Tell Nobody: Absolutely gripping crime fiction with unputdownable mystery and suspense Page 22

  ‘How much did that cost you?’

  ‘Don’t know. My mother bought it for me for my birthday.’

  ‘I like the sound of your mam. Rich, is she?’

  ‘No, she’s a detective.’

  The change was instant. Sean watched as the teenager stepped back from the bike and stuck his hands in his tracksuit pockets as if they’d been burned.

  ‘Get out of here. Don’t want no pup out of a guard sniffing around. Go on. Fuck off.’

  Sean threw his leg over the crossbar, but in his haste to escape, he rode the bike off the kerb and fell face-first onto the road. Blood was pouring from his nose and down his white T-shirt. He untangled his legs from the bike and felt himself being hauled to his feet.

  ‘The state of you. I think you broke your nose. You’d better come inside. I don’t want your pig mother blaming me for this. Hurry up. I won’t bite.’

  The teenager threw the bike into the overgrown garden and dragged Sean towards the door. Maybe he should make a run for it, Sean thought. No, his ankle was killing him, as well as his nose.

  The door was opened and he was dragged inside.

  ‘Welcome to our humble abode, as my da says. I’m Max. What’s your name?’

  Fifty-Eight

  Lottie stuffed a crust of bread into her mouth and watched Boyd eating a house-special sandwich. Cafferty’s was quiet. The television hummed out a rolling news channel. They had half the district out looking for Hope and Lexie, and Jen Driscoll hadn’t been at home or at the gym, so Boyd had insisted on food before they returned to the station.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ Lottie said, pushing away her own sandwich.

  ‘You can, if it’s not about the job.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And only if you eat first,’ Boyd said. ‘You’re fading away, Mrs Parker.’

  ‘Do you feel any different?’ She watched as Boyd studied her, trying to figure out what she was talking about, she supposed.

  ‘Different?’

  ‘Since you got your divorce?’ Why did she have to ask stupid questions? Shit, now that it was out there, she had to follow through. ‘I know you and Jackie had been separated, like forever, but now it’s official, how does that make you feel?’

  ‘Where is this coming from, Lottie?’

  ‘It’s just a question.’ Shut up, she told herself.

  He was curling his lip, biting it, squinting at her. Trying to figure her out. Best of luck there, Boyd, she thought. If she couldn’t figure herself out, well, he hadn’t a chance.

  ‘I’m the same as always. No different. A bit of paper doesn’t change things. Not for me.’

  Lottie reached out and touched his hand.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘For what?’ He looked stunned.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Jesus, Boyd, you make conversations like this very difficult.’

  He picked up his sandwich and took a bite out of it. ‘Conversation? I have no idea what it is with you.’

  ‘Don’t talk with your mouth full. You’re worse than a child.’

  ‘You sound like your mother.’

  ‘My mother?’

  ‘Yeah. How is she?’ He gulped down a mouthful of tea.

  He was changing the subject, but she let it go. She didn’t know what she wanted from him so there was no point tying both of them up in knots.

  ‘Rose is being Rose,’ she said, thinking that her mother was actually being very accommodating of late.

  ‘Have you told her yet about the phone call?’

  ‘What phone call?’

  ‘The day after your house burned down. From that Leo guy in America.’

  Lottie had thought very little about it. She had enough on her plate without some long-lost relative turning up on her doorstep. Or her mother’s doorstep, for that matter. ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘I think you should. What if he rings again? Maybe even turns up here?’

  ‘Can you read my mind?’

  ‘Just saying.’

  ‘He’s not going to turn up. And anyway, I’ve enough on my mind at the moment.’

  ‘Then why are you worrying about my divorce?’

  ‘I only asked you a question, which you refused to answer. Are you finished eating? We’d better get back to work.’

  ‘Just so you know, I’m no different from before I got the piece of paper confirming what was already dead years ago. Okay?’

  It was on the tip of her tongue to mention his liaison with Cynthia Rhodes, but common sense intervened. They split the bill, though she left most of her sandwich behind. She just couldn’t eat.

