Lottie laughed. ‘You know what you need?’
‘No, but I’ve a feeling you’re about to tell me.’
‘The hair of the dog.’
‘You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?’ he said. Wrong thing to say. Too late now.
Lottie slammed her cup down on the saucer, stood up and marched to the counter. Her voice rang across the bar to where Boyd was sitting.
‘Darren, can you wrap up this sandwich? I think I’ll have it back in my office.’ She pushed her bank card across the counter. ‘You can take for everything, as my esteemed colleague appears to have mislaid his wallet.’
Boyd caught Darren’s wink as he scanned Lottie’s card on the machine.
‘Was there a session here last night?’ she asked.
‘Oh, the usual crowd.’ The barman was non-committal.
Boyd shook his head, cringing with the pain shooting up behind his eyes.
Lottie took the receipt, her card and the tinfoil-wrapped sandwich. Boyd searched his pockets once again before gingerly getting up from his stool.
‘Maybe you should file a report,’ Lottie said and let the door close behind her as she stepped out into the midday heat.
Boyd knew she was wondering what he and Kirby had got up to last night. If he had anything to do with it, it would be one night she would never know about. Not that he could remember much about it himself.
He’d better talk to Kirby. And soon.
First, though, he just needed to rest his head for a few minutes.
‘Will I wrap yours up too?’ the barman asked, pointing to the sandwich with one bite gone out of it.
‘Don’t think I can stomach food today,’ Boyd said.
‘Some session the two of you had, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘I’d agree with you if I could remember it. I didn’t by any chance leave my wallet behind, did I?’
‘I cleaned up last night and I was first in this morning. No wallet. Did you go to Bed after here?’ Darren asked, referring to the nightclub.
‘I wish,’ Boyd said. ‘My own bed.’
‘The two of you were last to leave, so I reckon you lost it wherever you went after here. Maybe you left it in a taxi?’
Boyd rested his head against the leather of the seat and shielded his eyes from the sun squinting through the dusty stained-glass window.
‘Kirby, you bastard,’ he whispered, the full realisation hitting him. He remembered exactly where they’d gone after leaving the pub.
The doe-eyed girl had robbed him.
THIRTY-SIX
Entering her code on the inner door at the station reception, Lottie met Kirby coming down the stairs, Maria Lynch bobbing behind him.
‘Come on, boss.’ He grabbed her by the elbow and steered her back out the door.
‘What the—’
‘The contractors. They’ve found another body. Columb Street.’
‘What the hell? I was there this morning.’ She dumped her sandwich into the bin outside and jumped into the car with Kirby and Lynch.
Speeding away, Kirby switched on the siren and flashing lights. They screeched up Main Street on the wrong side of the road. The lunchtime traffic came to a standstill. Swerving round by the chipper, he pulled up outside Weir’s yard.
Andri Petrovci was pacing around in circles, running his hands up and down his arms, his safety helmet pushed right back on his shaved head.
Jumping out of the car, Lottie ran towards him. She felt his fingers dig into her arms as he grabbed her.
‘Another one. What is going on?’ he said.
Sidestepping the barrier, Lottie instructed Lynch to calm Petrovci down while Kirby called for backup and got uniforms on to the site to seal off the area, corral the contract workers and erect a tent over the body. She spied Boyd coming up the street from the other direction. When he reached her, they both pulled on protective gloves and moved to the opening in the road.
Flies buzzed and circled. The stench hit her first. Gasping, she swallowed a breath, composed herself and looked down.
‘Dear Jesus,’ she said.
‘Another woman,’ Boyd said.
Lottie thought he looked decidedly greener than he had earlier.
‘So it is,’ she said softly.
Hunkering down, she peered at the blistered, decomposing flesh swarming with maggots.
‘Dead a few days.’
‘Our missing girl?’ Boyd asked. ‘Maeve Phillips.’
‘I hope not,’ Lottie whispered. But there was no way she could be sure.
