‘What?’
‘I should have said. The map shows only the public access points. I’ve no idea how you would find the dozens of private moorings.’
‘Boyd?’ Lottie called. He moved beside her. ‘How can we find out all the access points to the lake shore?’
‘No idea.’
Another, older fisherman stepped forward. ‘There’s the lord. He might know.’
Lottie squinted at him, the rising sun glinting in her eyes. ‘The lord?’
‘You know, the old guy at Swift House. Though I think he might be dead now. Heard his grandson lives there, but that might be fiction. Swift Dock is five hundred metres that way, but you can only access it via the private road.’
Lottie looked over at McGlynn and his team as they entered and exited the tent. The young boy was screened from prying eyes, but it would be a long time before she would get the image of a sacrificial lamb out of her head.
‘Have you taken Mr Cross’s statement and details? And those of the other men?’
Kirby said, ‘I have.’
She turned to the fishermen. ‘You can all go home. There’ll be no fishing today, not from here anyway. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk to the media on your way out. We have yet to identify the boy and inform his next of kin.’
Daryl Cross shook his head as he gathered his belongings and set off with his friends, flanked by uniformed officers.
Lottie tore off her protective clothing and dumped it in a paper bag held ready for her by a SOCO. Skirting the edge of the cordon, she walked to the water’s edge. Soft foam frothed over pebbles as a warm breeze carried the scent of summer towards her. Swans were swimming around the boats.
Picking up a stone, she skimmed it out on the lake and watched the ripples extend. The boats were circling as men continued to fish. Was there someone out there who knew exactly what was going on? She had no idea, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling that if they were dealing with the same killer, then he would strike again.
She looked over her shoulder. For a second she thought she could feel someone watching her.
Thirty-One
I came back to the lake. Waited and watched.
He looked so beautiful lying there with his fair skin and red hair, like an angel waiting for a cloud to carry him to the heavens.
And then the fisherman with his arms full of equipment and jangling his keys made his way to open up the dock. What a shock he must have received when he saw what I had left out on display.
I hopped silently from foot to foot, watching and savouring his horror and panic. But I didn’t feel any empathy or sorrow for him. My thoughts were already on my next target.
The horrors that were visited on me and mine must not go on. The demons that convulsed my soul are being sated.
I gripped one hand with the other and made a prayer temple with my fingers. But I didn’t pray to any God in the heavens.
I prayed to the fires of hell to save me from my suffering.
I turned away, the long, dry grass crunching under my feet. I had no fear that anyone would hear or see me. They were all otherwise engaged.
Thirty-Two
Toby brushed his teeth. He knew they stuck out, and he wondered how he’d never been branded with a nickname. Something like Bugs Bunny. His brother was called Birdy because he had a nose like a beak. His granny had once had a dog called Toby, so his ma had told him. It had died the day he was born. His gran was so upset over the dog that his ma had called her new baby Toby in its memory. That was what he felt like now. A dead dog. Only he wasn’t dead. His best friend was.
He put his mouth under the flowing water and rinsed his teeth. He turned off the tap and wiped his face with a towel, then went back to his bedroom. Max was still snoring. Hearing horses neighing up behind the houses, he went to the window. He wished someone would rescue them.
He smiled as he remembered the day he and Mikey had skipped school, robbed a bag of carrots from Supervalue and sneaked down by the canal where the horses were usually tethered. They’d fed a scabby piebald the whole bag. He’d love to do that again. And then he remembered. There would never be any more days like that.
‘Toby? Are you getting up today?’
His ma.
He tried to answer. Opened his mouth and all. But nothing came out. He tried again, forcing sound from the back of his throat. A strangled groan began, then died. His eyes were spilling tears, his nose dripping snot, and his whole body was clogged with loneliness and sorrow.
He couldn’t utter a word.
Not even a curse.
Acting Superintendent David McMahon was parading around the incident room as Lottie entered with her detectives. What the hell, she thought. He was in full dress uniform with his cap under his arm.