  Gilly cornered Kirby as he exited the team meeting.

  ‘Hi, can I have a word?’ she said, blushing slightly as Maria Lynch passed them in the corridor.

  ‘I’m up to my lugs,’ Kirby said. ‘Later.’

  ‘This is work-related.’

  ‘Two minutes.’ He walked towards the office, but she pulled him back.

  ‘In private.’ She started walking down the stairs. On the turn, she stopped and faced him.

  ‘What’s so important?’ he said.

  ‘I need to have a word with Wes Finnegan, the bus driver. Can you arrange it?’

  ‘Why? You’re not involved in the murder investigations.’

  Pushing defiance into her demeanour, Gilly folded her arms. ‘I was following this Max Collins yesterday. The guy who Finnegan reported for stealing cash from his bus. And he disappeared into the industrial estate. I was thinking that maybe Finnegan might know where Collins’s bolthole is.’

  ‘And why would you think that?’

  ‘I tried Collins’s home earlier and he wasn’t there. And if he knew where the money was kept on the bus, that suggests he was a little more familiar with Finnegan than he reported.’

  She watched Kirby closely as he stuck a file under one arm and tapped his shirt pocket for a cigar. He found his e-cig instead, and jammed it in his mouth.

  ‘Seems plausible enough,’ he said. ‘Do you want a formal interview or—’

  ‘Just a quick word in the cell. Before he’s released.’ She unfolded her arms and grabbed the e-cig from his mouth. ‘These things are as bad as cigars.’

  ‘Hasn’t been scientifically proven,’ he said. ‘Come on. We have to let him go soon, nothing to hold him on.’

  * * *

  Wes Finnegan was marching around the cell when the duty sergeant opened the door. The blue light caused a ghostly shadow to spread over his face.

  Gilly closed the door behind her. ‘Sit down for a minute, Mr Finnegan.’ She had to act quickly. The bus driver was about to be released. Without forensic evidence, they had nothing, and the football shorts could have been bought anywhere.

  ‘You’ve no right to be keeping me here. I didn’t do nothing to those boys. I’ll be complaining to my solicitor when he gets here – if he ever gets here, the useless bastard.’

  ‘This isn’t about the boys. You reported money stolen from your bus and pointed me in the direction of Max Collins. Is that correct?’

  Finnegan sat down on the cold seat and stared at his laceless shoes.

  ‘I want to withdraw that report.’

  ‘Why?’ Gilly was confused. ‘You were adamant yesterday that you wanted him arrested and your money returned.’

  ‘That was yesterday. Before all this shite. I need to get out. I’ve a business to run. I’ll deal with Collins myself. Just let me out of here.’

  He sounded like a petulant child who’d had his toys confiscated. The smell of his body odour was overwhelming, and Gilly wondered how anyone travelled on his bus without passing out.

  ‘You’ve reported a theft. It’s my duty to follow that up. You’ve also made an allegation against a young man who has the right to defend himself. My question to you, Mr Finnegan, is do you know whereabouts in the industrial estate I might find Max Collins?’

  ‘The industrial estate? I don’t know what you mean.’

  But hi
s face told her he did. The colour swept up from his neck and settled in a red blush beneath his sagging eyes.

  ‘If you want to get out of here today, you should tell me,’ she bluffed.

  A loud sigh flew from his bulbous lips. ‘Tyre depot. The one up the first right-hand road after the dog track. It’s closed down, but I think he hangs out there. Smoking dope, if you ask me.’

  Gilly pressed the buzzer and the door opened. She stepped out into the fresh air and inhaled deeply. As the duty sergeant swung the door shut, she could hear Finnegan cursing and swearing to be released.

  She went to find Kirby.

  Kirby was huffing down the corridor when Lottie and Boyd returned.

  ‘Any luck at Munbally?’ he said.

  ‘No. Hope wasn’t there.’ Lottie squeezed past him into the office. He traipsed in after her.

  ‘I followed up with Miss Conway,’ he said.

