marian went missing from her home. The following day she was dumped from a car outside the hospital. She’d been beaten and her tongue cut out. She is currently in an induced coma. CCTV from the hospital, Kirby?’

  ‘I reviewed it with the security guys and the car was a blue Toyota. Registration clear enough to identify it as Marian Russell’s car.’

  ‘Anyone visible in it?’

  ‘Marian was thrown out from the back seat, so there had to be two people involved. Both wore hoodies and balaclavas. So no way of identifying who they were or indeed if they were male or female.’

  ‘See if the technical guys can enhance the images.’

  ‘Working on it.’

  ‘How was the tongue cut out?’ Lynch asked.

  A few groans permeated the room. Lottie took a breath, shifted her pages and found the doctor’s report. Her stomach clenched as she read his words. ‘Possibly small pruning shears.’

  ‘How would they even get shears into her mouth?’ Kirby asked, his hand up to his face as if protecting his own tongue.

  ‘Shears used for pruning shrubs or plants are just bigger than household scissors. And Marian had been beaten, so she was possibly unconscious at the time of mutilation.’

  ‘Were they trying to silence her?’ Boyd, this time.

  ‘Probably. Perhaps she was going to tell someone something they didn’t want revealed. Maybe they were sending a warning to others.’

  ‘Or maybe they were sadists,’ Boyd said.

  ‘And we’ve no notion of where she was kept for the hours that she’d been missing?’ Kirby said.

  ‘Not as yet,’ Lottie conceded.

  ‘Wherever it was, it had to be very bloody,’ Lynch said.

  ‘We find the abductors – case closed,’ Kirby offered.

  ‘Which brings me to the cottage fire at Dolanstown.’ Lottie pointed to a photograph of the burned-out remains. ‘Initial investigation points to petrol, possibly poured through the letter box. One male body recovered from the scene and one barely alive. And the deceased did not die in the fire. He’d been stabbed numerous times.’

  ‘Dead before the fire,’ Boyd said. ‘Murdered.’

  Lottie silently counted to five. Why did he keep interrupting her? Maybe she should’ve had the argument with him after the team meeting and not before.

  ‘That is the opinion of the state pathologist. The deceased was the older of the two victims but we have no identity as yet. The other victim had the fingers of his right hand hacked off. He is suffering from severe burns and is on life support. We believe this man could be Lorcan Brady. Arrested for possession of a class C drug in March. Suspended sentence. We need to get back out to his house and do a thorough search.

  ‘Maybe that’s where Marian Russell was held.’ Boyd again.

  ‘There’s no connection other than Natasha Kelly saying Brady was Emma Russell’s boyfriend. Our technical team has removed cannabis plants from an insulated building to the rear of the cottage. We’re still awaiting clearance to enter the burned structure. Later today we will know if it warrants the drug unit getting involved.

  ‘Now to add to the mix, Emma Russell has absconded from the neighbour’s house where she was staying. As I said, according to her friend Natasha, Emma was involved with Lorcan Brady. We need to establish where Brady was on the night of Tessa’s murder, and for that matter to determine if Emma was indeed at Natasha’s house where she said she was. I need to speak to the Kellys again. I have a suspicion Emma might not have been with them that night. Whether it was an innocent absence to meet
a boyfriend, or to engage in criminal activity, we need to find out.’ She pointed to photographs of the money found in Emma’s wardrobe. ‘And where did she get nine hundred and fifty euros?’

  ‘She had a part-time job,’ Boyd offered.

  Lottie studiously ignored him. ‘We have teams out looking for her. Time to ramp up her disappearance on social media. I’ll get the press office to issue another statement. We need to find her.’ She felt her face pale at the thought of feeding Moroney more ammunition with which to ambush her.

  ‘On to Mick O’Dowd, who discovered the cottage on fire. Anyone know anything about him?’

  Kirby said, ‘He has great taste in cigars.’

  Lottie shook her head. ‘I spoke with him yesterday afternoon. I can’t quite make up my mind about him.’ She didn’t want to say how much he had troubled her. She continued, ‘He mentioned hearing a car with a loud exhaust from time to time. Other than that, he says he knew nothing of the cottage residents.’

