Tell Nobody: Absolutely gripping crime fiction with unputdownable mystery and suspense Page 8

  ‘Detective Sergeant Boyd, isn’t it?’ she said, flicking up her spectacles with a short black-varnished nail. The rest of her grooming was shabby, he noted, as she pulled down the zipper of her leather jacket. An AC-DC T-shirt and black jeans gave her the full biker look. But Boyd felt she was trying a little too hard, and in doing so, she was failing.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ he said, and beckoned to the woman behind the bar. He hoped his sandwich would arrive as quickly as the tea he now ordered.

  ‘I’ll have the same,’ Cynthia said to the girl.

  ‘Haven’t seen you in Danny’s before.’

  ‘You come here a lot, then?’

  ‘That sounds like a corny pick-up line.’

  ‘Maybe it is.’ She laughed, even white teeth gleaming in the half-light. ‘Or maybe I’m just asking a simple question.’

  ‘I come in from time to time.’

  ‘So, I could be here more than the odd time.’ She grinned, but it slipped away instantaneously. ‘I heard you found a body.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ He wasn’t falling into her trap. Cynthia had almost ruined Lottie’s career on their last case by interviewing her at an inopportune moment, catching the inspector unawares and then broadcasting it to the nation. Only Lottie’s diligence in solving the crime had saved her.

  ‘Oh, come on, the whole town is talking about it.’

  ‘Why are you asking me, then?’ Boyd sipped his tea.

  ‘I see you went to the Lottie Parker school of no comment. Let’s just drop the job descriptions and have a normal chat.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Anything you like. Football. The weather. Ragmullin. I’m not picky.’

  ‘Thought you were back working in Dublin.’

  ‘I follow the stories. And Ragmullin’s returned to the news. So here I am.’

  ‘You won’t get any news out of me, Cynthia. Wait for the press conference.’ As he turned slightly towards her, he thought he saw Lottie rushing out of the pub. Surely not? But if it had been her, what would she have made of him chatting with her nemesis? Not good.

  ‘When will that be?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The press conference about the body?’

  ‘What body?’

  ‘The one that was found at the clubhouse. Gosh, you’re hard work.’

  Boyd’s sandwich was placed in front of him. He no longer had any appetite. As he took out his wallet to pay, he said to the reporter, ‘You can have that. I know it’s not news, but you seem hungry for something.’

  He didn’t wait for his change.

  ‘Hey, Boyd?’

  He turned around.

  ‘I only wanted to chat. Really.’

  ‘Why don’t you call your friend Superintendent McMahon, then?’

  And he kept on going.

  That hadn’t gone quite to plan, Cynthia thought as she munched Boyd’s abandoned sandwich. With her other hand she swiped through the contacts on her phone, her finger hovering over David McMahon’s name. Should she? No, he’d want her to dig up more dirt on Lottie Parker in exchange for information. She’d tried that a few months ago with an interview that should have seen Parker consigned to the early-retirement heap, but it hadn’t turned out that way. Parker had dodged the bullet.

  Maybe she could follow her again and catch her making a mistake. The best chance she had of that was by making friends with someone in the force besides David McMahon. She’d liked the look of Boyd, with his clean-cut looks and his nice suit. His ears did stick out a bit too much, but she could forgive him that. Yes, she would get him on side and then she’d find out Parker’s real weakness.

  With her mind made up, she drained her tea and left with the crust of the sandwich in her hand.

  Twenty-Two

  Lottie slammed the office door and shoved her fist into her mouth so that she wouldn’t bite her nails. What was Boyd doing meeting Cynthia Rhodes? Was he beginning a relationship with her now that he had been granted his divorce? No, surely not.

  A few minutes later, Boyd himself sauntered into the main office. She could see him through the glass in her door. He was wearing that smug grin, the one she normally loved, but now she found it galled her. Without thought for her actions, she jumped up and went out to the general office.

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Having something to eat,’ Boyd said, the smile slipping down his face like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Jesus, Lottie.’ Boyd raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s got into you?’