  ‘Miss Conway?’

  ‘The boys’ primary school teacher.’

  ‘What did she have to say?’ Suddenly Lottie felt hungry. She should have brought the sandwich back with her.

  ‘She says Hope hadn’t worked at the school for six months. Said she shouldn’t really have been on the list of staff.’

  ‘Why did she give up work?’

  ‘Miss Conway wasn’t sure. Apparently she just stopped coming in. No explanation.’

  ‘Dead end there.’

  ‘But it still gives her a connection to the boys,’ Kirby said.

  ‘She also lived in the same estate,’ Boyd added. ‘Plenty of opportunity for contact.’

  ‘Yeah. She had to have known both boys. We really need to find her. Closure is needed on the death of the baby as well.’

  ‘She’s run away twice now,’ Boyd said. ‘Why run if you’re not guilty of something?’

  ‘Maybe she ran because she was terrified.’

  ‘Is Wes Finnegan still in the cells?’ Boyd asked.

  ‘I hope so,’ Lottie said, ‘or McMahon won’t be happy. He said he wanted someone’s arse shining the granite.’

  ‘More like greasing it,’ Kirby said, turning up his wide nose. ‘Yeah, he’s there. Waiting to be released. Our time for holding him is almost up.’

  ‘Finnegan says he found a plastic bag containing the football shorts on the floor of the bus. Brand new, he says.’ Lottie mulled over the bus driver’s explanation.

  ‘But why were they on his clothes line in the kitchen?’ Boyd said. ‘He didn’t answer that question.’

  ‘Too busy pointing the finger at Dr Duffy.’ Lottie threw her bag under her desk and went back to the main office.

  ‘Diversionary tactics,’ Kirby said.

  ‘Have you finished your trawl of the security footage from McDonald’s and the clubhouse?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘Tech guys have it now.’

  ‘And have you interviewed those you could identify?’

  ‘Most of them. All appear sound so far.’

  ‘What about the car park CCTV?’

  ‘I cross-referenced it with the times of people leaving McDonald’s. Anyone who said they had a car there drove off within a few minutes of leaving the restaurant.’

  ‘Go over it again.’

  Kirby said, ‘There is something you might be interested in.’

  Lottie leaned against the wall and folded her arms, still thinking about what could have made Hope run away. Again. Could she really have murdered her own baby and the two boys?

  ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘I was running background checks on the people associated with the boys’ team. And I think I found something.’

  ‘Spit it out.’ Lottie straightened up and stood at Kirby’s shoulder as his thick fingers punched keys on his computer.

  ‘Rory Butler,’ he said.

  ‘What about him?’ Boyd moved to Kirby’s other shoulder.

  Another punch of the return key and Kirby scrolled down through a charge sheet. Lottie scanned it.

  ‘Mr Butler left London in a quite a hurry.’

  ‘There was a warrant for his arrest,’ Boyd said, reading the words on the screen. ‘Insurance fraud.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Kirby said. ‘But look down here. All charges were dropped.’

  ‘How was he able to pour so much money into renovating his grandfather’s house?’ Lottie looked over Kirby’s head at Boyd. ‘If it wasn’t his own cash, whose was it? We need to bring him in again. He has no alibi for either night and he had access to both boys.’

  ‘And another thing …’ Kirby said.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I followed up with Gaddstown bingo group. Spoke with one very inquisitive lady there. Mrs Courtney. Runs the community centre where the bingo takes place. She seems to know everyone by name. And she told me Jen Driscoll was not at the bingo on Sunday night.’

  ‘So where was she when Mikey was taken?’

  Acting Superintendent McMahon stuck his head around the door. ‘Inspector, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. My office, now.’ He disappeared again.

  Kirby looked up at Lottie and Boyd. ‘Is it my imagination, or is he sounding more like Superintendent Corrigan with each passing day?’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Boyd said. ‘What are you going to do now, Lottie?’

  She was already following McMahon down the corridor.

  * * *

  ‘I’ve had a call from Cynthia Rhodes.’