  ‘If they were boisterous, having drug parties and the like,’ Boyd said, ‘they might’ve given O’Dowd a reason to burn the cottage himself.’

  ‘Why didn’t he call us in that case? No need to go to those sort of lengths,’ Lottie said.

  ‘Did he give a formal statement?’ Lynch asked.

  ‘He’s coming in today.’

  ‘Back to motive,’ Boyd said. ‘The only person linking the murder of Tessa Ball and the murder of the man at the cottage is Lorcan Brady. A tenuous link, based on hearsay.’

  ‘It’s all we’ve got, except for Arthur Russell,’ Lottie said. ‘I think they should be treated as separate investigations. For now.’

  ‘Right so.’ Boyd shrugged, folded his arms and said no more. Everyone turned to look at him. Lottie silently fumed. He was playing silly buggers with her team.

  ‘I think—’ he began.

  ‘I think,’ Lottie interrupted. She waited until his voice drained to a whisper. Two can play your game. ‘I think we tread carefully around both incidents until we know we can tie them together. We need to firmly plant Arthur Russell at the scene of Tessa Ball’s murder. We have a jacket found at the house that has been sent for forensic analysis. Possibly Arthur’s. The murder weapon has his fingerprints. Motive? Money? Drugs?

  ‘Kirby, figure out why Tessa signed over her house to Marian and if it has any significance to this investigation. We need to establish if Tessa was the primary target or was unfortunate enough to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. We know Marian phoned her mother that night. Was it friendly, or under coercion? Whatever it was, it resulted in Tessa calling round.’ Lottie paused to catch her breath. ‘Once Marian is out of her induced coma, we’ll see what she can tell us.’

  ‘She won’t be able—’ Boyd said.

  ‘To talk,’ Lottie said. ‘I know. But I’m sure she can still write. Was anything discovered on her laptop or phone?’

  Rustling through a file on his knee, Kirby extracted a printout. ‘Confirms the call to her mother at 21.07. That was the only call she made that day other than to Emma. Historical calls throw up nothing significant either. No reports of a partner in her life.’

  ‘What was she studying?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘Social studies and genealogy. Online course. The hard drive is corrupt from the smashing the laptop got, but we’ve sent it off to see if anything can be salvaged.’

  ‘Contact whoever is running the course.’

  ‘I did. The tutor is holidaying in Australia and the girl I spoke with wasn’t very helpful. She thought the course had finished.’

  ‘Dead end there, so.’ Lottie thought for a moment. The case had to do with either family or drugs. ‘Kirby, check with the land registry to find the owner of that cottage.’

  ‘Will do, boss.’

  ‘The knitting club. Any leads there?’

  Shuffling uneasily on his chair, Kirby frowned, put away one file and took up another. ‘Jesus, boss, a group of little old ladies clicking away with needles and wool. Not my cup of tea at all.’

  Lottie smiled. ‘Interesting interviews, were they?’

  ‘I could tell you everything from how to cure a cold to where the Pope was born.’

  Everyone laughed and Lottie felt some of the tension ease from the room. ‘Anything about Tessa?’

  ‘Not a bad word from anyone. You’d think she was a saint.’

  ‘Maybe she was,’ Boyd offered.

  Lottie scowled.

  Kirby said, ‘Except maybe for one woman.’ He slid his finger down a list and then took his notebook from his breast pocket. ‘Here it is. Kitty Belfield. She started to say something – not about Tessa; about the fire at the cottage. Said, and I quote, “It’s not the first time a fire in Ragmullin ruined a family”, end quote. She clammed up once the room went silent with them all earwigging.’

  ‘Belfield?’ Lottie mused. ‘Belfield and Ball were a firm of solicitors at one time. Speak with this Kitty Belfield again. Without an audience.’

  ‘Will do.’ Kirby rose, taking his e-cigarette from his trouser pocket followed by the stub of a fat cigar. He seemed to consider both before putting the electronic device back and heading out.

  ‘Are you all clear on what you’ve to do?’

  ‘As mud,’ Boyd muttered.

  ‘Do you have something to add?’ Lottie didn’t want to lose the support of her team. Not now, when someone was sneaking behind her back to Superintendent Corrigan.

  ‘No. It’s all good.’

