Final Betrayal

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘Shut the fuck up,’ Lottie said.

  ‘Inspector.’ Boyd leaned his head to one side, indicating that they were being recorded.

  Lottie stretched over the table. Eyeballed Dowling. ‘I don’t give a fiddler’s about you or your harassment. I want to know what you did with my daughters.’

  ‘I’d give them a good ride if I knew them.’

  Lottie had to dig her nails into the palms of her hands so as not to reach out and slap the insolence off his face.

  ‘Why were you in the tunnel?’

  ‘Working, like I told you.’

  ‘On your own.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is that allowed by Health and Safety?’

  ‘Must be, because that’s what I was at.’

  ‘What type of work were you doing?’

  ‘Assessing the tunnel to make sure it wouldn’t collapse when the lift shaft was constructed.’

  ‘Are you qualified to do that?’

  ‘Yeah. Ask Tony Keegan. Or Bob Cleary. He’s the foreman, as you know.’

  ‘Cleary’s dead,’ she said. ‘As is Cyril Gill and a host of your work colleagues.’

  ‘Bad luck for them and good luck for me so.’

  ‘I think you ventured into that tunnel because you knew there was a body there.’

  He opened his eyes wide. ‘A body? Where?’

  Lottie slapped the desk so hard, even Boyd shuddered. ‘Don’t play silly buggers with me, Conor.’

  He sniffed and shrugged. As he folded his arms, the smell of must and dampness grew stronger.

  ‘Answer me,’ she said.

  ‘Ask a question so.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The body.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Why were you in the tunnel?’

  ‘Working. I told you that already.’

  ‘I don’t buy it. Let me tell you what I think.’

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  ‘I think you took advantage of the mayhem surrounding the crane accident to go down there and move the body that you put there in the first place.’

  ‘I didn’t know there’d been an accident until I tried to get out of the fucking place.’

  ‘What was the sequence of events?’

  He let out a long, exhausted sigh. ‘I had a meeting with the foreman and the boss. Mr Gill was angry. He wanted to make sure I had nothing to do with his daughter’s murder. Which I hadn’t, for your information. After that, I left the office and started work. That’s it. Oh, I had a fag with Tony first. Ask him. He’ll tell you, if he’s still alive. Is he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Conor’s face sank into itself. Lottie couldn’t determine if he was pleased or not.

  He continued. ‘Then I got stuck underground and had to find my way through the tunnels to try to get out. Lucky you guys turned up.’ He raised an eyebrow quizzically. ‘Why were you there? Did you know I was trapped?’

  Ignoring his question, Lottie said, ‘What about the body?’

  Conor leaned back into his chair. ‘Are you trying to charge me with that as well as everything else?’

  ‘Just answer the bloody question,’ Boyd said.

  Conor blew out a breath of sour air. ‘The body was there when I crawled through the hole in the bricks. I couldn’t get out the way I’d gone into the tunnel, so I had to keep going. But then I realised I was stuck. Only time I’ve been glad to see the guards.’

  Lottie wished she had a notebook or file in front of her as a prop. With exhaustion eating its way into her bones, she needed all her energy to concentrate. Had he really just stumbled on the body like she had, or was something more sinister at play? Her gut told her he knew more than he was letting on. How to get him to admit it, though?

  She said, ‘I found something interesting in that tomb, for want of a better word.’

  ‘Tomb?’

  Was he really as dumb as he appeared? She was getting weary and getting nowhere. ‘Two silver coins.’

  Studying his face intently, she thought his skin had paled, but she couldn’t be sure. A few ginger freckles dotted his nose; otherwise he was a deathly white.

  ‘Know nothing about them,’ he said, and chewed the inside of his cheek.

  Time to change tactics. ‘I visited your mother yesterday.’

  His cheeks turned red. Instantly. ‘My mother! What the fuck you going near her for?’

  ‘I called to your home because I actually wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘You leave my mother out of this.’

  ‘I had to check your alibi.’

  ‘What alibi?’

  He was riled now. Good, she thought.

