Final Betrayal

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘I spoke to one of their friends, Ducky Reilly,’ Lottie said. ‘He says that Amy left first and Penny about a half-hour after her. Before the club finished up.’ With a shudder she remembered that her daughters had been there Saturday night also. ‘But both victims ended up murdered in the same place. Kirby, canvass the streets around the club and see what security tapes you can pick up.’

  Boyd said, ‘We have no evidence they were taken Saturday night, though.’

  ‘True. But we have to start somewhere.’

  ‘If you’re making your assumption based on their clothing, it’s possible they may have gone on to a party somewhere.’

  ‘They may have done a lot of things, but my gut tells me that Saturday night/Sunday morning is our best bet, and I—’

  A sharp grunt at the back of the room caused her words to stall in her mouth. Shit, she hadn’t seen McMahon enter.

  ‘Your gut isn’t always right, is it?’ The acting superintendent strode towards her, buttoning up his jacket over his neatly ironed white shirt. He swiped his fringe away from his eyes and turned to face the room.

  Lottie felt her skin bristle, and clenched her fists so tightly, her nails cut into the palms of her hands.

  ‘Sir?’ she said. ‘I’m the senior investigating officer on this case and I can fill you in once this briefing is over.’

  He didn’t turn around to face her, but she sensed his dismissal of her as his shoulders broadened and his back straightened.

  ‘Councillor Richard Whyte is a very important member of this community,’ he began, his strong Dublin accent cutting through the room. ‘I want every hour you can possibly give to finding out who killed his daughter. The poor man is devastated and—’

  ‘What?’ Lottie tugged his sleeve, forcing him to turn to her. ‘You’ve informed him already?’ Secretly she was glad she wouldn’t have to do that job.

  ‘You need to make haste, Detective Inspector Parker. Amy Whyte was probably killed late Saturday night or early Sunday morning. You’re losing valuable time. The killer could be in Spain by now.’

  ‘That’s not my fault. Her father only reported her missing yesterday.’

  ‘Give us time to have a piss first.’

  A voice from the gathered troops caused Lottie to roll her eyes. Annoyed as she was by McMahon’s intrusion, she had to humour him. Her job depended on it.

  ‘Who said that?’ McMahon slapped a hand onto a desk. He turned to Lottie again. ‘Keep your team in order. I won’t stand for insubordination.’

  ‘You and me both,’ Lottie said. ‘I realise the significance of Mr Whyte’s importance in the community, but we can’t forget another young woman also lost her life. We need to look at all angles, means, motive and opportunity, in order to catch the killer.’

  McMahon grunted. ‘It stinks of a random crackhead to me. I want this investigation up and running in the next ten minutes, and I want the crime solved by this evening.’ He turned to look at the photos on the board. ‘There’s a houseful of evidence right there. Find the bastard who did this.’

  With that, he turned on his shiny pointy-toed leather shoes and left the room.

  ‘Prick,’ Boyd said.

  ‘Dick,’ Kirby said.

  ‘Bollocks,’ Lottie said.

  Kirby stood. ‘I’ll get to work on the door-to-doors and collect whatever security footage I can. I’ll check our own traffic cams as well.’

  ‘I’ll interview Mrs Loughlin again,’ Garda Thornton said, picking up his cap from the desk and slapping it on his head.

  Lottie held up a hand. ‘Wait a minute. I need to talk through the crime. If we rush head first into this, we might miss something that could save us a lot of time.’

  Kirby sat back down and Thornton took off his cap. Boyd lined up the pages in the thin folder on his knee.

  ‘Okay. We have an abandoned house in the middle of a terrace of six at Petit Lane. All derelict except for Mrs Loughlin’s. When we have the nightclub footage, we should be able to find the exact time the girls left the establishment.’

  ‘They may have walked through the car park to take the shortcut via the underpass,’ Boyd said. ‘We need to contact the council to see if they have anything on their security systems.’

  ‘Good point,’ Lottie said. ‘Once we establish their last movements, we might get lucky and see the killer on camera.’

  ‘Do we know if either of the victims had a car?’ Thornton piped up.

