Final Betrayal

by Patricia Gibney

  Conor took another drag. What had they found? ‘Long dead, then?’

  ‘It’s just bones. Some clothes falling off it in ribbons. Who the hell could it be?’

  ‘Someone dead, I presume.’ Conor tried to be flippant, but Tony’s words had sent a dagger of unease plunging through his chest. He threw down the cigarette and ground it out with his muddy boot. ‘What’s Cleary going to do about it? This could jeopardise our jobs, you know.’

  Tony rounded on him. ‘Is that all you have to say? Some poor eejit got locked down in that tunnel and probably starved to death, and you’re worried about the job? You’re worse than Cleary.’ He made to walk away, but Conor caught the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him back.

  ‘If the guards come snooping around, they’re going to look no further than me. They’ve already brought me in for questioning about those two women found dead at Petit Lane. They’ll try to pin this on me too.’

  ‘Don’t be such a dick. You’ve been in prison for ten years. This has nothing to do with you.’

  ‘I know, but try telling that to my probation officer. It won’t look good. They want to pin every fecking death that happens in this town on me.’

  ‘You’re always thinking of yourself. Why don’t you get out of Ragmullin then? Go somewhere else.’

  ‘And what about my mother?’

  ‘She managed for the last ten years without you, didn’t she?’

  Conor watched Tony move away from him, then stop and look back before continuing on.

  His eye was drawn to Bob Cleary. He had to find out what was in the tunnel.

  Thirty-One

  Lottie completed the paperwork on the coin she’d found at her home and dispatched it for analysis. Then she glanced at the boards in the incident room. Nothing new had been added by the night crew. She hoped Louise Gill’s disappearance wasn’t linked to Amy’s death. But the odds were stacked that way.

  Kirby was eating a sandwich out of a plastic wrapper. He lifted a slice of bread to peer in at the soggy cheese, and she noticed there was no butter on it. Her heart almost broke for him.

  Drawing Boyd to one side, she said, ‘Cyril Gill was down in reception when I arrived.’

  ‘Oh, and what’s all that fuss with the reporters outside?’ Boyd leaned against the wall, settling in for a chat.

  She sipped her coffee, made a face and put the cup down on a desk, then steered him out through the door. Spying McMahon turning the corner, she pulled Boyd by the hand and escaped down the stairs.

  ‘Parker!’ McMahon’s voice reverberated off the walls like an echo.

  ‘Lottie.’ Boyd stalled. ‘You’d better talk to him.’

  ‘No. There’s a friend of Amy Whyte’s missing. Cyril Gill’s daughter, Louise. Those two girls were the key witnesses in Conor Dowling’s trial. Come on. We can’t waste time.’ She threw the car keys to him. ‘You drive.’

  Outside, he stood at the car, leaning over the roof. ‘I’m going nowhere until you explain.’

  A window opened two floors above them. McMahon shoved his head out. ‘Parker. Come back here this instant.’

  ‘Please, Boyd,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘I think Louise could be in real danger.’

  Boyd unlocked the door.

  With one leg inside, Lottie glanced up at her red-faced superior shaking his fist out the window. She’d have to say something.

  ‘Be back in five,’ she called up. ‘Emergency.’ She slid in and slammed the door. ‘Lights and siren, Boyd.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Impression.’

  She told Boyd to switch off the siren when they turned onto Main Street, having successfully negotiated the swelling crowd of satellite news vans parked at the front of the station. She sank into the seat, her feet snagging on empty cans and smelly food wrappers.

  ‘Your car is a dump,’ he said.

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

  ‘You’re in big trouble for running out on McMahon.’

  ‘Boyd! Something I don’t know.’

  ‘Who killed Amy and Penny?’

  She bit down on her thumbnail. ‘Besides Conor Dowling being out of prison, no clues so far.’ The nail broke. Shit.

  ‘If he wanted revenge on Amy for giving evidence against him, where does Penny come into it?’

  She bit the side of her thumb, thinking. ‘That’s what doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me where we’re going?’

  ‘Park Lane. It’s where Cristina Lee lives.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A friend of Louise Gill. Can’t you drive faster?’