Sweeping back a handful of clay, she noticed that the face appeared to be in worse condition than that of the first victim. Black hair, eyes closed, with bulging, crawling lids. Teeth bared through stretched-back lips. Died screaming? Was this Maeve Phillips? No glittering stud pierced the nose. She didn’t know what she’d hoped for.
Further down, the soil was heavier. Boyd helped brush it away from the clothing, though Lottie knew they should wait for the SOCOs.
‘Looks like a bullet exit wound there, dead centre,’ she said.
‘SOCOs are on their way.’ Kirby loomed at her shoulder. ‘Is it the Phillips girl?’
Lottie inspected the girl’s hands without touching her. ‘I don’t think so. Look at the nails.’
‘Very short,’ Boyd said. ‘Bitten to the bone.’
‘A girl who has twenty-seven bottles of nail varnish doesn’t bite her nails,’ she said.
‘If she’d been in a stressful situation for a few days, then maybe her nails were the least of her troubles.’
‘I grant you that,’ Lottie said.
Uniformed officers were working quickly around them, erecting the tent.
‘How did she get in the ground?’ Boyd pointed to the body, now partially uncovered.
‘She hardly put herself there.’
‘I know, but—’
‘Boyd. Enough.’
Lottie stood up and turned. Andri Petrovci was staring at her, his hand shading his eyes from the sunlight. A second body unearthed by him. Sheer bad luck, or something else? She intended to find out.
‘Bring him to the station for a statement,’ she told Lynch.
‘Someone has to have seen something this time,’ Boyd said.
Looking around, Lottie noted that one side of the street was lined with the rear entrances to Main Street shops. To the right was Weir’s yard. Further down, a gate to a small block of apartments.
‘Door-to-door again,’ she ordered. ‘And check if there’s any—’
‘CCTV,’ Kirby interrupted. ‘Yes, boss.’
Boyd rubbed a hand around his chin. ‘This is bad. Very bad.’
‘You epitomise the understatement, Boyd. Every time.’
‘Just saying.’
‘This is worse than bad. It’s horrendous.’
‘I know, and—’
‘Why don’t you make yourself useful? It might get rid of your hangover. Close down the whole area. Cordon it off. No entry or exit. And interview every last person you can find.’
‘But—’
‘No ifs, buts or ands,’ Lottie said, wheeling round on her heel to face him. ‘We found a bullet hole and blood in Weir’s yard over there, a body buried under the street here, and we’re nowhere near finding out the identity of the first victim, let alone a suspect. So I don’t want to listen to any shite.’
She marched off without waiting to hear his protestations.
* * *
‘Detective Inspector Parker! A statement?’
Lottie glared at the crime correspondent for national television, Cathal Moroney, who was standing on the station steps. He lunged forward, his cameraman pointing a lens into her face.
‘How did you find out?’ She moved right up to him and quickly recoiled at the reek of sweat. ‘I’ve only just heard about it myself,’ she added.
A look of confusion scrolled down Moroney’s face and she immediately realised her error. Shit and double shit.
‘Heard what, Inspector?’ He flashed his famous megawatt smile.
‘What were you talking about?’ Trying to divert the inevitable.
‘You tell me, then I’ll tell you.’
Lottie shoved by him and stomped up the steps. Moroney tugged at her elbow, pulling her backwards
‘Shit-head,’ she said. ‘Switch off the camera.’
Moroney hesitated for a moment, then gave a nod. With the camera off, he stood, arms folded, waiting.
‘What do you want me to give a statement about?’ Lottie forced calmness into each syllable.
‘The photos released this morning. One of a dead girl and one of a missing girl.’
Now that she knew where he was coming from, she wondered how she could steer him onto a different route, make him forget her outburst.
‘I’m sure Superintendent Corrigan has issued a full press release.’
‘Isn’t Maeve Phillips the daughter of the criminal-in-exile Frank Phillips? Is her disappearance linked to organised crime?’
‘This is not the inner city.’
‘But Phillips’s family lives round here. Has his daughter’s disappearance anything to do with the murder victim found on Monday?’
Lottie tried to edge by him. He wasn’t budging.
