He nudged his chin with a finger. ‘I have no idea. But in the morning, I’ll be sending correspondence to that dance school. It is outrageous that they could let an eight-year-old leave their care without properly checking credentials.’
‘When was the last time you spoke to Fiona?’
‘Sunday night. She came to pick Lily up after she’d been here for the weekend.’
‘Was anyone else with her?’
‘She was alone. That bastard knows better than to show up on my doorstep.’
‘One final question. Do you know of any reason why someone would want to harm Fiona?’
‘What? She was a nurse, for God’s sake. Everyone loved her.’ He stood and walked to the door. ‘Find my daughter and bring her home.’
‘We will.’
‘Fiona was a good mother. I would stake my house on it that she did not throw herself off any roof. She either fell or she was pushed.’
‘Okay. Can I see Lily’s room now?’
Kavanagh directed her up the winding stairs to a loft-like mezzanine. Lily’s bedroom was overflowing with cuddly toys, a doll’s house and every toy Lottie cared to imagine. The double bed had a Frozen duvet. A net canopy adorned with butterflies hung over it.
She opened drawers and the wardrobe and gasped at the array of clothing. ‘Are these all Lily’s?’
‘I like to ensure my daughter is well cared for.’ Kavanagh stood inside the door, his head touching the bare timber ceiling. ‘She’s okay, isn’t she? Please tell me nothing has happened to my little girl.’ He picked up a photograph from the dresser and handed it to her with tears in his hard eyes.
Lottie had no idea where his daughter was, but her heart was fluttering a warning not to be taken in by appearances. She gazed at the smiling face of the young girl in the picture. Long blonde hair framed her elfin face. Freckles dotted her nose, and her smile was infectious. Two slides clipped her hair away from her blue eyes. The little girl had a familiar look about her. Daft, Lottie thought. She’d never set eyes on either Lily or Fiona before today.
‘Can I borrow this?’
‘Of course.’
In the en suite bathroom, she picked up a small toothbrush. ‘I’ll take this for a DNA sample.’
She felt Kavanagh’s eyes boring through her as she sealed the toothbrush in a clear evidence bag.
‘Let me know as soon as you find her.’
‘I will, I promise,’ she replied, thinking how out of place amongst the child’s toys he looked.
At the front door, she said, ‘Thank you, Mr Kavanagh. We will be in touch.’
‘You’d better be, because I can guarantee you I will be snapping at your heels every step of the way.’
As Lottie followed Kirby out to the car, she had no doubt in her mind about the sincerity of Kavanagh’s last words. All the rest, now that was a different matter entirely.
Beth lay on her bed and propped the box on her knee. She took out the brochures and skimmed through them. Sun, sea and sand. That was what he’d promised her. She felt a pool of warmth inch its way from her abdomen up to her chest. She’d been in love even though she knew he could never love her back. And she had made a promise to him. A promise not to tell anyone of their plans. But then it was too late.
Settling the papers back into the box, she fixed the lid and slid it under her bed. She plugged in her phone to charge and tapped the screen alive, then flicked through her apps and brought up the news. Nothing exciting apart from the weather. Doom and gloom. She logged into Facebook. Her notifications lit up like a Christmas tree. What the hell?
Throwing her legs over the edge of the bed, she sat up and clutched the phone tightly in her hand, scrolling through the posts. A body had been found in the grounds of Ballydoon Abbey. Someone had taken photos and videos, but they were all fuzzy. She scanned the comments, her journalistic antenna on high alert. Suicide, some were saying; a woman had jumped from the roof. Still more commented that she had been found in a wedding dress. Someone else said that that was earlier in the day. At Hill Point. Shit, that was the tip-off she’d got, and then her dunce of an editor had stuck his oar in, preventing her from investigating it.
This one, though, she had to see for herself. Why shouldn’t she get these scoops? If she hadn’t such an old-fashioned editor, things would be different. She thought of the national papers. The web-based news outlets. Her blog. Yes, she could break a great story that way. Make a name for herself. Then she thought of the story she was secretly working on. That made her mind up for her.