  ‘Check that out. If they drove to the club, then maybe the car is still in the car park.’

  ‘Penny had a flat nearby, so that needs to be searched too,’ Boyd said.

  ‘Must have been hard to overpower two women at the same time,’ Kirby mused.

  ‘As far as we know, they didn’t leave together.’ Pulling at the frayed hem of a sleeve, Lottie added, ‘It’s possible he took one, subdued or killed her, and then went back for the second.’

  ‘Or the second girl was just an opportunistic killing,’ Boyd said.

  ‘Or she saw him and he needed to negate that threat.’

  ‘But why?’ Kirby said, his eyes sagging with unshed grief. ‘It’s all so pointless.’

  ‘If we establish a motive, we’ll know why. There might be a clue on their phones.’

  ‘Any sign of those?’ Kirby asked.

  ‘Both phones were in the vicinity of the bodies. McGlynn won’t release them to me until Jane has carried out her prelim of the scene and bodies.’ She sighed, hoping the state pathologist wasn’t delayed at the High Court. ‘But there are no handbags or personal belongings other than the phones, so it’s imperative that gardens and bins are checked.’

  ‘There are three large recycling banks in the car park,’ Boyd said. ‘I’ll get them checked too.’

  ‘And then there are these,’ Lottie said, pinning up a zoomed-in photo of the coins.

  ‘What are those?’ Kirby stood and walked up to the board. ‘Not cash, anyway.’

  ‘No. But they’re similar to a one-euro coin, though thinner. No embellishments or engravings. We need to find out what they are and if they’re of any relevance.’

  ‘They might have fallen out of one of the victim’s bags,’ Kirby said. ‘In a struggle, maybe?’

  ‘What about the weapon?’ Thornton asked.

  ‘Not at the scene,’ Lottie said. ‘If it was discarded by the killer in the vicinity, I want it found.’

  ‘We’re very short-staffed on the detective side of things,’ Boyd said.

  ‘I’ll talk to the super. I want an extensive background check on everyone associated with the victims. Relatives, friends, colleagues … anyone who so much as sneezed on them. And check out the girls’ online histories. We’re not going to balls this up like previous investigations by leaving some stone unturned. Got it?’

  ‘Got it.’ The reply came in unison.

  She debated internally for a moment, then said, ‘This may have nothing to do with the murders, but it’s worth keeping in the back of your minds. Amy Whyte was one of two key witnesses in an aggravated burglary over ten years ago. A house belonging to a local publican, Bill Thompson, was broken into, the pub takings stolen and the man himself severely battered. A local man, Conor Dowling, got ten years for robbery and grievous bodily harm. He is now out of prison. Mr Thompson has since died. I’m just putting that out there so you can keep it in the back of your minds. Okay?’

  ‘Okay, but what about—’

  ‘Concentrate on these two murders, Boyd. The media rabble are already drumming up a shit storm, and I for one don’t want to have to wade through it for too long.’

  ‘Right so,’ Boyd said.

  Lottie thought he looked a little dubious, but she hadn’t time to indulge him. She said, ‘Anything else before I let you all out into the wild?’

  ‘Who’s going to talk to Penny Brogan’s parents?’ Boyd again.

  Sitting into the nearest chair, Lottie closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with her thumbs. ‘I suppose that
will be you and me.’

  Her phone vibrated with a message.

  Leo Belfield. Again.

  Shit.

  Nineteen

  After delivering the stark news to Penny Brogan’s father, who greeted it in stunned silence, and arranging for his wife to be brought home from work by a family liaison officer, Lottie organised for the couple to attend the formal identification whenever Penny’s body was ready to be viewed. She then returned with Boyd to the crime scene at Petit Lane.

  ‘I think we should have a chat with Mrs Loughlin, the woman who alerted us. She’s the only one living nearby,’ Lottie said. ‘Perhaps we can jog her memory.’

  In the car park, Boyd switched off the engine. A third crime-scene cordon had been erected, ensuring the reporters were a further ten metres away from the sad little row of houses.