  ‘What’s got into you, more like,’ she snapped. ‘The name Cynthia mean anything to you?’ She mentally kicked herself. Why had she gone and said that? Too late to take it back now.

  ‘If you want to know, Ms Rhodes sat herself down beside me while I was waiting for my sandwich and tried to start up a conversation. Anything else you’d like me to report?’

  Sucking in her breath, Lottie turned on her heel and marched out of the office. She leaned against the wall in the corridor and exhaled long and hard.

  When she looked up, Boyd was standing beside her. ‘What was that about in there?’

  ‘Nothing. Feck off, Boyd.’

  He disappeared and she berated herself for her childishness. Damn it, Parker. It had been a long day. Too long. She had to get home. But first there was work to do.

  Then she was having a drink. Fuck it.

  * * *

  With SOCOs still processing the scene where Mikey Driscoll’s body had been found, Lottie would have to wait for the post-mortem to take place, probably in the morning, to know what she was dealing with. She’d forwarded the boy’s toothbrush for analysis so they could get a positive ID. But there was no doubt it was Mikey.

  With no reported sightings of Hope Cotter, she returned her attention to the baby. There was still no word on that PM. She thought of the teenagers who had found him. Her son and Barry Duffy. She knew Sean was fine, because she had checked in on him, but she had to be sure Barry was okay.

  She left the office and headed to the Duffy home, which was built on an acre of ground on the outskirts of Ragmullin, by the old Dublin road. She parked the car on the shingle drive in front of the two-storey house, which sported a dormer window to one side of a whitewashed wall. The door was solid timber, painted bottle green. There was no bell. She lifted the brass knocker and let it fall loudly, thinking that there was plenty of money behind the glossy door.

  She was about to knock again when the door opened.

  ‘I’m Inspector Lottie Parker, Ragmullin gardaí. Can I have a word, please?’

  As the tall woman stood back to allow her to enter, Lottie took in the thin, worried face, skin so white it was almost transparent, the dark hair tied into a loose ponytail hanging over one shoulder, and the pristine white jeans with a matching long shirt. Bare feet. Mid thirties, she estimated.

  ‘Julia Duffy,’ the woman said, and Lottie took her hand and found it damp. The diamond on the ring finger was bigger than any she had ever seen. ‘Are you here about this morning? About Barry discovering that baby’s body?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lottie seated herself on a leather armchair in a large room, minimalist in design and wanting in colour. A pale painting in a large frame hung on the wall. Otherwise there were no ornaments, books or clutter.

  ‘Barry is fine. A bit shaken, if I’m to be honest. Paul – that’s his dad, my husband – gave him a mild sedative. He’s a doctor. Barry’s in bed now. Resting. Don’t think he’s been in bed this early since he was a toddler. Is there something wrong?’

  ‘No, nothing’s wrong. He was fishing down by the canal with my son Sean when they discovered the body. A traumatic experience for them both. I just wondered how he was doing.’

  ‘Your son? Sean is your son? Is he okay?’

  ‘He’s fine,’ Lottie said. She felt her cheeks flush. Was Sean okay? It was a few hours since she had called her mother. He’d been fine then. But now? Shit, here she was c
hecking up on someone else’s son when she should have gone to her own first. Par for the course.

  ‘Good.’ Julia wrestled her hands together, her brow creased in a worry line. ‘Was there anything else?’ Her eyes kept darting to the door. Wide brown pools flickering around, like a frightened puppy.

  Lottie said, ‘I’d like Barry to come to the station tomorrow to make a formal statement. Either you or your husband will have to accompany him.’

  Julia nodded, then looked up at Lottie from beneath long dark lashes. ‘Someone mentioned to Barry at the station that you’re assigning a family liaison officer to us. We don’t need one.’

  ‘It’s advisable but it’s also up to you. I’m concerned for your son’s welfare. It must have been an awful shock for him.’

  Julia shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Any word on who the baby belongs to? Or do you know what happened?’

  ‘No, not yet.’ Why had she come here? She’d have been better served heading straight home to her own family.