She would have to sneak out past her father. The weight of so many illicit escapes was becoming too much of a burden to bear. She’d been told it wouldn’t be for much longer. That was what she’d been promised. It was what had kept her going, living in the arsehole of nowhere. Then everything had changed.
She left the light on, pocketed her phone and slipped out of the house.
Chapter Fourteen
When she returned to the station, Lottie issued a nationwide alert for eight-year-old Lily Heffernan. The principal at St Celia’s primary school supplied a list of teachers, parents and children, and Lottie organised a team to contact everyone.
She checked with the after-school club, but no one had seen the child since she’d been dropped off for her dance class. Kirby headed to the theatre to check out the situation there and get a list of staff and students, while Sam McKeown did the same at the club. Already, roadblocks had gone up around the town, but she knew it was too late. They’d lost the crucial two-hour window that experts claimed was critical in any child abduction case. Or maybe the little girl had just run away and was waiting for her mother somewhere? Lottie crossed her fingers instinctively.
As she awaited the return of her detectives, she ate a Mars bar and gulped a lukewarm coffee that she’d fetched from the canteen. She was convinced she was dealing with two murders and a missing child. Her brain constricted in pain with all that was going on, and as she looked at Lily’s photograph, her heart lurched in her chest thinking of where she might be. That made her think of her own family. She’d have to go home soon. And Boyd. He had, as yet, no knowledge of Lily Heffernan’s disappearance.
She took out her phone and called him. It went to voicemail. She hung up without leaving a message. He had enough on his plate with his mother. If it actually was his mother he was meeting. Shit, why had she thought that? She shook her head to rid herself of suspicions.
Three hours had passed since Lily’s dance class ended, so that was the timeline they had to use. Three hours since the little girl had disappeared.
She couldn’t sit doing nothing. She dumped the half-drunk coffee in the bin and moved to the door, deciding to walk to the theatre to clear her head.
The snow on the pavements was beginning to freeze. The Christmas lights were lit and Main Street looked brighter than she’d ever seen it. Every second string of bulbs was blue, and it gave a winter wonderland feel to the town. As she turned down Gaol Street, she was struck by the line of stalls along the road. All shuttered. The road closed to traffic. The lights at the after-school club were still on, and the theatre, at the end of the street, had a large Christmas tree swaying outside on the path.
Entering the theatre through the sliding glass doors, Lottie welcomed the blast of heat. She spied Kirby standing beside a life-sized crib. Two men were seated on chairs. Being interrogated, it looked like.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Lottie Parker.’
She smelled the dank odour of dampness. It was an old building, built on the site of Ragmullin’s gaol over a hundred years ago. She shivered at the thought of the reported ghosts walking the vacuum between the roof and ceiling and strolling through the underground chambers, their chains clanking, trailing a fetid stench in their wake.
Kirby turned to her. ‘I’ve completed a search of the building with the help of uniforms. No sign of the child. This is Giles Bannon, theatre and dance school manager.’ He pointed to the old
er of the two men.
‘Bannon?’ Lottie felt the wheels whirring in her brain. ‘Any relation to Zoe Bannon?’
‘She’s my wife.’
‘Oh, right,’ Lottie said, thinking she should have been informed of this.
‘What has Zoe got to do with anything?’ Bannon looked up indignantly.
Lottie paused, trying to align her thoughts. ‘You know we’re investigating the disappearance of eight-year-old Lily Heffernan, your future step-niece?’
‘I do.’
‘Lily’s mother Fiona was due to marry Zoe’s brother Ryan tomorrow, you know.’
‘Of course I bloody know. All that hullabaloo about it being a small ceremony while inviting twenty or thirty people they don’t even know to a shindig at the Railway Hotel. Ryan has my head fried.’ He paused, then added, ‘This gentleman has informed me that Fiona is dead. There won’t be any wedding now, will there?’
Instantly Lottie had an urge to smack his smug face. She felt Kirby tug on her sleeve. Somehow she managed to keep her temper concealed.