  About to get out of the car, Lottie felt Boyd’s hand on her arm. ‘What?’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Of course I’m okay.’ Though she wasn’t. Not really. Seeing the two bodies had rattled her, and what annoyed her most was that she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why that was. Perhaps it was because her daughters had been in the same nightclub on Saturday night. And then there was Leo Belfield. She was itching to get to talk to him.

  ‘You don’t look okay. Lottie, I know you better than you know yourself sometimes. If there’s something wrong, please tell me.’ He raised his hand palm outward in submission. ‘And don’t go saying I’m worse than your mother.’

  ‘She probably put you up to it.’

  ‘No, she did not. I’m concerned. I want you to talk to me when and if you feel you need to. Okay?’

  She shrugged away the tears that were beginning to bubble at the corners of her eyes. Must be the menopause, she thought.

  ‘Could be,’ he said.

  She laughed. ‘Did I actually say that out loud?’

  ‘You did.’ He gripped her hand tightly. ‘You need to unwind a bit. You never left the phone out of your hand last evening when I was at yours. How about dinner out tonight? Indian? You like that place. My treat.’

  Lottie felt her stomach flip. The thought of food made her grimace. ‘Boyd, we still have two young women lying in there. Food is the last thing on my mind.’

  He drew back and took the keys out of the ignition. ‘You’re slipping into frosty, Lottie. I thought for a few weeks there that you were thawing. But I was wrong. I can’t do this any longer. Honestly, you need to grow up a bit and move on.’

  ‘What the hell do you mean?’ She tried to cover her hurt with indignation.

  ‘I thought the new house might have released some of your sadness and grief. Take it from me, as a friend: you need to ditch Adam’s ghost and find your own life.’

  He opened the door and got out of the car.

  ‘Whatever,’ she said, and followed him to Mrs Loughlin’s door.

  It opened immediately.

  The smile on the woman’s face slid downward and a crease folded into the lines on her forehead. ‘Oh, I thought it was that nice guard. The young Thornton lad.’

  ‘Can we come in, please?’ Lottie showed her ID and smiled. Tom Thornton must be at least ten years her senior.

  ‘Come along. Don’t mind the smell. Rising damp, you know. But I still won’t sell to that smug-faced developer, no matter how many offers he shoves through my letter box.’

  ‘Who would that be?’ Boyd asked, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

  ‘You can sit if you like,’ Mrs Loughlin said, turning up her lip.

  Boyd had the grace to blush.

  ‘Thank you.’ Lottie smiled. The kitchen was small and warm, but there was the same damp smell that had been in the crime-scene house.

  Mrs Loughlin opened the door of the small range and threw in two briquettes, then put a kettle on the hot plate.

  ‘That shiny-suited Gill man. I’ve got his letters here somewhere.’ She pulled a bundle of mail from the centre of the table.

  ‘No, it’s okay,’ Lottie said, trying to hide a smirk. ‘I know who you mean. We need to talk about what happened at number three.’

  Mrs Loughlin sat at the table and flicked crumbs from the green and white oilcloth. ‘Awful business. Those poor lassies. I don’t know what this town is coming to.’

  ‘I want to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘Go ahead.’ She stood and opened the cupboard.

  ‘We don’t need tea, thank you.’ When the woman was seated again, Lottie began. ‘I’ve read Garda Thornton’s report of your visit to the station this morning. I’m wondering if you can remember any further details.’

  ‘Do you think those two lads had something to do with the murders?’

  Lottie sighed. ‘The cause of death won’t be released until the state pathologist carries out her post-mortem, so I’d prefer it if we just referred to them as suspicious deaths for the moment.’

  ‘Two girls are dead, no matter what fancy words you try to dress it up in, young lady.’

  Lottie felt a flush creep up her cheeks. Mrs Loughlin had a way of making her feel she was back in school and getting blamed for something she didn’t do.

  ‘I understand that, but we are up against the clock to find out what happened. You told Garda Thornton that you heard a lot of noise coming from that house. Can you be more specific?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask those two junkies he found knocked out in the hallway? Are they okay, by the way?’

  ‘They’re under observation at the hospital. As soon as we get the go-ahead, they’ll be interviewed.’