  The door opened and a man entered, also in his bare feet, dressed in blue jeans and an open-necked white shirt. His black hair was peppered with grey and his face was long and creviced. He appeared to be quite a bit older than his wife.

  Lottie shook his proffered hand.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Dr Duffy?’

  ‘Paul,’ he said. ‘You’re here about Barry? He’s resting. Terrible thing to happen to him.’

  ‘And to the baby,’ Lottie said before she could stop herself.

  ‘Yes, of course. Tragic. Any progress on your investigation?’

  ‘Not yet. We’re working flat out.’

  ‘I’m sure you are.’

  Was there an insinuation there? She wasn’t at all sure. I’m tired, she thought. Seeing things that weren’t there.

  ‘Can we do anything to help?’ Duffy asked, sitting on the arm of his wife’s chair and taking her hand in his. To stop her fidgeting, or genuine concern? Stop, Parker.

  ‘No, not at all. I’m just checking that Barry is okay and whether he remembered anything else.’

  ‘He barely spoke about it. Quite spooked, actually.’

  ‘I can imagine. Not a nice situation to find yourself in, especially for a young boy.’ Lottie stood up. ‘Well, if he recalls anything else, tell him to ring me, and please bring him to the station to make that statement.’ She handed over her card.

  Paul stood and took it before his wife’s outstretched hand made contact. ‘Of course. I’ll see you out. Julia, are you going to finish off that painting any time soon? The kitchen is in a state and we have dinner to prepare.’

  ‘Sure,’ Julia said. ‘Nice to meet you, Inspector.’ She scuttled out before Lottie could reply.

  She felt her elbow being gripped lightly, and Duffy led her to the front door. Her boots clattered on the marble floor and she wondered if perhaps she should have taken them off when she arrived. Too late now.

  She turned to Duffy as he opened the door. Lottie was tall, but he must be over six feet, she estimated. ‘Tell Barry he can talk to me any time. About anything. You have my number.’

  ‘Of course. Thank you for your concern. Goodnight now.’

  The door shut the second she was outside it. There had been an uneasy atmosphere in the house, and she wondered why Julia Duffy had looked so tentative and anxious when her husband entered the room. And how did she put up with being talked to like that?

  By the time Lottie pulled up outside her mother’s house, she was still none the wiser.

  Twenty-Three

  The house was warm, the smell of freshly baked bread permeating the air. Rose was fussing at the oven, so Lottie went in search of Sean.

  She found him sitting up in bed wearing new earphones, which he pulled down to his neck when she entered.

  ‘Hi, Mam. Any news on the baby?’

  ‘You’re pale,’ she said, and sat on the side of his bed. ‘Did Granny look after you all right today?’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Save me from her. I can’t take much more fussing.’

  Lottie laughed. ‘The house should be ready soon. Then we can relax a little.’

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  ‘Did you eat?’

  ‘Granny insists on force-feeding me. Afraid I’m going to faint or something. Tell her to stop. Please.’

  ‘You’ll have to make a formal statement. I’ll bring you in with me in the morning. That okay?’

  ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘Yes.’ She stood up and leaned over him, feathering his hair with a kiss. ‘Want to tell me anything I don’t already know?’

  ‘It was only one can, Mam.’

  ‘Sure it was. But tell me about this Barry. Is he a new friend of yours?’

  ‘I know him from school. Met up a few times. Lives just down the road. Thought you’d be happy to see me getting out in the fresh air for a change.’

  ‘I am. But—’

  ‘But you didn’t think I’d find a new case for you, did you?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Where’s Dad’s stuff? His fishing gear?’

  ‘It’s still at the station. You can pick it up in the morning. But no fishing for a little while, okay?’

  ‘Whatever.’ Lottie felt her son’s eyes studying her. He said, ‘You look stressed, Mam.’

  ‘It was a hard day. Another body was found this afternoon.’

  ‘What? That’s terrible. Not another baby, I hope. That’d be too mental.’

