DI Lottie Parker 06-Final Betrayal

by Gibney, Patricia

  ‘Perhaps you should stay in today. Louis has a touch of a cold and it might be best to keep him in an even temperature.’ She placed the jacket on the table.

  ‘There’s something you’re not telling me, Mam.’

  ‘Just be watchful. That’s all. I’m investigating two brutal murders of young women not much older than you, so you never know.’ She had already spoken to her daughters about the murders, but they had no recollection of seeing anything untoward on Saturday night at the club.

  ‘Thanks for the reassurance,’ Katie said.

  ‘Is that a cynical reply?’

  ‘No, Mam. Only you do the cynical stuff, along with the crazy stuff.’ Katie stood, and Lottie felt the warmth of her daughter’s arms circle her shoulders in a hug. She smelled Louis on her, and it was calming.

  ‘Now, get a bowl, spoon and milk. I’ve to go to work.’

  Lottie picked up Louis’ jacket to hand it to Katie. As she did so, she heard the tinkle of something hitting the floor. She looked down at the dizzying white tiles. What was it? A small disc, glinting in the half-light shining through the window. Her breath caught in her throat. She recognised the coin. An exact replica of the ones found at the murder scene and in Amy Whyte’s room.

  ‘What is it, Mam?’

  Lottie dropped to her knees to inspect the coin. ‘Katie … where were you yesterday? Who were you with?’

  ‘You’re scaring me now. What’s that? Did it fall out of Louis’ pocket?’

  ‘I think so. How did he get it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Where did you go with him while he was wearing this jacket?’

  Katie shrugged. ‘Town. To Granny’s house for a few minutes and the chemist for lemon syrup for Louis. I stopped at Fallon’s for a bowl of soup. Then I came home. That’s all.’

  ‘And you had Louis in your sight at all times?’

  ‘Of course I did. What’s this about, Mam?’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  Lottie saw the colour that had risen in Katie’s cheeks slip slowly away. Her daughter’s eyes were darkening, and not just from the effect of smudged mascara.

  ‘When?’ she said. ‘When do you think you might not have had your eyes on him?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe when I was trying on clothes on Monday, in Jinx. But the shop assistant, June, she watched him for me. Mam! You’re scaring the shit out of me. What is it? What’s going on?’ Katie dropped to her knees beside Lottie.

  She had to defuse this immediately.

  ‘I think it’s just a cheap home-made disc of some sort. Maybe someone thought it was a euro and put it in his pocket trying to be kind.’ Lottie didn’t believe a word she’d just said. She added, ‘Now get your cereal and let me deal with this.’

  ‘Is it evidence of some sort?’ Katie got up and fetched a bowl and filled it with cornflakes and milk.

  Lottie shook her head slowly. ‘I doubt it. Leave it to me.’

  When Katie had left the kitchen, Lottie ran to the counter and unwrapped a pair of plastic gloves from a box in a drawer. Pulling on the gloves, she found a small freezer bag and placed the coin inside. She took it to the window where she had left the bag of seeds and wondered just what the hell was going on.

  Twenty-Nine

  The construction team had hit a brick wall. Literally.

  The foreman, Bob Cleary, scratched his head with a thick calloused finger, knocking his hard hat backwards so that its lamp pointed towards the roof, plunging the wall directly in front of him into darkness.

  ‘What the hell?’ He took out his flashlight and pulled the architect’s drawings from his pocket. Flattening the paper against the damp wall, he shone the light on it. The drawings were wrong. There was no wall in them. But he was standing facing it. Bloody unbelievable.

  He scrunched up the pages and shoved them back into his pocket. Placing his hard hat securely back on his head, he scanned the surrounding area. He’d known there were tunnels deep beneath the old courthouse and they had been clearly marked out. But this obstruction, or construction, whichever it was, was not documented on anything he’d seen.

  ‘This damn job gets harder by the day,’ he muttered. Already three months behind schedule, and this was another unforeseen obstacle.

  He hammered his fist against the wall, as if this action could make it disappear. Mortar crumbled against his fingers. With the nail of his index finger he scratched around the edge of the bricks. The cement wasn’t new, just damp from underground condensation. Bob had no idea how long the wall had been here, but he had to get rid of it, and quickly.