  ‘In this crock of shit? No.’

  He flicked the indicator and swung left, pulling up at the foot of the concrete steps leading to Cristina Lee’s first-floor apartment.

  ‘You think Louise could be here?’ he said.

  ‘According to her father, she left home with no phone after hearing about Amy’s death. So I reckon she’s gone to see her girlfriend.’

  ‘They’re a couple?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  Lottie waited while Boyd locked the car, though she thought it was a waste of time. No one was going to steal it, the state it was in.

  At the top of the steps, she paused to catch her breath. Her lungs were tight. Stress. She had to check that Katie and Louis were okay. She’d organised a taxi for Sean and Chloe, so she was secure in the knowledge that they were safely in school. She sent a quick text to Rose asking her to drop in on Katie.

  ‘It’s open,’ Boyd said, rousing her from her strained musings.

  She immediately pulled a pair of gloves from her pocket and slipped them on. She knocked on the door, then pushed at it.

  ‘Something’s wrong,’ she said. As Boyd opened his mouth to reply, she added, ‘Gloves.’

  While he struggled to get them over his fingers, she put one foot into the dark hallway. A narrow table stood askew; keys and coats on the floor.

  ‘Hello? Anyone home?’ She listened and waited. ‘What’s that smell, Boyd?’

  He sniffed the air as he joined her inside. ‘Incense. Cinnamon or some sort of spice.’

  Instinctively she knew she should have put on protective booties, but she had to investigate why the door was open and the hall in disarray. She made her way carefully into the room in front of her. It was dark. The incense scent was stronger here, and she could smell something else. Something cold and metallic.

  Sliding her hand up the wall, she found the switch and flicked it on. The scene before her caused her to step back onto Boyd’s toes.

  ‘What the hell?’ he said.

  ‘Call it in,’ she ordered. ‘Quickly.’

  As Boyd made the calls, Lottie stared without moving. She could not contaminate the crime scene. There was no need to check for signs of life. The two young women were dead. Throats slashed. Blood spatter up along one wall, and though the carpet, either Indian or Turkish, was woven in red thread, she could make out the darkness soaking into it.

  One woman was distinctly of Asian origin. Hair matt black and skin slicked with blood. She was in a state of undress. Underwear, but no outer clothing save for a blue silk kimono. Lottie tried to visualise what had occurred. Cristina had risen from her bed to let Louise in. Then what? She gazed sadly at Cyril Gill’s only daughter. Her long brown hair matted and snarled around her face, her throat with a single deep cut. Her clothing dishevelled and disturbed.

  ‘I need SOCOs here as soon as possible. This place needs a forensic sweep and I want to see if any coins have been left with the bodies.’

  ‘You think this is the work of a serial killer?’ Boyd made to step into the room, but Lottie caught his arm.

  ‘We can’t disturb the evidence.’

  ‘Never stopped you before.’

  ‘I know, but … this seems different. McGlynn’s methodical work is necessary before we contaminate anything.’ She leaned into Boyd, comforted by his proximity.

  ‘What is it,
Lottie? What’s holding you back?’

  ‘I’m thinking about something that is particularly scary right now.’

  ‘And what is that? Nothing fazes Lottie Parker.’

  ‘This is the work of someone who has killed before.’

  ‘The person who killed Amy and Penny?’

  ‘Even before them.’

  Boyd’s face showed dawning realisation. ‘Bernie Kelly? No, that doesn’t make sense. As far as we know, she only killed people she believed to be family or people she was involved with illegally, and there’s no way she could know these girls. She only escaped yesterday morning.’

  ‘What if she hired someone to kill Amy and Penny and then she herself killed Cristina and Louise in a similar manner?’ She looked at him intently. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’re losing it. Come outside and get some air.’

  ‘No.’ She tapped the camera icon on her phone and quickly photographed the scene. ‘Let’s have a look in the other rooms.’