  ‘Your alibi for the murders of Amy Whyte and Penny Brogan. Also those of Louise Gill and Cristina Lee. Didn’t you say you were home with your mother last Saturday and Tuesday nights?’

  ‘I’m home every night. Not last night, of course, because I was stuck in a fucking dark hole.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘You stay away from my mother, you hear me?’ He thumped the table.

  ‘Are you threatening me, Mr Dowling?’

  ‘Don’t you mister me.’

  Now that she had irritated him, Lottie changed direction. ‘Katie and Chloe. Do you know them?’

  ‘Who the hell are they?’

  ‘My daughters.’

  ‘God help them then.’

  Boyd nudged Lottie’s ankle. She paid no attention to him. She was not going to rise to Dowling’s provocation. ‘My daughters have been abducted. I know you couldn’t have personally taken them, but maybe you know who might have.’

  ‘I don’t know a fucking thing about your daughters. You going to pin every crime that happens in this town on me now? You know what? I want my solicitor. Now. Right this fucking minute. I know my rights.’

  ‘I’m sure you do, having spent ten years in prison.’

  ‘For a crime I didn’t commit.’

  ‘You were tried and convicted.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean anything in this crooked country. You fitted me up then like you’re trying to do now. I don’t know where your poxy daughters are, but if you were my mother, I’d make sure I was never found.’

  She warned herself not to let him spike her temper again. ‘You never offered an alibi for the Thompson assault and robbery. Why was that?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘You’re not going to start that, are you?’

  ‘No comment.’

  A white lie never hurt anyone, so she decided to go for it. ‘I had a snoop around the shed in your mother’s back garden.’

  The change in his demeanour was instantaneous. He leaped out of his chair, lunged across the table and grabbed Lottie’s hair. She screamed, more from shock than pain. Boyd jumped up and seized Dowling’s wrist, and together he and Lottie subdued the younger man.

  ‘You’re a sneaky bitch,’ Dowling spat. ‘I did ten years because of your incompetence, and I can guarantee you, I won’t do another second behind bars. The justice system in this country sucks. Sucks, do you hear me?’

  ‘Assault of a garda officer is a serious offence,’ Boyd said. ‘Sit down.’

  Lottie was speechless. Her head throbbed and she noticed strands of her hair stuck between Dowling’s fingers.

  After a few deep breaths, he seemed to realise the enormity of what he’d done, because he said, ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.’

  Lottie swallowed what she really wanted to say. ‘I’ll consider your apology when you give us some information.’

  He nodded, his shaven head gleaming with beads of perspiration.

  She leaned over and whispered to Boyd to get the file on Amy Whyte. While they awaited his return, she continued to stare at Dowling’s bowed head. She recalled the young man in court, eyes wide with disbelief when he was convicted. Back then she’d felt a moment of panic. Had she got the right man? And now she felt the exact same thing. Forensics ten years ago were not what
they were today. They had no physical evidence to link him to the assault and robbery, only two eyewitnesses who’d said they’d seen him rushing from the area. Corrigan had been an inspector then, and SIO. Had he led Lottie in a direction he wanted her to go? For an early resolution of the case? To detract from something more ominous? Maybe she needed to review that case. Once she had her daughters home.

  The thought of Katie and Chloe being held against their will, or even worse, catapulted her back to reality. Boyd returned with the file. Opening it, Lottie slid a piece of paper across the table.

  ‘Look at this, Conor. I showed it to you before and you denied all knowledge of having sent it to Amy Whyte. Do you want to change that story?’

  He read aloud. ‘“I am watching you.”’

  ‘And?’

  His shoulders slumped as he shoved the page back at her. ‘Okay. Right. Yes. I did write the note. Happy now?’

  She glanced sideways at Boyd. He gave her a discreet thumbs-up.

  ‘When did you send it?’

  ‘A week after I was released from prison. Just wanted to scare her. I know she lied about seeing me that night.’

  ‘Why did she lie?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘And the coin?’

  ‘What coin?’

  ‘The one that was in the envelope with the note.’

