The Stolen Girls

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘But why?’ Lynch asked.

  ‘No idea. The first victim had one bite mark on her neck, but this latest victim has bites all over her face and neck. More frenzied. It adds a new dimension.’

  ‘We’ve enough fucking dimensions driving us all demented,’ Boyd exclaimed.

  Letting her gaze land on Lynch, Lottie said, ‘We still haven’t found the actual crime scenes where the girls were shot. Any information on that score?’

  ‘No. Sorry.’ Lynch dipped her head.

  Lottie said, ‘The moss under the murder victims’ nails. Where did it come from?’

  ‘It’s the only clue left on the bodies,’ Boyd said.

  ‘If the killer washed the wounds, he probably washed the bodies,’ Kirby said.

  ‘He undressed them to shoot them, then washed and re-dressed them,’ Lottie said. ‘That’s why Jane Dore couldn’t get anything from the bite marks.’ She considered this. ‘He shot them somewhere no one would hear. A boggy field? A wood?’

  ‘Has the moss been analysed?’ Boyd asked.

  Lottie flicked through the forensic reports.

  ‘Found it.’ It had been emailed that morning. She read through two pages. ‘Jesus, why didn’t we get this earlier?’

  ‘What?’ asked Kirby.

  ‘There are traces of crypto… I can’t pronounce it.’ She spelled it out.

  ‘Cryptosporidium,’ Lynch said. ‘Hold on, I’ll google it.’

  ‘What did we do before Google?’ Boyd said.

  ‘A microscopic parasite that causes diarrhoea.’ Lynch said. ‘Blah, blah, blah. Wait a minute. The parasite can be spread in several different ways – drinking water and recreational water. Swimming pools, lakes and rivers.’

  ‘That narrows it down,’ Boyd said sarcastically.

  ‘It’s unlikely these girls were taken to a swimming pool to be shot, so that leaves us with lakes and rivers.’ Lottie glared at him.

  ‘Ragmullin is surrounded by lakes,’ he said.

  She thought for a moment. ‘Lynch, go through every record we have of reports of unusual activities in or around all the lakes. Find out the dates of the shooting season and check with the county council to see if there’s been any outbreak of crypto…’

  ‘Cryptosporidium,’ Lynch prompted as she unfurled her ponytail. ‘What about all this?’ She waved at the mound of interview transcripts on her desk.

  ‘Leave it. This is urgent. Check back for about two weeks.’

  Lynch tied her hair back and grabbed the phone.

  ‘It might be nothing,’ Boyd said.

  ‘Don’t go all pessimistic again,’ Lottie said.

  ‘Well, just don’t get your hopes up.’

  She studied the photographs. ‘Three girls are dead. Murdered. And we don’t even know their names. Come on, lads. Cathal Moroney’s telling his viewers there’s a serial killer stalking Ragmullin. Butchering people for their organs.’

  ‘The internet is awash with new rumours,’ Kirby said, tapping his phone. ‘Twitter and—’

  Lottie cut him off, ‘We need answers, not speculation. As soon as Jane Dore has the latest post-mortem completed, we go public with what we have. And I want the victims’ photographs everywhere. After Andri Petrovci, Dan Russell is our main suspect. We need something to bring him in. Get that warrant expedited, Boyd. Maybe the public will help—’

  A ringtone cut through Lottie’s words, causing her to lose her train of thought. She stared daggers at the assembled team. Boyd made for the door, phone to his ear.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Boyd!’ Lottie yelled.

  But he was gone.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  She caught up with Boyd in their office as he finished his call.

  ‘This’d better be good,’ Lottie began, standing with her hands resting on her desk.

  ‘Jackie says Frank Phillips will talk to us. In person. Tomorrow.’

  Lottie expelled pent-up anger with a burst of air through her nose. A few deep breaths before she could talk.

  ‘I’m not sure Phillips has anything to do with three murders in Ragmullin seeing as he is currently sunning his arse in Spain,’ she said.

  ‘His daughter is missing. He’s sent his head honcho McNally to look for her. He wouldn’t do that lightly.’ Boyd sat at his desk and pulled on a tie he found in his desk drawer.

