Final Betrayal

by Patricia Gibney

  Ten

  Lottie looked up when Boyd walked into her office.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Anything up?’

  ‘Nope, but now that I see you …’

  ‘Boyd!’ She laughed. ‘All quiet so?’

  ‘So far.’

  As he retreated, she clicked through her morning emails, thinking of the couple of hours they’d shared last night in his apartment. Suddenly the door burst open once more. She looked up expecting Boyd again, but it was Acting Superintendent David McMahon who stood there, black hair glistening and his eyes sparkling with something she couldn’t decipher. He’d probably balanced a spreadsheet, she thought unkindly.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ she said, though adding ‘sir’ galled her. She should be acting superintendent while Superintendent Corrigan was on extended sick leave, but no, the powers-that-be had drafted McMahon in from Dublin. A right kick up the backside for her.

  ‘Nothing good about it,’ he said, and flopped onto the chair in front of her desk.

  ‘Go on.’ She leaned towards him, interested.

  ‘Amy Whyte, twenty-five years old, didn’t come home after a night out on Saturday, and she didn’t turn up for work yesterday or this morning. Her father is downstairs to lodge a missing persons report.’

  ‘When did he last see his daughter?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘Saturday evening, before she headed out for Jomo’s nightclub.’

  Lottie felt a moment of discomfort, thinking of her girls. ‘She’s sleeping off a bellyful of booze somewhere.’

  ‘You and I both know that is entirely possible, but try telling her father that. Will you do a little investigating? Just to demonstrate that we are doing something.’

  ‘You know him then? This Mr Whyte?’

  McMahon leaned back in the chair, stretched his arms to the ceiling and yawned. He was usually jumping around like a toy on long-life batteries on Monday mornings. Not just Mondays. Every morning, come to think of it.

  ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘As you know, I’ve spent most of my working life in Dublin, but Whyte is a county councillor, so do me this one favour. You never know when we might need one in return.’

  ‘I know what I need. More staff. I can’t just go off on a wild goose chase when there’s so much to do. Court cases, budgets, KPIs to be met.’ She smiled inwardly. Key performance indicators were McMahon’s babies, and if he uttered the phrase once a day, he said it a dozen times. She felt a glow of pleasure in spouting it back at him.

  ‘You really know which buttons to push. For now, I just want you to talk to the man. See what you can find out. He’ll be pacified if he thinks an inspector is investigating.’

  ‘I need more staff.’ She folded her arms. ‘I’ve told you often enough. Since Gilly …’ Her words caught in her throat. The loss of the young garda had decimated morale in the station. Most affected was Detective Larry Kirby, who had been Gilly’s boyfriend. ‘And Detective Lynch is on maternity leave. We need new blood in here.’

  ‘I’m trying my best to get someone assigned from another station.’ McMahon stood up and moved to the door. ‘Now go and talk to Richard Whyte. That’s an order.’

  Lottie shook her head as he marched out the door and into the general office. She rolled the name around in her mind. Amy Whyte? Could it be the same Amy Whyte? She would find out soon enough.

  The man sitting in the room off reception seemed to fill the space with his bulk. And when he stood, Lottie remembered exactly who he was. Ten years ago, his daughter, then just a teenager, had been a key witness in a trial.

  ‘Good morning, Councillor Whyte. Take a seat.’ She squeezed in past him and sat down, and Boyd squashed in beside her behind the small desk. She silently warned herself to watch her Ps and Qs, because it would all travel back upstairs to McMahon.

  ‘I want to report my daughter missing.’

  ‘What’s her name and age?’

  ‘Amy Whyte. Twenty-five.’

  ‘When did you last see her?’

  A whistle of air escaped his lips. ‘Saturday evening. Around seven.’

  ‘Okay,’ Lottie said as Boyd wrote in his notebook. ‘Today is Monday. You weren’t expecting her home Saturday night, or even yesterday, then?’

  ‘She went out with her friend Penny Brogan on Saturday, like she does every weekend.’

  ‘Has she a boyfriend?’

  ‘No one regular as far as I know.’