  His eyes told her he hadn’t a clue what she was talking about.

  ‘I don’t know anything about a coin.’ He stared at the note before lifting his eyes to hers. ‘There wasn’t an envelope either.’

  ‘So how did you get the note to her?’

  ‘Dropped it into the pharmacy where she worked. Have you a copy of the back of it?’

  Where was he going with this? Lottie took a second page from the file. AMY was scrawled on one half, as if the note had been folded in two and her name written on the outside. She had noticed this before but hadn’t paid it much heed. After all, the note had been in an envelope when she found it.

  ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘I went into the pharmacy thinking Amy would be there. I wanted to look her in the eye when I handed the note to her, but there was no one behind the counter. I heard a door open somewhere, and before I knew what I was doing, I’d left it on the counter and fled. That’s the truth. No envelope. No coin.’

  ‘Who did you give it to?’

  ‘Told you, I just left it there. Didn’t see anyone. I dropped it and got out as quick as I could. Can I go now?’

  ‘No, you cannot.’

  ‘Look, Inspector, I had no reason to kill any of those girls.’

  ‘Louise and Amy’s eyewitness accounts got you convicted.’

  ‘Louise visited me in prison. She told me she was sorry. She didn’t give me any details, but she did say that she would do her best to make it right. I did not assault or rob Bill Thompson, and if Louise had come clean, I would have been exonerated. Why would I kill her?’

  Why indeed? Lottie thought. ‘You never offered a defence at the time. Why?’

  He shrugged and bowed his head.

  ‘Why did you leave that note for Amy?’

  ‘I was in a foul mood. Feeling sorry for myself. Wanted her to experience a little of what it was like for me in prison. In there, eyes are on you twenty-four seven. That’s all. I swear to God.’

  Could she believe him? If she did, then she’d made an unforgivable cock-up ten years ago. Or rather her boss, Corrigan, had. And if Dowling hadn’t carried out the assault on Thompson, then who had?

  Fifty-Five

  Kirby returned from the canteen with croissants and coffee. Lottie grabbed a cup and felt the warm liquid hit the bottom of her empty stomach.

  ‘You need to eat,’ Boyd said. ‘I can hear the rumbling over here.’

  ‘Still no word?’ she asked Kirby.

  He knew she was referring to her daughters and shook his head slowly.

  McKeown hung up the call he was on. ‘This is interesting. Might be something or may be nothing.’

  Lottie grabbed a croissant and perched on the edge of his desk. Lynch’s desk. In a funny sort of way, she missed Lynch. At least the detective was getting to spend time with her family, while Lottie continued to put her own in harm’s way.

  ‘That was Miranda from Flame, a hair and beauty salon. At least I think it’s Miranda.’ McKeown squinted at the illegible scrawl in his notebook.

  ‘Go on,’ Lottie said impatiently.

  ‘She recognised Bernie Kelly’s photo on the news last night. Says a woman fitting her description came into the salon yesterday morning. Got a tight haircut and a spray tan. Paid in cash. This Miranda is one hundred per cent sure it was Kelly.’

  ‘No wonder no one can find her,’ Kirby said. ‘She’ll look totally different.’

  ‘She also said that the woman had two Primark shopping bags with her. After her tan was done, she changed into new clothes and left her old ones behind in the bags.’

  ‘Description of the clothes she’s now wearing?’ Lottie said.

  ‘Black leggings. Long black T-shirt. Boots and a green parka jacket with black fur on the hood.’

  ‘Describes half the population of Ragmullin in this weather.’ Lottie tried to imagine Bernie Kelly without her long red tresses. ‘Call down to this Miranda with Kelly’s photograph and ask her to describe the new hairstyle. We can then issue a photofit image. Might jog someone into calling us.’

  Boyd said, ‘You’ll have to okay that with the super.’

  ‘I need to find Kelly. I want my girls back.’

  ‘But in the interview with Dowling, you were just about accusing him of having something to do with their disappearance. I don’t get it.’

  ‘I’m covering all bases.’