  ‘Boyd, Frank Phillips’s head honcho, as you call him, has been in Ragmullin since last Wednesday week. Before Maeve went missing.’

  Boyd paused with his hand mid-air before bringing it down to his chin. ‘I know that, but he was here to look into Frank’s business affairs.’

  ‘That’s what Jackie told you. Can you honestly believe her, Boyd?’

  He didn’t answer.

  She said, ‘We need to know his real reason for being in Ragmullin.’

  ‘So we should meet Frank Phillips anyway?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. It can’t do any harm. What flight is he getting? We’ll meet him at the airport.’ Lottie sat at her desk, pulled out a bottom drawer and rested her feet on it.

  ‘He’s not coming to Ireland because then we’d have to arrest him. We’ve to go see him.’ Boyd sat down on the corner of Lottie’s desk. ‘In Malaga.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘He might be able to throw some light on these murders. Why else would he talk to us? It can’t do any harm. Can it? Would you at least ask Corrigan?’

  Ignoring the pleading in his voice, Lottie grabbed her bag. ‘I’ve a social worker to meet about Milot.’

  Boyd followed her to the door and blocked her way. ‘Jackie is scared. There’s something big going on here, but she doesn’t know what it is. I think we have to go talk to Frank Phillips.’

  ‘Why can’t his wife talk to him? It’s their daughter.’

  ‘This has to do with more than Maeve.’

  ‘You ask Corrigan, then. If he approves it, we’ll go, otherwise it’s a no. For now, see if Petrovci’s medically fit and get Lynch or someone to interview him with you. And go back over everything. We’ve missed something important, Boyd. Find it. That will serve us better than flying to Malaga.’

  Superintendent Corrigan appeared outside the open door.

  ‘No one’s flying to feckin’ Malaga. No one!’

  * * *

  When Lottie got home, Milot was sitting on the couch beside Katie watching Cartoon Network. He was dressed in a new T-shirt and trousers. Lottie questioned her daughter with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘I asked Chloe to go into town and get him something to wear,’ Katie said. ‘She wouldn’t budge. Sean went and got him these. Only eight euros.’

  ‘Sean? That’s great. Though I wish I knew what’s bugging Chloe.’

  ‘Have you time to cook something for dinner? Granny hasn’t appeared today and he won’t let me out of his sight.’ Katie hugged the boy.

  ‘Maybe chips?’ Lottie said. ‘You like chips, Milot?’

  The little boy stared up at her, his wide eyes soft with unshed tears. Missing his mummy. God, she thought, where would he end up once he was taken into care? She hoped he’d at least be safe from the likes of Dan Russell.

  ‘Where are Sean and Chloe now?’ she asked.

  Katie glanced towards the ceiling.

  ‘Be back in a min.’ Lottie flew upstairs to check on them.

  Sean’s headphones blotted out her query about what he wanted for dinner, so she made for Chloe’s room. The door was locked.

  ‘Chloe, let me in.’

  ‘Go away.’

  Leaning against the wood, Lottie tried again. ‘Please, Chloe. Open the door.’

  ‘I’m studying. Talk to you later.’

  With a heavy sigh, Lottie gave up and headed for the shower. Even though it was warm out, she was shivering since the soaking she’d got at the pump house. Tiredness chewed through her bones. Eventually the water eased her flesh. She pulled on clean clothes and felt ready for the social worker.

  Entering the kitchen, she noticed a
trail of dried blood leading to the back door. It appeared streaked, as if someone had unsuccessfully tried to clean it up.

  ‘Chloe! Katie! What happened in here?’ she yelled.

  A door opened upstairs and Chloe ran down to the kitchen. ‘I let a glass fall and stepped into it.’

  ‘Are you okay? Let me have a look.’

  ‘No! Go away.’ Chloe held out a hand, backing away.

  ‘What’s going on with you? Is it the exams?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘What exams?’

  ‘Don’t be smart with me, missy.’

  ‘I’m trying to study, and the minute you come home it’s a row,’ Chloe snapped. ‘Always the same.’ She glanced into the refrigerator, but finding nothing she liked, slammed it shut and turned towards the hall.

  Lottie caught her by the arm. ‘Don’t talk to me like that.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Chloe wriggled out of her grasp and fled up the stairs.