  ‘You weren’t worried when she didn’t come home Saturday night?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t. Sometimes she stays over at Penny’s … or, you know … a friend’s.’

  ‘What has you worried now?’

  ‘Amy works in my pharmacy. She didn’t turn up for work yesterday morning or today. She always opens the shop on Mondays. I got a call from one of the assistants at eight thirty to say the staff had no way of getting in.’

  ‘And that was unusual?’

  ‘Of course it was. Amy rarely misses work, and if she were ill, I’d know. It’s very unlike her.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I opened up the shop and let the staff in. Turned on the lights. Set up the tills. All the stuff that Amy usually does.’

  ‘And did you try to find out where she might be?’

  ‘I was busy with the shop, and customers started coming in. The day got away from me. I was sure she’d be at home when I got there. But she wasn’t.’

  ‘What did you do then?’

  ‘I just assumed she had met a fella on Saturday night and was still with him.’

  ‘Has she done that before?’

  ‘A few times. But she’s twenty-five, not a child, Inspector Parker.’

  Lottie didn’t like the rebuke in his tone. She straightened her back and tugged up the sleeves of her T-shirt. As usual, Boyd remained silent. Letting her dig herself into a big black hole.

  ‘Did you contact her friends?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And?’

  He fidgeted in the chair. ‘Well, I don’t know all of them …’

  ‘Can you give me the details of those you did contact?’

  ‘I can. But they’re no help. No one knows where she is.’

  ‘They might be able to tell us when they last saw Amy.’

  ‘At the nightclub, Jomo’s. That’s the last time anyone saw her.’

  ‘Anyone you’ve contacted, that is.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘I need the names and numbers.’

  ‘Sure.’

  He took a page from his breast pocket and handed it over. Lottie glanced at the handwritten list. It was short. Very short. Three names.

  ‘I’m sure there are more,’ he said quickly, ‘but they’re all I had in my phone.’

  ‘Some of these might be able to provide me with further names and numbers,’ Lottie said. ‘And what about the people she works with?’

  ‘They told me they hadn’t see her since Friday evening, when she locked up. She was off on Saturday.’

  ‘Are you in the shop every day?’

  ‘Only when Amy is off. I trust her to run it for me.’

  ‘I need a list of all the employees.’

  ‘I’ll email it to you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lottie considered the burly man in front of her. He seemed genuinely worried. ‘Are things okay at home, Mr Whyte?’

  ‘At home?’ He ran a stubby finger along his cheek. ‘Everything’s fine.’

  ‘Your wife?’

  ‘She’s dead.’

  Lottie thought that perhaps she should have done a quick Google on Mr Whyte before she met with him. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No need to apologise.’ He waved a hand in dismissal. ‘She died six years ago.’

  ‘Are things okay between you and your daughter? Any recent arguments or fallings-out that we should know about?’

  ‘We acknowledge each other’s space. Lead our own lives. We’re both adults.’

  Reading between the lines, Lottie gathered
that Mr Whyte allowed Amy to do just about anything she liked.

  ‘Why are you reporting her as missing?’

  ‘I can’t find any trace of her. Usually she’d send a text if she was staying with someone, and she rarely misses work. Like I said, it’s totally out of character.’

  Lottie knew she’d have to dig a bit deeper, but at the same time she hoped Amy would waltz home this evening, contrite and full of explanations, false or otherwise.

  ‘Have you a photograph of her?’

  He extracted a creased photo from his wallet. It showed the two of them sitting at a bar drinking cocktails. ‘Barcelona. Last year. I have a holiday home there.’

  ‘Did you check that her passport is still at home?’ Lottie said.

  ‘No. But she wouldn’t … not without telling me. I know my girl.’

  Not well enough, Lottie thought. ‘Can I hold on to this?’

  ‘Mind it for me, please.’

  ‘I will.’ Lottie smiled involuntarily as she studied the happy face of the dark-haired girl in the picture. Her glass was gripped by a hand with long red nails sporting little diamond studs in the tips, and her ears were adorned with similar heart-shaped studs. ‘She’s very pretty.’