  She put down the cup and stood. She didn’t know what she was thinking. The coin in Louis’ jacket pointed to their serial killer, but the seeds left on her doorstep implicated Bernie Kelly.

  Shoving her hands deep into her jeans pockets, she said, ‘The longer this goes on, the more likely it is that I’ll never see my girls alive again.’ She stifled the sob that threatened to explode. An arm went around her shoulder as Kirby pulled her into a hug.

  ‘We’ll find them,’ he said. ‘No one else belonging to any of us is going to end up in Jane Dore’s mortuary. You hear me?’

  She managed a weak smile, but Kirby’s words instilled more fear in her heart than hope.

  ‘Anything else?’ She needed to refocus her brain.

  Kirby ambled over to his desk. ‘I sent uniforms to bring in Tony Keegan, like you asked. He’s in interview room two.’

  ‘Good.’ She looked at McKeown. ‘After you’ve visited Miranda, read over the transcripts from Louise Gill’s computer, and Kirby, phone everyone in Penny’s appointment book for a second time.’ She paused, trying to get her thoughts in a line. ‘McKeown. That CCTV footage. Is there anything to prove our killer went down through the tunnel? I didn’t see any evidence.’

  ‘I told Jim McGlynn to get some of his SOCO team to navigate their way through as much of the network as they can, looking for evidence that someone had been down there recently. It’s possible that that’s where the murder weapon was dumped. I think the coins tell us someone was there.’

  ‘Unless they were left there at the time that poor soul was abandoned to rot.’ She thought for a moment. ‘The damaged brick wall. It seemed newer than the tunnel walls. See if you can find out if there’s a record of when it was built, and by whom. That might lead us to who the body is and why it was down there.’

  ‘I’ll see what plans I can find,’ McKeown said. ‘I’m sure this town has a local historian who can help.’

  Lottie nodded and turned to Kirby, ‘I want you to check with the staff at Whyte’s Pharmacy. Dowling says he left the note for Amy there, without an envelope. When I found it at her house, it was in an envelope with a coin.’

  ‘Will do.’

  With another glance at her silent phone, Lottie said, ‘Give me five
minutes, Boyd, before we see what Mr Keegan has to say for himself. I want to scan through this Thompson burglary and assault file.’

  She opened the file and began to read. She needed to find out for herself whether she had been misdirected or misled during the original investigation. She hoped to God she hadn’t put the wrong man away. But her gut was twisting inside her, telling her that the assault on Bill Thompson was linked to her current murders.

  She took up the crime-scene photos. Held them close to her nose, trying to see if there were coins anywhere. Something they might have missed. Once Dowling had been identified by the eyewitnesses, they had swooped on him. With no alibi offered, he was charged, tried and convicted. Case closed.

  She put down the photos and read another page.

  Bill Thompson had never recovered after suffering a stroke following the assault. He was unable to speak. He couldn’t describe his assailant. House-to-house had yielded nothing. The safe had been left open and the money taken.

  The safe.

  She picked up the photos again. A floor safe. Opened by a key in a lock. The lid was on the floor beside the gaping hole.

  She closed her eyes. Tried to remember the scene. But it had been ten years ago. A thought struck her. How had the burglar got the key?

  She looked for a photo of Bill Thompson. They had none of him at the crime scene. Medics had arrived before the guards and whisked him straight to hospital. From there he’d been airlifted to Dublin, where he’d undergone five hours of brain surgery.

  The photo she found at the back of the file was of a sprightly sixty-four-year-old. Greying hair, and a large nose. But he’d been handsome, she noted. And fit. Had he had the key on his person? Had he been interrupted while he was putting the takings in the safe? If not, how did the burglar know about the safe?

  She put down the photo and scoured the report for evidence of what had happened to the key. There was no mention of it.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to remember. Flicked through the file until she found Conor Dowling’s arrest sheet. No mention of a key on his person. Nor the money, for that matter.

  She shuffled through the photographs again. Found another one of the open safe. Coins were scattered around the floor as if they’d fallen from a bank money bag.