‘What’s the occasion?’ She dumped her bag on the floor beside the top table.
‘Some of us have a press conference to attend, and I don’t want to be an ass turning up with no information. Tell me, what have you got for me?’
‘It would help if I knew what the press conference was for.’
‘Canal. Baby. Body. Soccer clubhouse. Another body.’ He marched into her personal space, spittle landing on her cheek. ‘Ring any bells in that empty skull of yours?’
Taking a deep breath, Lottie counted to three before exhaling. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her retaliate, or step away.
‘I’ve been at the scene of another suspicious death. If you give me five minutes, I’ll gather the information for—’
‘Five minutes? I haven’t got five seconds. I’m supposed to be down there by now.’ He made to walk away but turned back. ‘What suspicious death?’
If you hadn’t been dousing yourself with deodorant, she was going to say, you’d know. But she stopped herself just in time.
‘The body of a young boy was found this morning at seven forty-five. A local fisherman made the discovery at a private mooring area on a remote corner of Ladystown Lake.’
‘That’s all we need.’
‘I don’t think the lad asked to be murdered.’
‘Murdered? You sure?’
‘Not confirmed yet. But he had marks on his neck and arms, and he is dead.’ She couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her tone. ‘Hopefully the state pathologist will conduct a post-mortem soon. I’ll know more then. But first I need to find out who he is.’
McMahon said, ‘Get to it. I’ll try to deflect the questions.’
‘Hope your suit is made of Teflon, then.’
‘What?’
‘You’re good at handling questions, sir.’ Lottie recovered in time.
He paused. ‘Any news on the girl who fled the hospital?’
‘It’s been a busy morning and I’ve yet to check on that.’
‘I want her found and arrested immediately. She is our number one suspect for the baby’s death, and maybe the boy’s. In my press statement I’m going to mention that we have a suspect and we’ll be making an arrest later today.
‘I don’t think that’s wise,’ Lottie said, squaring her shoulders. ‘We don’t know where she is and we have nothing to link her to the dead baby, let alone to the Driscoll boy.’
‘She walks in here covered in blood. Tells all and sundry that she killed someone, and doctors say she had recently given birth. How many years have you been a detective, Parker? Don’t make me laugh. Find the evidence. I want her in a cell on my return. And don’t forget, she could have killed those boys too.’
‘I think you’re being a bit hasty, but leave it with me and—’
Lottie couldn’t let him get away with it, but she had no choice. He had left the room.
She pinned up a photo of the boy lying on the stone slab. Next to the body of the baby. Next to the body of Mikey Driscoll. Jane had planned to do both post-mortems this morning, but she’d had to leave the morgue to attend their most recent victim. More delays.
‘Right, everyone. We have three suspicious deaths. Kirb
y, you go to the clubhouse as we discussed earlier, and then McDonald’s, because that’s the last known sighting of Mikey Driscoll. Boyd and I will find out what we can about the victim at the lake.’
‘The two boys’ deaths must be related,’ Boyd said.
‘I agree. We’ll meet here later this afternoon to discuss our findings.’
‘Fine,’ Boyd said. But he didn’t sound happy.
Lottie squared her shoulders. ‘First off, we need to identify the baby. The lab will run the girl’s DNA against the baby’s once we have it. As usual they’ve got a backlog, so God only knows when we’ll have their results.’
Lynch came in, her huge bump slowing her, and sat down.
‘Lynch, will you liaise with the Duffys? Make sure Barry turns up for his interview, with one of his parents.’
‘What about your Sean?’ Lynch said.
‘He’s coming in later.’ Lottie didn’t want her son being interviewed formally, but she’d have to go by the book. Especially with Cynthia Rhodes sniffing around Boyd. She glanced over at him. He had his head studiously bowed. She continued.