  His phone had no signal, so he began the trek back through the tunnel. There would be a lot of phone calls to make. And this cock-up was on the head of the architect. No way was Bob Cleary taking the blame for this one.

  ‘No way.’ His voice echoed back at him as he reached the top of the steps.

  Cyril Gill was going to chew his arse over this. Fuck and double fuck.

  * * *

  Lottie popped into McDonald’s for a coffee on her way into work. She was still convinced they did the best coffee in town, though Boyd was currently pontificating about Ragmullin’s newest coffee shop, The Bank. But she couldn’t be arsed looking for parking. Familiarity was the handier option. A television was streaming a twenty-four-hour news channel with the sound muted. Subtitles scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

  She had a dilemma to solve. Her family needed protection, but how was she going to convince McMahon to allocate resources when they were already stretched? If she relayed the reason why, she’d have to mention Bernie, and she didn’t want to do that if at all possible.

  As she waited for her coffee, her eye was drawn to the television screen. She felt her jaw slacken. Cynthia Rhodes was standing outside Ragmullin garda station. Lottie quickly followed the script scrolling beneath the reporter’s camel coat.

  Bernie Kelly, the serial killer who stalked Ragmullin a year ago, is reported to have escaped from the Central Mental Hospital. It is not known when she absconded. Authorities are warning the public to be on the lookout and not to approach her, but to contact the helpline.

  ‘Can you turn it up?’ Lottie frantically knocked on the steel counter, trying to get the barista’s attention.

  ‘Sorry. It’s controlled from the office.’

  ‘Just give me my coffee.’ She threw down two euros and grabbed the drink.

  As she turned away, she caught the last scrolling words before the bulletin moved to its next story.

  I can exclusively report new information that has come my way. Bernie Kelly is a sister of the detective who put her away. Detective Inspector Lottie Parker.

  ‘Fucking shit.’ Lottie ran out.

  She parked her car in the yard and was debating entering through the back door when she saw the melee of cameras and reporters turning the corner and heading for the gate. Nothing for it but to brave the storm.

  Of course Cynthia Rhodes was at the head of the pack, microphone in hand, camera held aloft by someone behind her. And a sea of smartphones raised high. Bollocks.

  Squaring her shoulders, Lottie headed straight towards her nemesis, intent on elbowing her in the gut as she passed.

  Cynthia smiled. ‘Detective Inspector Parker, can you tell me if it’s true that you were instrumental in gaining a day release for Bernie Kelly? The same woman you helped put behind bars?’

  ‘No comment.’ She was going to kill Leo. As soon as she found him. And then Bernie. As soon as she found her too.

  ‘Is it true that Bernie Kelly is your half-sister?’

  Lottie stopped, her blood rapidly reaching boiling point. ‘Oh, it’s half-sister now, is it? Ten minutes ago she was a fully fledged sibling.’ Her skin prickled.

  ‘My sources inform me that—’

  ‘What sources?’ Wrong to engage her, but she wanted to know.

  ‘My sources are confidential. Can you tell me—’

  ‘No comment.’
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  ‘Is she linked to the deaths of the two young women discovered yesterday?’

  Dipping her head, Lottie shouldered her way through the crowd, ignoring questions and almost tripping up the front steps when she reached them.

  ‘Where is she, Inspector?’ Cynthia’s voice carried over the pack.

  ‘I wish I knew.’ Lottie let the door slowly close on the reporter.

  Inside, she found Cyril Gill ranting and raving at the desk sergeant.

  ‘Mr Gill, can I help you?’ She dropped her keys into her bag and eased the man away from the desk and into the small interview room to her right. ‘What’s the matter?’

  The suave business persona she’d witnessed on Monday had been replaced by a wet and dishevelled-looking man. Lines of worry were etched into his jaw, and his eyes drooped, circled with black rings. He ran one hand furiously through his hair while trailing the other up and down his suit jacket, as if he was searching for something. The hem of his shirt was sticking out untidily over his belt.