  Standing with her mouth open, Lottie caught sight of Milot at the sitting room door, choking away sobs, tears flowing down his cheeks.

  Before she could comfort him, the doorbell rang.

  * * *

  The man on the doorstep looked too young to be a social worker. That was Lottie’s first impression. Too young to be dealing with all this shit.

  He showed his ID and she welcomed him in, apologising for the mess. Katie had picked up Milot before Lottie opened the door, and was comforting him in the sitting room.

  He introduced himself as Eamon Carter and sat at the kitchen table. His blonde hair was neatly trimmed around small ears. Lottie thought the stubble on his chin was by design, like the skinny black trousers he wore.

  ‘Tea?’

  ‘A glass of water would be good,’ he said in a sharp Dublin accent. ‘It’s sweltering out there again.’

  She let the tap run until the water was cold.

  ‘In the job long?’ she asked.

  ‘A couple of months,’ he replied.

  Not long enough to have got used to the harshness of the work he was embarking on. Such an inexperienced young man to be tasked with the difficult case of Milot. She silently wished him luck.

  ‘Now, about Milot,’ he began and opened a file with a solitary page. ‘He turned up on your doorstep and you have no idea where his family might be. Do you know them?’

  ‘His mother initially called with him last Monday morning. She had a query for me to sort. I had never met her before and I haven’t seen her since. Her name is Mimoza Barbatovci, and I believe she’s resident in the direct provision centre in town.’

  ‘And you’ve tried—’

  ‘Yes, I’ve made enquiries. She seems to have disappeared.’ Suddenly Lottie thought of the toy rabbit found beside their third victim. Once she handed Milot over, the killer could easily find out his whereabouts. She couldn’t risk his life. ‘Eamon, it’s Saturday and it must be hard to find places for very young children at the best of times. Why don’t you leave the boy here, for the weekend at least? Give yourself time to find him a proper placement and me time to locate his mother.’

  He rubbed a hand over his mouth and down his chin. Thinking.

  ‘Can I see the child?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Lottie went to get Milot. When she returned, Eamon was scribbling notes in the file.

  He looked up. ‘Hello, little man.’ The boy snuggled his head into Lottie’s shoulder. Carter continued, ‘He seems comfortable here. Where would you get the time to look after him?’

  Katie walked into the kitchen. ‘I’ll help out.’ She flashed a wide grin. Carter blushed.

  Lottie mouthed a thank-you to her daughter.

  Carter fiddled with his phone and dialled a number. He waited impatiently, tapping his pen on the table. ‘No one answering.’

  ‘What are you going to do? Milot is perfectly safe here.’ I hope, Lottie thought.

  ‘This is against all my training but I think I’ll make an… an executive decision.’ He drank the remainder of his water. Lottie held her breath. ‘You can keep him here until Monday. If his mother hasn’t turned up by then, I’ll have to place him with a registered carer or in a foster home. I’ll work on it over the weekend.’

  Katie ran forward and whipped Milot from Lottie’s arms. ‘Did you hear that, Milot? You can stay a little bit longer.’ The little boy smiled, as if he understood.

  Eamon stood and Lottie shook his hand.

  ‘Thank you. I honestly don’t want that little boy transferring from one system into another. I’ll do my best to find his mother.’

  ‘Please do. It’ll make my job a whole lot easier.’ At the front door he added, ‘What’s with the blood on the floor in there?’

  ‘Just cut my hand on a glass,’ Lottie said, crossing her fingers behind her back for the lie.

  He frowned, nodded and left.

  ‘Thank God,’ Lottie said. But she wondered if he had scribbled it in his notes.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  ‘So Mr Petrovci. Our good doctor says you’re okay to speak with us. Do you want a solicitor?’ Boyd sat down beside Lynch in front of Andri Petrovci in the interview room.

  ‘No, sir,’ Petrovci said, twisting his hands together.

  ‘You have now been present at three sites where the bodies of young women have been discovered. What do you say to that?’

  ‘I not kill them.’

  ‘What was that phrase you shouted out earlier? Ju lutem?’ Boyd asked.

  Petrovci hung his head.

  ‘Speak up for the tape,’ Lynch ordered.