  She turned and edged past him. Opening the door to her right, she walked into a compact living room. Two armchairs, a gas heater and a small window. She lifted the blinds and looked across at the gated enclave where Amy Whyte had lived. Sirens wailed in the distance. A squad car pulled up outside the block of flats, followed immediately by Jim McGlynn’s station wagon and the technical van.

  She watched as McGlynn robed up and took his equipment from the boot. He was soon joined by members of his team, and Lottie wondered how they were all going to fit into the tiny apartment.

  Moving away from the window, she was struck by the subtle decor in the small room. Wall hangings depicted large images of the Buddha, while others portrayed Japanese gardens with trailing greenery and pink flowers in open bloom. A single shelf in one corner held crystals and a clear orb that reflected the light from the window onto the wall. She lifted it up and watched the light sprinkle a rainbow of colour all around her. As she was putting it back, the corner of a white card caught her eye. She slid it outwards with her gloved finger. It was a business card. And the name on it made her gasp aloud.

  ‘Boyd!’ she yelled.

  ‘What are you doing in my crime scene?’ Jim McGlynn said.

  Lottie imagined his angry spittle spraying the inside of his mouth mask.

  ‘The crime scene is in the next room.’

  When he made his way out, she slipped the card into a small plastic bag and pocketed it.

  At the entrance to the kitchen, she found herself backed up behind the SOCOs. She needed to know about the coins before she left. There was no sign of Boyd. Probably out having a smoke.

  By the time she elbowed her way in, McGlynn was directing a team member with a video camera.

  ‘Any coins?’ she asked.

  ‘Will you give me a minute?’

  ‘Just look, will you? I didn’t set foot in there. I could have, but I waited for you.’

  He slowly clapped his hands. ‘It’s only taken you twenty years to figure that out, Inspector.’

  ‘I can do without the sarcasm today.’

  ‘I wasn’t being sarcastic.’

  She forced away another retort and watched eagerly as he hunkered down beside the body nearest to him. Louise Gill. Her skin bristled with panic. She’d have to deliver the news to Cyril Gill and his wife.

  ‘One,’ McGlynn said, holding up a silver disc. He dropped it into an evidence bag, sealed it and wrote the details with a marker.

  ‘Any more?’ Lottie scrunched up her hands, nails piercing her skin. They now had four bodies. This was the work of a serial killer. But what did the coins mean?

  ‘You have no patience whatsoever.’ But he continued with his work and produced a second coin, and then a third.

  ‘Fuck!’ Lottie exclaimed. ‘What is this all about?’

  ‘That’s your job to figure out.’

  ‘How long have they been dead?’

  McGlynn paused, hands in the air, one holding a pair of tweezers, the other with an evidence bag. ‘Can’t you go do something else and come back in an hour. If you keep talking, I won’t get anywhere.’

  ‘A ballpark time, then?’

  He shook his head but put down his tools and carefully examined Louise Gill’s body. When he took out a thermometer, Lottie turned away and waited.

  ‘Rigor, and body temp … so no longer than twelve hours.’

  ‘Okay, thanks. Let me know if you find any more coins, and send in their phones if they’re here too. And anything else—’

  ‘I know. I know. Now can you feck off and let me work?’

  Thirty-Two

  The tunnel was dark and damp. Conor had been down in some of the other tunnels over the last two weeks as they dug the supports for the lift shaft in the new section of the courthouse, but he hadn’t been in this one. He walked with trepidation in each step. When Cleary had disappeared into the office he’d made his move, not sure why he was even doing it. But he had to see for himself.

  The lamp on his hard hat cast eerie shadows ahead of him, and a few times he felt as though he wasn’t alone. Shrugging off shivers, he sped up. He had to be quick before Gill arrived.

  He stopped abruptly when the hole in the wall appeared before him. His heart plummeted right down into the soles of his boots. Shit.

  Taking off his hat, he angled it into the hole and stuck his head in after it. His gaze landed on the body. He tried to keep the light from jigging around, but his hand was shaking so badly he almost dropped the hat. His breath caught in the back of his throat and he thought his heart was going to break out through his chest. The palpitations thumped so loudly in his ears, he felt he might go deaf.