  ‘My daughter, Louise. She didn’t come home last night. I’ve no idea where she is.’

  ‘Sit down, please,’ Lottie said as she took off her jacket. A sense of worry wormed its way through her veins. ‘Do you want me to make out a missing persons report?’

  ‘I want her found, that’s what I want.’

  ‘Please sit.’ Experience had taught her that distraught people needed to be taken in hand. Maybe she should take a leaf out of that bible herself. She was surprised when Gill complied.

  ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘About eight o’clock last night. We had an argument.’ He seemed to think better of this and added, ‘It wasn’t really an argument. I was trying to tell her that Amy Whyte, her old friend, had been found murdered. But she wouldn’t believe me. Ran out of the house with no phone or anything. And I haven’t seen her since.’

  ‘How old is Louise?’ But Lottie knew the girl’s age. Louise Gill had been with Amy Whyte ten years ago when they’d witnessed the aftermath of a crime and ID’d the culprit, Conor Dowling. Lottie couldn’t shake the feeling that Louise being missing and Amy being dead were connected.

  ‘Twenty-five,’ Gill said. ‘But she’s still my baby girl.’

  ‘Tell me more.’

  He sighed and clenched his hands into fists on the table. ‘What’s to tell. I don’t know where she is and I’m worried.’

  ‘Was she still friends with Amy Whyte?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I don’t think so.’ He seemed evasive, shifty somehow. ‘A few years after the Dowling court case, they drifted apart. College and stuff.’

  ‘Why was she so upset when you told her about Amy’s murder?’ Lottie was intrigued, and worried.

  ‘I don’t know. Honestly.’

  ‘Maybe she went to Amy’s house. Did you check?’

  ‘I went round there first thing this morning. She hadn’t been there. Richard’s in a state.’

  ‘Did you ring her?’

  ‘I told you already, she left without her phone. Inspector, my Louise is a quiet girl. Reclusive even. She spends every waking hour studying and writing up her thesis. I have no idea why she hasn’t come home.’

  ‘Has she any other friends?’

  He shrugged slowly, like his shoulders were struggling to hold up his head. ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘Boyfriend?’

  ‘Why are you asking these questions?’ A light flared in his eyes. Anger? Or desperation? Lottie wasn’t sure, but she was certain he was holding something back.

  ‘Because it’s possible Louise is with a friend.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ He fidgeted on the chair. A lie, she thought.

  ‘Do you have her phone?’

  He slipped it out of his pocket, unlocked it and placed it on the table.

  ‘Have you checked her contact list?’

  ‘I rang everyone on it. It’s not a huge list, as you can see.’

  Scrolling through the contacts, Lottie was surprised to find that a twenty-five-year-old girl could have so few people listed. Then a thought struck her. ‘Has she a second phone?’

  ‘A second phone? What would she want with another one. This is the latest model.’

  He obviously didn’t know how young people operated. Lottie tapped on Louise’s social media apps. There were no recent updates.

  ‘There must be someone she confides in.’

  He was shuffling his feet. Biting the inside of his mouth. Scratching away at an invisible speck on the desk. ‘There’s this girl, Cristina. Louise doesn’t know that I’m aware of their … friendship. But I rang her and there’s no answer.’

  ‘What’s her full name and where does she live?’ Lottie’s intuition told her Cyril Gill was uncomfortable with Louise’s relationship with the girl.

  He gave her the name and address. Cristina Lee. A name she thought she’d heard somewhere recently. She wrote down both. ‘And is this Cristina a good friend?’

  ‘I don’t know what she is, but I want my Louise home.’

  ‘I understand your concern and I’ll see what I can do.’ With Conor Dowling out of prison and two murder victims lying in the morgue, Lottie was more than concerned for Louise’s well-being, but she couldn’t convey that to Cyril Gill. ‘Strictly speaking, we have to wait forty-eight hours before classing this as a missing person case, so in the meantime, I’d advise you to do your best to find your daughter yourself.’

  ‘You’re a waste of space. I’m going straight out to talk to those reporters outside. Then we’ll see who puts resources into finding my daughter.’