‘This latest victim. Has he been reported missing? Check the database on missing persons, local and national. We need to identify him. I want a decent photo circulated, one that doesn’t look like a death mask.’ She eyed the picture she had put on the board. No, that wouldn’t work out in the public domain. ‘Have we any witnesses who saw him at the lake? According to Jim McGlynn, he was possibly alive up to two a.m. Where was he? How did he get to the lake? Check CCTV, taxi drivers. And find anyone who might have been at the lake or on the lake road last night. Kirby, any luck with the fishermen?’
‘I have uniforms waiting at all mooring points. Those we could find. Still have to locate Lord Muck and interview him.’
‘What about all our other work?’ Boyd said.
Making a nuisance of himself again, Lottie thought. ‘Reassign it.’
‘Sure,’ he said, without confidence.
Lottie sighed. She needed him on side. Now more than ever. Shit, she needed a drink.
‘And,’ he added, ‘we have to think seriously that this girl Hope killed the two boys.’
‘Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind,’ she said. She just hoped McMahon didn’t spit it out in his press conference.
* * *
Just as Lottie was leaving the incident room, Garda Gilly O’Donoghue rushed in.
‘I think I’ve found him.’
‘Found who?’
‘The boy at the lake.’ Gilly paused to catch her breath. She walked to the incident board. Studied the death-mask photograph of the boy lying on the stone with his face to the sun. ‘Kevin Shanley.’ She shoved a photocopied image into Lottie’s hand.
Lottie studied the monochrome photograph of the bright-eyed, smirking lad. Her hand trembled. It was their victim. Gilly handed over another page.
‘The parents came in earlier this morning to declare him missing.’ She filled Lottie in on the Shanleys’ visit.
Lottie looked at her. ‘Are you busy?’
‘I’m on desk duty.’
‘Okay. I’ll see if I can get you relieved. I need extra bodies.’ Seeing the look on Gilly’s face, she added, ‘I have enough dead bodies. I need ones that can help. You up for it?’
‘Sure am.’ Gilly smiled.
‘Where are the parents?’
‘Gone home. Will I send a family liaison officer?’
‘We’ll need to get someone from another district. Lynch has the training but she’s conducting interviews. I’ll head over with Boyd. You see if you can resurrect an active FLO.’
‘The desk duty?’ Gilly said.
‘Leave it with me. First I’d better go and see the Shanleys.’
Thirty-Three
Detective Maria Lynch was as sick as the proverbial dog. She hoped she didn’t look as green as she felt. Julia Duffy sat beside her son Barry in Interview Room 1. She was dressed in a tailored button-through red dress, with long red earrings and her hair groomed in an upstyle that Lynch coveted but could never manage with her own.
Barry looked more relaxed than when she’d seen him yesterday, which wasn’t hard. He slouched in the chair, his hair combed to the side, but his eyes were like sharp stones, boring through her. What’s your problem? she wondered. A young garda set up the recording equipment and Lynch began the interview.
‘Mrs Duffy, do you consent to your son being interviewed in relation to the finding of the body of an infant yesterday morning at the canal?’
‘We don’t have any choice, do we?’ Barry said.
‘Barry!’ Julia looked horrified. ‘That’s no way to speak to Detective Lynch. Please be polite.’
The room felt stifling. Lynch ran a finger around the neck of her shirt. She needed air. But she had to do this job first.
‘You were with Sean Parker, fishing along the canal, halfway between the harbour bridge and the Dublin bridge. Is that right?’
‘Right.’
‘How did you come to find the body?’
‘I didn’t find it. Sean did. We were messing with cans, getting ready to go home, when a can hit something in the water. Something … caught in the reeds. Sean put out his rod and dragged it towards us. That’s when we saw it was a … a baby.’ His voice broke and the hard act cracked.
‘It’s okay. Take your time,’ Lynch coaxed.
‘That’s all he knows,’ Julia said.
‘After you found the body, what did you do?’ Lynch kept staring at the boy.