‘I was about to commence the interview,’ Kirby said.
‘We should do this at the station,’ she told him, thinking it might soften Giles Bannon’s edges a little. She nodded towards the other man. ‘Who are you?’
He lifted his head, his eyes dancing about wildly. He was either high, excited or terrified.
‘Trevor Toner,’ he said. ‘I’m a dance tutor.’
‘Were you tutoring Lily today?’
He nodded.
‘Speak up,’ Kirby said.
‘Yes, I was. Me and Shelly. We were rehearsing for the show. It’s on next w-week and the kids are b-brutal.’
‘Brutal?’ Lottie wasn’t sure if his stammer was permanent or if he was scared witless.
‘I mean they’re b-bad. Unrehearsed.’
‘And when the class ended, who collected Lily Heffernan?’
‘I don’t know.’ He rubbed his hands together so feverishly that Lottie was sure she could see flecks of skin flittering in the half-light. ‘They always rush to the d-door. Sometimes they don’t even bother to change out of their dance shoes.’
Giles Bannon stood. No matter how she tried, Lottie couldn’t marry his image with Zoe’s slight frame. He was overweight and smelled of sweat. Was that what she’d sensed when she’d walked into the building? Perhaps there were no ghosts after all.
‘Do the students have to be signed in and out?’ she said.
‘Yes. Usually,’ Bannon said. ‘But at this time of year, with a show coming up, it’s usually a bit ad hoc.’ He walked to the glass door and appeared to gaze out at the crooked Christmas tree.
‘Ad hoc? What do you mean?’ Lottie moved to his shoulder. She didn’t like talking to anyone’s back.
‘It’s always a rush. The kids, they’ve been in school all day, then dance class, so they like to dash home.’ He turned, keeping his back to Lottie. This annoyed her even further.
‘Are you telling me you have no record of anyone signing Lily out?’
‘That’s what I’m saying.’
Trevor Toner stood up, glanced at Bannon then back to Lottie. ‘I usually help Shelly check the kids in and out. But I was a little late getting out front today.’
‘Shelly who?’
‘Shelly Forde.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘Gone home,’ Bannon interjected. ‘As has everyone else. And I need to leave too.’
‘Can I see the register?’ She would keep him as long as she could.
Bannon turned and walked across the foyer, his steel-tipped shoes clicking on the smudged tiles. At the reception desk, he lifted a ring binder and brought it back to Lottie.
She skimmed the unintelligible signatures. ‘I’ll take it with me.’
‘Take what you like. The kid isn’t here.’ Bannon had resumed his vigil at the door.
Lottie directed her attention to Trevor Toner. ‘What was Lily’s mood like today?’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t take much notice of her. All of them were under-rehearsed, so she didn’t stand out or anything.’
‘Do you know her well?’
The man’s already pale face turned ashen. ‘What? No. Not like that. Oh God, you don’t think I did anything to her, do you? I’d never hurt a child.’
A grunt from Giles Bannon alerted Lottie. She felt the hairs on her arms perking to attention. ‘Have you something to add, Mr Bannon?’
He swirled round, his face puce. ‘I’d like you to leave now.’
‘That’s not going to happen now or any time soon.’ She turned to Kirby. ‘Accompany them to the station to record their statements. I have a forensic team on the way. This entire building is out of bounds.’
‘For how long?’ Bannon said.
‘Until I say so.’ She sighed loudly.
McKeown picked that moment to arrive, his height and bulk dwarfing Bannon, who took a backward step.
‘Interview them separately,’ she said. ‘Locate Shelly Forde. I want all three in interview rooms when I get back.’
While Trevor Toner seemed to shrink into himself, Giles Bannon appeared to relish the challenge. And then he spoke the words Lottie despised.
‘I want my solicitor.’
Uniforms had the building sealed off and a team were searching the auditorium row by row, for the second time. Lottie doubted the little girl was hiding or being hidden anywhere in the theatre. It was more likely she had wandered off or been taken away. She’d ordered the CCTV footage to be secured from the theatre reception area and, as there was none on the outside of the building, officers were checking nearby businesses. The chances of finding anything on CCTV were slim, mainly because Gaol Street would have been packed that afternoon with the markets, the street cordoned off to traffic. She would have to rely on witness statements, and she knew how unreliable they were.