‘Ragmullin will get a bad reputation now, won’t it?’ he persisted.
‘If you broadcast any shite about this town, Moroney, I’ll personally break every one of your show-biz white teeth.’ She nudged his shoulder and hurried up the steps.
Moroney followed her. ‘Lottie, what were you talking about a few minutes ago? You were asking something about how I found out so fast.’
Turning, she jabbed a finger into his chest. ‘Don’t you ever call me Lottie. I’m Detective Inspector Parker to you. And you can follow that inquisitive nose of yours around until you find out for yourself.’
She stormed into the station and tried to bang the door. It glided shut. She hadn’t even that satisfaction.
* * *
Sitting at her desk, Lottie ran her hands through her hair. Things were getting out of control. Where to start? Maybe a good place would be with Andri Petrovci.
Her phone vibrated and she saw Chloe’s name flashing. She answered the call.
‘Maeve’s photo is all over Facebook. Everyone at school is talking about her.’
‘Anyone know where she might be?’
‘The girls are saying nasty things. But don’t believe what you hear. Maeve isn’t like that. She’s having a hard time at home.’
‘What kind of things are they saying?’
‘That she’s a slut and stuff.’
‘So no one said anything helpful?’
‘No. I checked through her Facebook friends list and I can’t see anyone who might be this boyfriend.’
‘We’re working on that. How’s Katie doing this morning?’
‘Like a briar as usual.’
Lottie smiled. ‘I’ll see you later. Do plenty of study when you get home. Not long until your exams. June is only round the corner.’
‘Jeesus, do you have to do that?’
‘What?’
‘Constantly remind me. I don’t need added pressure from you.’
Lottie looked at the phone as Chloe cut her off. Now look what she’d done. But for the moment, she had enough on her plate without worrying about Chloe’s sulks. Another murder on top of the first one, and not a single suspect. Plus a girl who had apparently disappeared into the ether.
Glancing at Maeve Phillips’s photo, she didn’t think the girl was the most recent body buried in the road. So where the hell was she? Who was this second dead girl? Who was the first one? And why had they both been the targets of a murderer?
Her desk phone chirped. The desk sergeant.
‘Andri Petrovci is in Interview Room One.’
THIRTY-SEVEN
With Boyd, Lynch and Kirby still at the scene, Lottie commandeered Garda Gillian O’Donoghue, one of the brighter uniformed officers, to sit in with her. Once the recording disc was in place and the formalities were over, Andri Petrovci was first to speak.
‘So much of this in my home country. I not want to see it here. Understand?’
‘Yes, but it’s odd that it’s you who has found two bodies. Do you find that strange?’
‘Not my fault. I work here. This what I do. I dig. I fill. I work.’ He shrugged his wide shoulders half-heartedly, and Lottie couldn’t help thinking that for all his size, he seemed childlike. ‘Who are these women, Inspector?’
‘Do you have any idea, Mr Petrovci?’
‘Sorry. I not know. You police. You know?’
Lottie’s phone vibrated. Chloe again. She ignored it. Then she remembered she had the photo of Maeve on her phone. She opened it up and slid the phone across the table to Petrovci. All the time keeping her eyes locked on his face.
He gulped. Stood up, visibly shaking. ‘Please. I go. Now.’
‘Sit down.’ At last she’d got a reaction out of him. ‘Do you know her?’
‘No. You no understand. I go.’
‘Come on.’ Lottie felt she was on to something here. ‘How do you know her? Where did you meet her?’
‘No. Is she one of them? In the ground?’
‘You recognised her. Tell me.’
His shoulders sagged. Locking his fingers together, he bowed his head. Silence. She heard the slight movement of his hi-vis vest with the rise and fall of his breaths.
‘Who is she?’ His voice so low she could barely hear him. ‘In photo. You know?’
‘I know who she is,’ Lottie said. ‘What do you know about her?’
He shook his head as if the movement could dispel some demon from his brain. He did not speak.
‘Andri, you can tell me. Where is she?’