  ‘Mr Gill …’

  But he was gone.

  Lottie hoped Louise was safe, but instinctively she knew something was drastically wrong. She stood up slowly and wondered what other shit was going to blow up a storm today.

  Thirty

  There was no sign of Cyril Gill, and he wasn’t answering his phone. Bob Cleary felt the perspiration of desperation pooling between his shoulder blades, soaking his shirt. He tore off his work jacket and paced the enclosed confines of the Portakabin. The walls dripped with condensation, and he felt every one of those drops like a hammer pounding against his skin. Gill was going to crucify him. What the hell was he to do? Deal with it. That’s what the boss would say. Yeah, that’s what he had to do.

  He stuck his head outside and searched for a few lads he could trust. When he had three of them, he loaded up a jackhammer and tools on a trolley and directed them to follow him.

  With four sets of lights beaming the way forward, he made it to the obstructing wall quicker than he had exited. He barked out orders and the men set to work. Bob watched them drilling. He was certain that the wall was not part of the original tunnel. Maybe that was why it hadn’t shown up on any drawings or plans. So what was it for? Why was it here?

  As they made the opening larger, he put up his hand to halt the excavation. He shoved his head into the narrow aperture, which was illuminated dimly by the light on his helmet.

  ‘What the holy fuckin’ hell?’

  ‘What’s up, boss?’

  One of the men shoved Bob sideways and he almost collapsed against the drenched tunnel wall.

  ‘Jesus. Oh my God. It’s bones,’ the man shouted.

  Bob regained his balance and control of the situation. That was why he was the foreman, after all. ‘Hand me a proper torch,’ he said.

  ‘Should we drill away a bit more so you can get in?’

  ‘Give me a minute, for God’s sake.’ He shone the torch around the now exposed cell. Because that was what it looked like. It appeared to be man-made, and there was an opening on the far side. He drew his eyes back to the bones. They were clothed in no more than rags, but it was enough to make him realise he was staring at the remains of a human being. Male or female? He had no idea. Now he had a dilemma. Should he call the guards, or try to make contact with Mr Gill?

  ‘Boss, I think that’s a body.’

  ‘You don’t sa
y, Einstein.’ Bob made a face at Tony Keegan. The man was a right dope. ‘Let me have a closer look. Oh yeah, you’re right. It is a body. How could I have missed that? Lucky you were here.’

  He felt Tony step back, and a cloud of fetid air seemed to fill the void.

  ‘Been down here a while,’ another brainbox said.

  ‘When I want an opinion, I’ll ask for it, okay?’

  ‘Okay, boss. But I still think—’

  ‘Shut up.’ Bob was sorry he hadn’t done the job himself. Without an audience. This would be around town before lunchtime. He had to act fast.

  ‘Right, you might not agree with this course of action, but I don’t want a word of this outside of us four. Got it?’ Some hope of that happening, he thought.

  ‘Got it,’ came the chorus of replies.

  ‘We’re going to forget about it until I decide what to do.’ He picked up the drill and directed the men back up the tunnel. This was going to be messy, and not just removing the bones. The consequences for the job. The aftermath.

  * * *

  The morning was so hectic, Lottie almost forgot about the seeds she’d picked up from her doorstep and the coin that had fallen from Louis’ jacket. She was sure the seeds had something to do with Bernie, but for the moment she was more concerned about Louise Gill and the coin. It was a definite link to the two murders, so why had it been placed in her grandson’s pocket? Forensics needed to examine it. She had to log it and do it by the book.

  Perhaps the coin would help her convince Superintendent McMahon to provide a squad car to keep watch over her family. If he didn’t agree, she was going to organise it herself and feck the consequences. Her family were more important than her job.

  * * *

  Conor followed Tony around the side of the courthouse and took a cigarette from his friend’s shaking hands.

  ‘What are you on about?’ he said, and lit both cigarettes

  ‘I swear to God, it’s a real live dead body.’

  ‘You’re talking pure shite. Calm down.’ Conor took a drag and curled up in a fit of coughing. He should never have gone back on them. Tony’s fault. Again. ‘Where?’