As she signed herself out at the crime-scene tape, Lottie was certain SOCOs wouldn’t arrive until morning. They were stretched as it was, with the two potential crime scenes resulting from the deaths of Cara Dunne and Fiona Heffernan.
Walking back to the station, the street coloured sepia under the yellow street lights and blue in places from the twinkling strings overhead, she was consumed with a deep sorrow. Where was Lily Heffernan?
She passed the courthouse, all cordoned off with renovations stalled since the deaths of the workers in a freak crane accident. It had cast a damp blanket over the town, and it was only with the festive spirit in the air that normality had started to return. But now, with two murders and a missing child, the abnormal was once again thrown back into the mix.
Shaking her head, she continued her journey. Her next job was to brief Acting Superintendent David McMahon. That was one prospect she did not relish. After that, she was going home to her own family. She needed to hug them and be hugged.
Kirby and McKeown both looked like they could do with a week in bed. Lottie supposed she portrayed the same grim image. Before she did anything else, though, she had to hear what Bannon and Toner had had to say for themselves.
‘We had to let them go,’ Kirby said. ‘They’ll be back in the morning to give their official statements.’
‘Why on earth did you let them go?’
‘A solicitor arrived,’ McKeown said. ‘Bannon was all smiles. Like two pigs in shite they were.’
‘Stop. You’ll give me a headache.’ She already had one.
‘In all fairness,’ McKeown said, ‘he was within his rights to call a solicitor.’
‘Rights?’ Lottie fumed. ‘An eight-year-old girl is missing, and her mother is lying on a slab in the mortuary.’
‘Sorry, boss, but the way I see—’
‘Has anyone informed the superintendent?’ She was in no mood for pontificating. She wanted facts.
‘He’s attending some Christmas dinner thing in Dublin Castle,’ Kirby said as he sat down, a gasp of air escaping from his chair. ‘He’s not answering his phone.’
‘Not much more we can do for now,’ Lottie said. ‘Go home and be back at six a.m. The duty sergeant can contact us if there are any developments.’
‘If that’s what you want,’ McKeown said.
‘Have we any update on Cara Dunne? Anyone talk to her friends or work colleagues?’
‘I had a word with her ex-fiancé, Steve O’Carroll. He’s the assistant manager at the Railway Hotel.’
Kirby said, ‘Bannon mentioned that was the hotel where Fiona Heffernan’s wedding reception was due to take place.’
‘What did O’Carroll have to say for himself?’ Lottie asked.
‘Not much,’ McKeown said. ‘I checked him out. He spent four years studying to become a solicitor. Failed his finals spectacularly and never got to practise. Now he’s living in Ragmullin. He refused to answer any questions. I got the feeling he hadn’t much regret over the break-up with Cara.’
‘Okay, thanks. Once the post-mortem confirms Cara Dunne was murdered, I want him in here.’
‘Sure, boss,’ McKeown said. ‘For what it’s worth, I think he was acting very strange.’
‘Acting strange does not say he’s guilty of anything.’
‘Still, he didn’t seem too put out by her death.’
‘We’ll follow up with him tomorrow. You two are off duty now.’ As McKeown fetched his coat and left, she turned to Kirby. ‘The belt used to hang Cara Dunne. Any word from forensics?’
‘I was working on it,’ he said, ‘before Fiona and Lily happened.’
‘First thing in the morning, I want a report on my desk.’
‘Sure,’ Kirby muttered.
She switched off the light in her office, closed the door and left Kirby to whatever he was at. Her legs felt like lead as she made her way down the stairs. A hot shower would be welcome. And then she was putting her feet up for the night. She tried calling Boyd again. He still wasn’t picking up. What was going on with him?
Broken Souls: An absolutely addictive mystery thriller with a brilliant twist (Detective Lottie Parker Book 7) Page 8