  Lottie remained standing even though McMahon had indicated for her to sit down.

  ‘Interesting conversation,’ he continued, walking to the window and looking out. He turned around. ‘She’s been talking to a relative of yours.’

  ‘My mother?’ What had Rose done now? Just when Lottie thought things had calmed down.

  ‘No, not your mother. Do you know a Leo Belfield?’

  What the …? Where had that come from? A hundred scenarios whirled around in her brain. She sat down.

  ‘No. Why?’ Play dumb, she thought.

  ‘He’s asking questions about you.’

  ‘Really. Can’t say I recognise the name.’

  ‘Your face tells a completely different story.’

  ‘I might have heard it. Not sure where, though.’

  ‘You’re not a great liar.’ He moved back to his desk and sat down. ‘Will I tell you what I’ve heard?’

  ‘That would be a help.’

  ‘This Leo Belfield is a NYPD detective. And he is in Ragmullin and—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Let me finish.’

  When Lottie closed her mouth, she nodded for him to continue.

  ‘He’s asking around about you. Sourced Cynthia and quizzed her. But she, not being that long in Ragmullin, didn’t know a whole lot, so she referred him to me.’

  Clamping her mouth shut, Lottie waited him out.

  ‘I had a coffee with him this morning. Nice chap. Very American.’

  ‘Well, he is an American,’ she said.

  ‘Ha! You do know him.’

  ‘You said he was NYPD.’

  He opened a notebook on his desk. She craned to see if she could read it upside down. He slapped his hand over it. ‘He’s trying to trace family from the Ragmullin area. Said he might be your half-brother. Know anything about that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He mentioned that his mother is Alexis Belfield. From Farranstown. And then I recalled the case that initially brought me to Ragmullin. The murder of Marian Russell.’

  ‘So?’ Still playing dumb, but she knew McMahon wasn’t buying it.

  ‘If I find out you did not declare an interest in an active investigation, you will be out on your ear.’

  ‘How could I declare an interest in something I knew nothing about? Come on, give me a break here. What does this Leo guy want with me?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I’m warning you, if you’ve been untruthful, it will spell trouble for you.’

  She could feel the blood boil in her veins. She repeated, ‘What does he wa
nt with me?’

  ‘Digging for dirt. Some half-brother that is, though it doesn’t surprise me.’

  She bit down a retort. No point in giving McMahon more ammunition. He appeared to have amassed quite enough as it was. And no matter which way she analysed it, she knew he was keeping something from her.

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘I want an update on the murders on my desk in the next ten minutes.’

  ‘Consider it done.’ She stood up and left the office.

  In the corridor, she leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath. This Leo had sought out Cynthia Rhodes for information. And she’d seen the reporter with Boyd in Danny’s Bar. Had she been pumping him for information? What had McMahon got written in his notebook? And who the hell was Leo Belfield?

  She slapped the heel of her hand against her forehead. She could do without this shite right now.

  Fifty-Nine

  Lottie walked back to her office and sat at her desk, wondering about Leo Belfield and the fact that this stranger had been asking questions behind her back. One thing was certain, she would have to confront Boyd about his chat with Cynthia. First, though, they had a job to do.

  ‘Boss?’ Maria Lynch walked in, a file open in her hand, perched on her baby bump. ‘Have you got a minute?’

  Lottie wanted to hightail it out of the station before anyone else landed bad news in her lap, but she directed the detective into her office, conscious that they’d hardly spoken two words since Lynch’s accusation about Ben.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I was helping Kirby with the background checks for the persons of interest in the boys’ murder, and—’

  ‘Wait a minute. Didn’t I tell you to concentrate on the death of the baby?’

  ‘You did, but the only lead in that investigation so far is Hope Cotter, and she’s gone to ground. Everyone in the district is on alert for her. Unless you want me to twiddle my thumbs …’

  ‘There’s follow-up on the lab work. The post-mortem report. I can’t do it all. I need you to concentrate.’

  Lynch stood in silence.