  ‘And very happy. She has no reason to disappear or run away. Wherever she is, she’s not gone voluntarily.’ Richard Whyte dropped his head.

  ‘I’ll find her for you,’ Lottie said, and immediately felt Boyd’s foot strike her ankle. She knew she shouldn’t be making promises she wasn’t sure she could keep. But something in Whyte’s demeanour made her feel sorry for him. A thought occurred to her. ‘Your work with the council. Could someone you’ve been dealing with have anything to do with Amy going missing?’

  He looked up, his face a mask of incredulity. ‘No way. Amy has nothing to do with my council work.’

  ‘Any elections coming up? Maybe projects you’ve been involved in that might result in someone making threats against you or your daughter?’

  ‘You’re completely off track there, Inspector. Amy has no interest in that side of things. It’s very dry and dusty for a girl of her age.’

  ‘I’ll have a chat with her colleagues in the pharmacy, but if she contacts you in the meantime, let me know immediately.’ Lottie tidied up her papers and Boyd stood. Whyte remained seated. ‘Was there anything else, Mr Whyte?’

  ‘Amy’s friend. Penny Brogan. I can’t get hold of her. I spoke with her father an hour ago. He hasn’t heard from her either. It seems she might also be missing.’

  Eleven

  Lottie walked back up the stairs with Boyd.

  ‘If Amy’s friend hasn’t been seen since Saturday night either, why has no one reported her missing?’ she said.

  ‘That’s according to Whyte. We’d better check it out.’

  ‘Give her parents a ring, and I’ll get Kirby to head down to Whyte’s Pharmacy to see if Amy’s colleagues can give us a head start. And we need to find out where Penny works also.’

  Boyd nodded and moved over to his desk.

  Lottie made for her office at the end of the general one. Kirby was still sitting in the same position as when she’d left. She was going to have to do something about him before McMahon started complaining that he was dragging down performance targets.

  ‘How are things, Kirby? What are you working on?’

  ‘What? Oh, sorry, boss. I was miles away.’ Kirby raised his head. Black rings circled his eyes, and his nose was redder than usual. Lottie caught a waft of stale alcohol. Yes, she thought, he’s in a bad way.

  ‘I’m not being unkind here,’ she said. ‘I understand your situation because I’ve been through the whole grief thing. But Kirby, listen to me. You need help. Professional help. If you don’t access it soon, the super is going to go apeshit. He has no loyalty to the people in this station, only to whatever can get him quickly up the career ladder, and at the moment, you are dragging him down. I understand what you’re going through, but that’s the way he sees it.’

  Repeating myself, she thought. What the hell did she really need to say to her colleague? Knuckle down and buck up? No. That had been said to her too often, and it just made her veer in the opposite direction. She settled for ‘What can I do to help you?’

  Kirby looked at her with pleading in his eyes. ‘Bring Gilly back?’

  ‘Come on, be realistic.’ Wrong thing to say. Kirby suddenly shoved back his chair and stood up. She put a hand on his arm and gently tugged his sleeve. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He ran his hands through his bushy hair, his fingers snagging in the mop.

  ‘Boss, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m sick of paperwork. It’s driving me demented. I need something to get stuck into. Something to get me out on the streets, talking to people. The four walls in here are suffocating me.’

  ‘I like the passion in your voice. So here goes. Councillor Whyte’s daughter, Amy, seems to have disappeared. He hasn’t done much legwork in finding her, so I want you to make it your priority. Okay?’

  ‘Sure. That’s great. I’d like that.’

  Lottie sighed with relief. ‘She works at Whyte’s Pharmacy. Go and talk to her colleagues face to face. You might be able to find out something from them that they didn’t want Amy’s father to know about when he spoke to them.’

  ‘Whyte’s Pharmacy. At the end of Main Street?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Kirby grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and was out the door before Lottie could move.

  ‘You are a true motivator,’ Boyd said.

  ‘Doesn’t work with you, though.’ She slapped him playfully on the shoulder as she passed, her hand tingling from the touch. Boyd was having a good effect on her recently. ‘Have you located Penny Brogan yet?’