  ‘A word, Detective Boyd,’ Lottie said as the group moved chairs out of the way, making for the door.

  When the room was empty, she sat on an abandoned chair and looked up at Boyd lounging near the door, hands in pockets, one foot up against the wall.

  ‘You know you don’t have to be a complete arsehole,’ she said. ‘That was totally disruptive behaviour.’

  Boyd said nothing.

  She hated apologising. Particularly to Boyd. Especially since she had been in the wrong. But she was right about one thing. He was being an absolute pain.

  ‘Right. I’m sorry for accusing you about the email. I was out of line,’ she said.

  He still said nothing.

  She raised her hands to the ceiling. ‘Do you want me to grovel? I shouldn’t have suspected you’d do such a thing. I’d just come out of Corrigan’s office and you were the first person I bumped into, so I took it out on you. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ But she had suspected him. A flush crept up her face. Shit. She knew Boyd could read her. ‘Do you accept my apology?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’ He pushed himself away from the wall and stood up straight. ‘Lottie, I didn’t go behind your back. I don’t know who did, but you need to watch your step, because someone is waiting for you to make a mistake.’

  Lottie thought of Maria Lynch. Was it payback for making her stand in for the FLO? She looked up. Boyd was standing in front of her. He was smiling.

  Thank God, she thought.

  ‘Come on. We’ve work to do,’ he said.

  She laughed. ‘Hey! That’s my line.’

  Forty-Four

  The wind refused to let up or calm down, and the scabby collie dog looked cold and hungry sitting on the porch when Lottie and Boyd pulled into Lorcan Brady’s driveway. Everywhere was dank and black. Branches on the trees surrounding the house dipped and swirled, cracking against the roof tiles.

  ‘It’s awful weather for October,’ Lottie remarked.

  ‘Doesn’t matter what month it is, it’s like bloody winter.’

  ‘Lighten up, will you. You’re making me depressed.’

  ‘That poor dog looks like he should be in the dog pound,’ Boyd said.

  ‘They’d put him down.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘You’re a cruel—’

  ‘Don’t say it,’ Boyd said.

  They got out of the car. The dog raised its head but didn’t move.

  ‘Maybe you could bring him home. Littl
e Louis would love a dog.’

  ‘Will you stop?’

  Lottie opened the front door with the key they’d recovered from the remnants of Lorcan Brady’s burned jeans. A pile of mail shifted as she shoved the door inwards. With gloved hands she picked it up and scanned through it.

  ‘Junk,’ she said, and dropped the pile on the table in the hall. It was already overflowing with rubbish.

  ‘Smells a bit rank in here,’ Boyd said, sniffing the air.

  ‘Damp,’ Lottie said. She walked into the room to her left. A sitting room at one time, it now looked like it had evolved into some kind of a den.

  ‘Easy to tell his mother isn’t around any more,’ Boyd said.

  ‘Poor woman. Maybe she’s better off.’ They’d discovered that Lorcan’s mum had died two years previously from cancer. There was no record of a father.

  A small table with crooked legs stood in the centre of the room, cluttered with empty beer cans and a candle melted to its wick.

  ‘Yuck,’ Lottie said, looking through the detritus on the table. Crisp bags, chip bags, two half-eaten burgers. The carpet was littered with crumbs and dirt. The fireplace was piled high with fast-food wrappers, and a pizza box containing a few crusts lay on the floor. Shelves in the corner were stacked with beer cans rather than books. The arms of the chairs had served as ashtrays, with burns tracked along them.

  ‘No sign of drug paraphernalia,’ Boyd said.

  ‘As if it would be left out on view,’ Lottie said.

  ‘Everything else is.’

  She examined one of the shelves. ‘Boyd, do you see a fish tank anywhere?’

  ‘No. Maybe in the kitchen. Why?’

  ‘Look at all that fish food.’ She counted twenty-seven containers.

  ‘Let’s have a look in the kitchen.’

  The door was open and Lottie was about to step in but stopped. She put out a hand, preventing Boyd from entering.

  ‘I think we’ve found where Marian Russell was held,’ she said.

  Boyd peered over her shoulder. ‘Jesus! It’s like something out of The Walking Dead.’