  ‘Please, it mean please.’

  Boyd glanced a warning at Lynch. ‘Are you going to tell me about this latest girl you found? Do you know her?’

  Petrovci shook his head.

  ‘I not know her. I go now?’

  Lynch said, ‘Do you have an alibi for every night last week?’

  ‘At my home. Most nights.’

  ‘Can anyone verify that?’ Boyd asked, then, noting the confusion on Petrovci’s face, added, ‘Do you live with anyone who can say that’s where you were every night?’

  ‘I live alone.’

  Boyd rubbed his hand across his nose and mouth. He actually wanted to shake the answers out of the man.

  ‘Do you like to shoot?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know. With a gun. Shoot rabbits in the fields. Or ducks out on a lake. Anything like that.’

  ‘I not shoot. I not go on lake. What you mean?’

  Boyd slapped the table. ‘Come on, prick. Tell me. Where did you kill those girls?’

  ‘I kill no one.’

  ‘Is there anything you can tell us that would help clear you of involvement in these girls’ deaths?’ Lynch asked.

  ‘I not kill them. You have nothing. You let me go.’ Petrovci leaned back in his chair, folded his arms and closed his eyes.

  He stayed silent for four minutes.

  Kicking back his own chair, Boyd jumped up. Lynch cautioned him with a look.

  ‘I’m going to have a word with Superintendent Corrigan and we’ll see what he wants to do with you. Interview terminated.’

  Without waiting for Lynch, Boyd stormed out of the room.

  The man packed up his new van. The traffic was beginning to ease. People were getting wise and avoiding the town centre, he thought as he spied the workers making safe a section of road until they returned on Monday. And he would give them something to find.

  Driving by the railway station, he glanced over at the car dismantler’s yard. He knew the guards wouldn’t find anything there. The old van was bleached clean except for what he’d left in it, and he congratulated himself on his stroke of genius. Planting the blood and shooting at the wall. He’d fired the gun with a silencer as the night train was exiting the station. The sound had been well muffled. Took them long enough to find the body, though!

  He drove within the speed limit. No point in attracting attention. Skirting the town through the industrial estate, he took a le
ft by the greyhound stadium, allowing himself a glance up Windmill Road where DI Parker lived. Interesting woman, with her long legs in tight jeans, and her crazy daughter.

  He thrust a hand between his legs to quell the pulsating hardness. Not long now. Though he knew he would have to wait until darkness descended.

  He could wait. He was used to waiting.

  The prize at the end was worth it.

  SIXTY-SIX

  It was eight thirty before Lottie got her house in order and Milot tucked up in bed. Katie cajoled Sean downstairs to watch a particularly gory episode of CSI. When she looked in on them, both were slumped in armchairs. Just as she was about to go upstairs to talk to Chloe, her phone beeped. Boyd.

  ‘It better be good news,’ she warned.

  ‘Not a bit. We released Andri Petrovci. Doc said he was fit and I attempted an interview with him.’

  ‘What’d he say?’

  ‘Said ju lutem means “please”. No alibi and he refused to say anything further.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Corrigan said we had nothing to hold him on, once he gave his statement.’

  ‘I wonder if we can link him to the DPC in some way. He knows something.’

  ‘I know something. He’s a fucking killer.’

  ‘Moving on from Petrovci, did you go over all the evidence again?’

  ‘With a fine toothpick.’

  ‘Tooth comb.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  ‘You sound like my Chloe.’ Lottie felt a stab to her heart. She needed to get to the bottom of Chloe’s anger and distance. And she needed to comprehend Russell’s insinuations about Adam too.

  ‘Any sightings of Maeve Phillips or Mimoza?’

  ‘Not a thing. How did it go with the social worker?’ Boyd asked.

  ‘I can keep Milot until Monday. Did you talk to Corrigan about Malaga?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘And?’ If the superintendent had okayed it, could she really go? She had to keep a close eye on Milot. And Chloe, for that matter.

  ‘I had to use my magnificent charm and flattering vocabulary,’ Boyd said.

  ‘So he said yes.’

  ‘Flight’s at six fifteen in the morning. I’ll pick you up at four. And we fly back tomorrow evening.’