  ‘Working on it. I rang her father, but like Whyte said, he hasn’t seen her.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s start with this list of friends.’

  ‘All three of them,’ Boyd said, holding up his fingers.

  ‘Better than none.’

  ‘Ducky Reilly. I’d like to start with him.’

  ‘Right. Where does he work?’

  ‘As a security guard for the construction company working on the courthouse renovation.’

  ‘Let’s go.’

  The renovation of Ragmullin’s courthouse had been ongoing for over a year. The building dated from 1829 and had been falling into disrepair for the last twenty years. It was costing forty million euros to restore it, and Boyd told Lottie he’d heard that it might go way over budget.

  Rain fell in sheets as they left the car and approached the guard hut at the entrance to the site. Lottie held up her ID and the guard slid back the window.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ he said.

  ‘We’d like to have a word with Ducky Reilly. Is he at work today?’

  The young man’s face paled. He closed the window and opened the door. He was about five foot five and had short curly brown hair peeking out from the edges of his beanie hat.

  ‘What’s this about? I didn’t do anything, no matter what anyone says.’ His voice was high and petulant.

  ‘And who would be saying anything about you?’ Boyd muscled in.

  ‘No one. Nothing. Shit, you guys are making me nervous.’ He pulled off his hat, then, as the rain poured down, quickly clamped it back on his head. Water dripped off his yellow work jacket and sprinkled a grey sheen onto the mucky ground.

  Lottie shifted her feet, trying not to get her boots too soiled. A losing battle. ‘We’re here about Amy Whyte.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Come on now.’ Lottie could tell that he knew exactly who she was talking about. ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘Amy? Let me think …’

  ‘Jesus, answer the question.’ Boyd was losing patience.

  Lottie tried to be nice. ‘Ducky, what’s your full name?’

  ‘Dermot Reilly.’

  ‘Which do you prefer us to call you?’

  ‘Everyone calls me
Ducky.’ He shifted from foot to foot, splashing mud onto the leg of Lottie’s jeans.

  ‘Ducky it is so,’ she said, and Boyd sniggered. She threw him a dagger stare and turned back to the young man. ‘Can we talk inside?’ She indicated the hut.

  ‘It’s too small. Just my chair and the security cameras.’

  ‘Oh, I think we can squeeze in. Boyd, you wait in the car.’

  As she followed Ducky into the warm confines of his miniature workplace, she had to agree with him. It wasn’t made for two people. She leaned against the door and he sat on the chair with a couple of screens behind him. Nothing hi-tech. She could see Boyd outside, trying to light a cigarette in the spilling rain.

  ‘So, tell me about Amy.’

  ‘Her dad rang me this morning asking about her too.’

  ‘When did you see her last?

  ‘Saturday night. We were all in Jomo’s. That’s the nightclub round near Petit Lane car park. You know, at the back of Main Street, past the chipper.’

  ‘Yes, I know it.’ Lottie squirmed as she recalled her daughters falling out of the taxi on Saturday night. Sunday morning if she wanted to be pedantic about it. ‘Who is the “all” you’re referring to?’

  ‘Myself and a few of the lads. And Penny, of course. She and Amy hang out together.’

  ‘Penny Brogan?’

  ‘Yeah. Amy and Penny are joined at the hip. So my mother says.’

  ‘Your mother’s met them?’

  ‘We’re friends. Since school. Amy is a bit up her own hole because her father’s a councillor. But Penny’s fun. Always up to something.’

  ‘You like Penny better, then?’

  He blushed. ‘Suppose so.’

  ‘What happened at the nightclub? Anything out of the ordinary?’

  ‘Nothing happened.’

  ‘Did you leave with the girls?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come on, Ducky.’

  ‘What’s this about anyway?’

  ‘I’ll tell you after you answer my questions.’

  He sighed and picked up a pen from the narrow ledge that Lottie supposed was his desk.

  ‘There were about a hundred and fifty other people at the club on Saturday night. It was packed.’ He twisted the pen around his fingers.