  ‘Drugs. The bane of young people’s lives nowadays. Conscription is the only thing that’ll iron the creases out of their young lives. I hold their parents responsible.’

  Cringing, Lottie recalled how Katie had once got caught up in smoking weed and she herself had done nothing about it. Turned a blind eye. She could not argue with Mrs Loughlin on that score.

  ‘Anyway,’ the old lady said, folding her arms, ‘I’ve a habit of going off track, so reel me in any time you find me doing that.’

  ‘I will.’ Lottie felt sorry for Mrs Loughlin, living out her days alone in a damp-ridden house, but she admired her tenacity in standing up to Cyril Gill.

  ‘It’s always gone on. The noise, the drugs. Especially at weekends. Youngsters fall out of that nightclub and come down to the underpass to make out or shoot up. Is that what you call it?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Boyd said, tapping his notebook with his pen.

  Lottie nudged his ankle under the table. She was beginning to think she was interviewing her own mother. Mrs Loughlin spoke the same language.

  ‘Last night I heard an awful carry-on altogether. About two thirty, or maybe it was three o’clock, I’m not sure. Monday night. Who’d have thought it? I looked out the window and saw two lads staggering up the footpath to number three. They just walked in bold and brazen as you like. I was going to get up and go in after them, but it was raining. I was raging. They’d woken me up. Don’t know when I last got a full night’s sleep.’

  ‘And did you notice anyone else around?’

  ‘No, just them two with hoods up over their heads. I came down to make a cup of hot milk to try and get myself back to sleep. I sat in the armchair in the living room and looked out the corner of the curtain, and that’s when I saw one of them leaving. But now I know it had to be someone else.’

  ‘Can you give me a description of that person?’

  ‘Whoever they were, they were taller and broader than the two lads, now that I think of it. Didn’t look like a teenager. Not that I saw the face, but at my age, I notice these things.’

  Lottie wondered about that, seeing as Mrs Loughlin had called her a young lady and Garda Thornton a young man.

  ‘To make this easier for you, we’ll assume it was a man. What else do you remember?’

  ‘He’d pulled the jacket collar up around his face, and he had a hat on. One of those … what do you call it? Pea hat?’


  ‘A beanie?’ Boyd offered.

  ‘Yeah. Down over his face it was. I couldn’t make him out, but he was walking quickly and ran off through the car park.’

  ‘Great, that’s excellent, Mrs Loughlin. We’ll be able to get CCTV footage of that,’ Lottie said.

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Most of the cameras are smashed. I’ve a path worn to the council to try and get them fixed, but I might as well be talking to that wall over there.’ She pointed to a spot over Lottie’s shoulder and shook her head wearily. ‘Anyway, he ran down to the right, towards the recycling banks. Maybe he had a car parked there, I don’t know, but that’s the last I saw of him.’

  ‘Did you see two young women enter number three on Saturday night?’

  ‘I would have told you if I had.’

  ‘Anyone else acting suspiciously at the weekend?’

  ‘I heard the usual carry-on from the nightclub, but nothing that I don’t hear every weekend.’

  The air was pierced with a whistle and Mrs Loughlin got up to move the kettle off the stove. ‘Sure you don’t want tea?’

  ‘No thanks.’ Lottie stood and handed over her card. ‘Contact me if you remember anything about last night, or about any other night, particularly last weekend.’

  ‘Do you think someone was staking the place out?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘Am I in danger?’ Mrs Loughlin’s eyes were sharp.

  ‘No, not at all,’ Lottie hurriedly assured her. ‘Uniformed officers will be guarding the area for the next few days, or at least until we finish our examination and searches.’ The dampness was catching at the back of her throat, and she wondered how the woman survived in such an environment.

  ‘I’ll see you out.’

  ‘Thank you for all your help,’ Boyd said, and shook Mrs Loughlin’s hand.

  ‘You’re a nice boy. Very mannerly.’

  Lottie caught Boyd’s wink as he walked past her.

  They got nothing out of Freddie Nealon or Brian McGrath at the hospital. The lads’ last memory was of hearing a sound upstairs in the old house, and then they’d been knocked out.