  ‘It was a young boy. And I had to break the bad news to his mother. Sometimes I hate my job.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Mikey Driscoll. Only eleven years old.’ Looking at her son, she could see a line of worry creasing his brow. ‘What is it, Sean? Did you know him?’

  ‘Jeez, Mam. Mikey used to play under-eights hurling for a while, when I was playing under-twelves. He was the nicest, quietest kid ever. I only saw him yesterday, at the match. He scored a beauty of a goal.’

  ‘And how did he seem last night?’

  ‘He was flying. Buzzing, because he scored the winner. Oh Mam, I can’t believe it.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. Don’t you be worrying about it. Rest up. I’m going to find your sisters and Louis. The house is very quiet.’

  ‘Oh, they went into town. To escape from Granny.’

  Lottie checked the time on her phone. ‘They should be back by now. It’s getting late.’

  ‘It’s summer time. Let them have some fun.’

  ‘Says the wise old man. Did they take Louis with them?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘I imagine so. Ask the Wicked Witch of the West.’

  Lottie lightly swiped Sean away. ‘Messer.’ She was glad he appeared undamaged by his tragic discovery. Hopefully he would stay that way.

  In the kitchen, the smell of a stew cooking caused her stomach to growl in anticipation. Her mother was reading a newspaper at the table.

  ‘That boy needs minding,’ Rose said without looking up.

  ‘I know, and I’m eternally grateful to you for looking after him while I’m at work.’

  ‘Don’t be smart with me. I know you have to work and I know he is just gone fifteen; all the same, you should give your children more of your time.’

  Lottie didn’t rise to the bait. She was in no humour for a row. Today had been too traumatic already. ‘Where are the girls? And Louis?’

  ‘They went into town around three. Chloe has to work later. Should be home soon. I told them I was cooking a stew. They like that.’

  Maybe they’d like it in the dead of winter, Lottie thought, but not in the heat of summer. She hoped the girls would at least attempt to turn up and eat something. Otherwise Rose would sulk. Caught between her elderly parent and three children, Lottie didn’t know if she was coming or going at times.

  A sweating Katie rushed in, dragging the stroller behind her.

  ‘Hi, Mam,’ she said, bumping by Lottie. ‘I have to change Louis. He has a dirty nappy.’ She too
k the boy into her arms and moved towards the bedroom. ‘Can’t go anywhere with him.’

  ‘Where’s Chloe?’ Lottie said.

  ‘Being a bore as usual,’ Katie called, and Louis began to cry. ‘I wanted to look at baby clothes and she wanted to buy a pair of jeans, so we had a row and she stormed off.’

  ‘Drama queens,’ Sean said, coming into the kitchen.

  ‘Dinner’s ready,’ Rose proclaimed, standing up. ‘She’d better be here soon.’

  ‘You can always stick it in the microwave,’ Lottie said, fetching plates from the cupboard.

  The sharp look that Rose gave her was enough to staunch any further argument.

  ‘Just saying,’ Lottie muttered under her breath. And she couldn’t stop wondering why Boyd had been sitting with Cynthia Rhodes in the pub.

  Twenty-Four

  The vehicle shook from side to side. The back seat had been removed for this purpose alone.

  When the man was finished, he kicked out at Max as if he were shit on his shoe.

  Max felt for his jeans and tried to pull them up. The smell of cigarette smoke awoke a longing in him for nicotine and something stronger. Something to take away the pain.

  ‘You’re getting a bit old for me,’ the man said.

  ‘That’s your problem.’

  Another drag on the cigarette. ‘Smart alec.’

  ‘You’re a bastard,’ Max said.

  ‘And so are you. Now get out. I’ve bingo ladies to pick up.’

  Max jumped out. In the dimming evening light, there was no one around except a couple of joggers in the park, phones strapped to their arms and buds in their ears. Exhaust fumes belched from the departing vehicle, and the pint he’d downed in Fallon’s bar earlier lurched from his stomach out onto the side of the road. Bent over, he thought he caught sight of someone behind a tree inside the park gates. Hallucinating now, he thought. He needed a joint. Badly.