  Once he’d seen all he needed to see, he extracted his arm, slapped his hat back on his head and leaned against the damp wall, trying to think. But his thoughts were a jumble of letters he was unable to fuse into words.

  Slowly he made his way back along the tunnel, his mind in free fall.

  This discovery might just jeopardise everything.

  * * *

  Lottie found Boyd outside the apartment, organising door-to-door inquiries with a team of uniforms.

  ‘We need to talk to Richard Whyte,’ she said, striding across the road to the gated enclosure.

  ‘But Cyril Gill and his wife have to be informed,’ he protested. She kept walking. ‘Lottie! Wait up.’

  She slowed her march until he was in step with her, then sped up again. The gate was code-locked, with an intercom. She began pressing buttons.

  ‘You’ll have them calling the station.’ He pulled her hand away. ‘Look there. Read the names. That’s Whyte’s intercom.’ He pressed the button, but the gate was already sliding to one side.

  ‘I can’t remember which house it is,’ Lottie said, looking around the immaculately manicured estate.

  ‘The door with the black wreath might give you a clue.’

  ‘Smart-arse.’

  Lottie rang the bell. The door opened almost immediately and Richard Whyte stood there in a creased white shirt, beige chinos and loafers.

  ‘Come in,’ he said, leading the way into the enormous living room. ‘Have you news about Amy’s death? And what’s going on over at the apartments?’

  ‘Mr Whyte, I’m sorry, I’ve no update on our investigation into Amy’s murder, but I would like to ask you a few questions about Cristina Lee.’

  ‘Cristina? Why? What did she do?’ He sat in an oversized armchair.

  Lottie glared at Boyd when he sat down too. She remained standing. Whyte had breadcrumbs stuck to his unshaved chin. She resisted the urge to reach down and brush them away.

  ‘You told me you had a housekeeper. I found a card in Ms Lee’s apartment that says she provides cleaning services. Does she clean for you?’

  ‘She does a few days a week. What’s this about?’

  ‘There’s been an incident at Park Lane. We are currently investigating it. Ms Lee lives over there, is that correct?’

  ‘Cristina? Y
es, she does.’

  ‘Did she know Amy?’

  ‘Sure she did. But I’ve already told you, Amy wouldn’t allow her into her room. Cristina’s a good worker. She told me she’ll help out at the wake … you know … when Amy’s allowed home so I that can bury her. When will that be?’

  ‘As soon as the state pathologist allows.’ Lottie sat, feeling that there was no reason for her to be intimidating a grieving father. ‘Richard, this is very important. Look at me.’ When he raised his head, she looked into his eyes. ‘Had Amy been in contact with Louise Gill recently?’

  ‘Louise? No. I don’t think so. Why?’ He paused, wringing his hands into a knot. ‘Conor Dowling is out of prison. When I heard about Amy’s murder, he was the first one I thought of, but then I thought, no, the case was too long ago. But if that scumbag killed my girl, I won’t be responsible for what I do to him.’

  Feeling the need to get on top of things before Richard took matters into his own hands, Lottie said, ‘We have no evidence to support that idea. We’re exploring all avenues. Nothing can be left to chance.’

  Whyte eyed Boyd, then turned his attention back to Lottie.

  ‘Are you sure you’re the best officer to be leading this investigation?’

  ‘Of course I am. Why would you say that?’

  His eyes flicked to the blank television screen hanging on the wall above their heads.

  Shit, Lottie thought. Cynthia Rhodes and her damn reports. ‘I give you my word, I will do everything in my power to bring to justice the perpetrator of these heinous crimes.’

  ‘You see that you do or I’ll personally ring the garda commissioner to have you removed.’

  She knew he meant every word, and he had the clout to make it happen. She had to watch her step, and her back.

  ‘Richard, did you know that Cristina was friends with Louise Gill?’

  An unreadable expression flitted across his face. ‘No, I did not. What are you driving at?’

  ‘Were Cristina and Amy close?’

  ‘They hardly knew each other. I’m not sure they even bumped into each other here more than a couple of times. Amy worked in town. I don’t know where else Cristina worked. Maybe they met socially, I have no idea.’