He looked up. Lottie tried to see into the depths of his eyes, to read what was written there. All she saw, penetrating the surface, was pain. What had happened to Andri Petrovci? And what had he done to Maeve? A slow anger began to boil in the pit of her stomach, knocking her sympathy out cold.
‘I know nothing.’ He unclenched his hands and folded his arms.
Lottie took a breath and set her mouth in a fake smile. ‘You mentioned you saw a lot of death in your own country. Tell me about it.’ Changing the subject away from Maeve in an attempt to wrong-foot him. No such luck.
‘Inspector, I work on water main. I dig road. I find bodies I not put there. I not kill them. Please, I go now?’
‘First tell me what you know,’ Lottie insisted.
‘I know nothing.’
‘Yes you do. Is Maeve in danger? What did you do to her?’ Shit, she’d let the girl’s name slip. No harm really, she thought. It was already in the media.
He folded his arms. ‘You not let me go. Get me lawyer,’ he said, and closed his mouth into a thin line.
Lottie sighed heavily. All she had were suspicions. No proof that he’d done anything. They were still awaiting results from his DNA sample. She could hold him in custody. Assign a solicitor. Then what? Hours of nothing.
Persisting with questions for another five minutes got her nowhere. He refused to speak. She had nothing to hold him on.
Making her decision, she said, ‘You can go.’
Garda O’Donoghue switched off the recording equipment and sealed the discs. Petrovci unfolded his arms, stood up and walked out of the room without a word. As he left, Lottie wondered if he actually did know Maeve Phillips. He’d appeared to recognise her photo. Perhaps he had seen the social media alerts, or was he the invisible boyfriend? He had to be near thirty years old and Maeve only seventeen. How to get him to admit to it?
Leaving O’Donoghue to sign off on the technical and written reports, she rushed up to her office, grabbed her bag and raced down the stairs and out of the station.
Chloe looked at her phone in disbelief. Her mum had refused to take her call. Just when she’d decided she was going to reveal all to her. She had thought it would
be easier telling her on the phone rather than face to face.
Now she decided she wasn’t going to tell her anything. Nothing at all.
She would deal with it herself. She only needed to get her fixer mojo back.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Boyd was well and truly fed up with Lottie Parker. He’d spent all afternoon deflecting flak from the business people in the Columb area of town, and she hadn’t the balls to appear back on site. Even Jane Dore had been wondering where she had got to. At least the body was now on its way to Tullamore and SOCOs were busy with the site.
‘How’s the door-to-door going?’ he asked Kirby when he caught up with him outside the gated apartments.
Kirby wiped sweat from his forehead. ‘Not too many people at home. I’ll have to hang around with uniforms until later on. And this gout is killing me.’ He pointed to his feet. ‘What’re you up to?’
‘Just finished here. Need to see if I can find my wallet.’
Without waiting to hear what other tales of woe Kirby had to tell, Boyd headed up the street. Crossing the footbridge spanning the railway, he ran across the road and over the new canal bridge leading to Ragmullin’s landscape deformity. Hill Point Flats. Apartments if you wanted to be fancy about it, he thought.
The buildings looked blander in daylight. Not that Boyd could remember much from the night before. Red bricks streaked white with mildew; super-sized satellite dishes protruding from windows along the five floors; urine-stained stone steps leading up to door. As if to reassure himself that he wasn’t entirely mad, he tapped his pockets once more. Definitely no wallet.
Ringing the doorbell, he looked around anxiously, hoping no one would see him. But parents were picking up children from a crèche and bedraggled shoppers struggling with grocery bags across a paved area. Did they not know what was going on under their very noses? He ducked his chin to his chest and pressed the bell again.
A stream of foreign words preceded the opening of the door. Looking at the woman, Boyd wondered, had he met her last night? He wasn’t even sure it was the right place. Apartment five, block two, Kirby had said.
‘Excuse me.’ He flashed his sincerest smile. ‘I think I lost my wallet here last night. I was wondering if you or any of the girls found it.’
The Stolen Girls Page 14