He shrugged, burying his chin into his chest. ‘Sean called 999. And that’s it.’
‘Did you notice anyone else around?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Had you been there before? At that exact location?’
‘I fish there sometimes. Trout come up the river from the fisheries nursery and swim into the canal. You can be lucky, but mainly it’s just bream.’
‘When were you last there?’
‘Dunno. A few days ago. Saturday, maybe.’ Barry looked up. ‘Why are you asking me this? Loads of people know about that fishing spot.’
‘But it was you and Sean who found the baby.’ Lynch felt dizzy. She held the edge of the table to ensure she didn’t topple to the floor. Damn Lottie Parker assigning her this case when she knew it would affect her. So insensitive.
‘I don’t know anything else.’ Barry folded his arms. His mother fussed with a button on her dress and gathered her handbag to her chest, ready for flight.
‘Can we go now?’
‘Do you think you were meant to find the body?’ Lynch said.
‘What a stupid question!’ Julia stood up. Lynch noticed how she was careful not to touch the chair or table. ‘My son just happened to be fishing and his friend just happened to find the body. End of.’
End of? Lynch didn’t think so. It was only beginning. ‘You can go, for now. Will you consent to giving a sample for DNA testing? Just because we need to rule you out of any forensics we may uncover.’
Barry shrugged, but his mother said, ‘I think you need a warrant for that, don’t you?’
‘It makes things easier for us if you consent.’
‘He is not consenting.’ Julia huffed towards the door.
‘I don’t mind. I’ll do the DNA thing,’ Barry said mildly.
Lynch sighed with relief. The uniformed garda got the kit and swabbed the inside of the boy’s cheek.
‘If you think of anything that might help this investigation, please contact me.’ Lynch handed her card to the boy. ‘Someone put that baby in the water. Either killed it or left it there to drown.’ She slipped a photo of the dead infant from the file and turned it face up.
Had she gone too far? Barry paled and his mother’s cheeks burned red.
‘How dare you!’ Julia said through clenched teeth. ‘I’m getting my husband to file an official complaint against you.’
After Julia had dragged her son out the door, Lynch couldn’t help think
ing about the fact that she had said she’d get her husband to make the complaint. Why couldn’t she do it herself if she was that annoyed? She left the young garda to complete the paperwork and rushed outside to get some air.
It was her final trimester and her morning sickness had returned with a vengeance. She couldn’t wait for the baby to be born. And then she thought of the death picture of the canal baby, and promptly threw up her breakfast on the back steps of the station.
Thirty-Four
Toby sat at the table with a fork in his hand, moving the fried egg around and around on the plate.
‘Eat up,’ his mother said.
He couldn’t tell her he wasn’t hungry. Couldn’t tell her he couldn’t talk. All he could think of was that it was his fault that his best and only friend was dead.
Fuckity-fuck. He looked up quickly in case the words had actually come out of his mouth. But she had her back to him, stuffing her work apron into her bag.
‘I’m finishing early today, so I’ll be back by six,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I can’t stay at home with you. You’ll be okay?’
He nodded.
She slid her arm around his shoulders and kissed his hair. ‘Toby. I know it’s going to be hard without Mikey. Just remember that he’s with the angels and has no more worries.’
But I’m still here, Toby thought. And now I have all the worries.
‘Max, pick up your sisters from the crèche later, and keep an eye on your brother. Don’t be skiving off to town. The grass out the back needs mowing and your father will be home around three. Okay?’
Toby thought there was nothing worse than being put in the care of Max for the day. The door banged as his mother left. He knew she worked hard for them all. Especially since his dad had returned from peacekeeping duties in Syria and now spent most of his days at the bookie’s and in the pub. He couldn’t wait until he went back to school. Then he remembered he’d be starting at the big school in September. And he wouldn’t have Mikey with him.
Tell Nobody: Absolutely gripping crime fiction with unputdownable mystery and suspense Page 11