She thought of how she had dismissed Beth earlier in the morning when the girl had arrived at the station concerned about her dad. Guilt wormed its way through her blood. Feck, she thought, she should have been more considerate. But events were happening with such velocity that she was struggling to keep up. She itched to get over to the body, to check if he had a lock of hair missing or one on his person, but she didn’t want to compromise the scene. ‘Is it really Christy Clarke?’ she said.
‘Without a face, it could be anyone,’ Boyd offered, and went back out to have a word with the garda at the door.
‘Boyd!’ It was unlike him to be so insensitive. Something was eating away at him, and she wanted him to share it with her. Could it be related to Sean showing up on his doorstep? But now was not the time for sorting out personal matters.
A bustle of activity at the door caused her to turn around. Two paramedics with a stretcher trolley had arrived. Too late for them. Too late for the victim.
‘We need a positive ID, and to find out if he owned the gun,’ she said. Boyd was staring at the victim’s decimated face. He had gone deathly pale and staggered slightly. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I need a toilet,’ he said.
‘You should find one in the pub across the road …’
Before she could finish her sentence, Boyd had bustled his way out between the startled paramedics. She watched as he ran across the road, bursting through the pub’s double doors. She was torn between following him to make sure he was all right and staying with the victim. She needed to wait for McGlynn, but she also wanted to check on Boyd.
She stayed where she was.
After the garda had taken down all she had to say, which wasn’t a whole lot, Beth told him she was feeling better and wanted to go to Zoe Bannon’s house. Once he’d run it by the inspector, he arranged for a colleague to take her there in the squad car.
She needed to talk to Ryan or Zoe. A friendly face might help her, because she couldn’t go home. Not yet. Not to an empty house with her father’s unfinished work littered across every surface.
She rang the doorbell as the squad car pulled away. Zoe opened the door, holding her youngest son in her arms, with her two other boys wrestling in the hallway behind her.
‘Oh God, what’s happened to you, Beth?’
‘Can I come in?’
‘Of course, you can. Head to the kitchen. You look awful. Have you the flu? There’s an awful dose doing the rounds. I suppose you heard about poor Fiona. I can’t get my head around it at all. Poor Ryan … well, I don’t know what to say to him. Oh, sorry, here’s me prattling on. Sit down. Did you hear all the sirens? Something must be going on in the village. Did you notice anything? That bridge is an accident waiting to happen. Do you think there was a crash?’
As Zoe flung school bags and jumpers to the floor, Beth burst into tears.
‘Oh pet, what’s wrong?’
‘It’s Dad. He’s … he’s dead. Oh my God, Zoe, I don’t know what to do.’
Zoe crossed herself and Beth winced through her tears. Ryan’s sister was like a mother to everyone, and that made her think of her own mother. For a moment she wished Eve was here. She quickly dismissed the thought.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Zoe said.
‘I don’t want a thing. It’ll make me sick. After what I’ve seen … It was terrible.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘I’m not sure I can.’ Beth pulled at a corner of the tablecloth and wound it around her hand. Twisting and twisting, so hard she almost dragged it from the table to her lap.
‘What happened, Beth? Tell me.’
‘Is Ryan here?’
‘He’s probably up at the cottage. He’s in a state. And what with Lily missing too …’
‘No word yet?’
‘Not a dicky bird, poor little mite.’
Beth gulped down a sob that was threatening to engulf her. She had to talk, otherwise she felt she was going to curl up and die.
‘Dad killed himself.’
‘Oh dear Mother Mary in heaven. That’s terrible. You didn’t … you know … find him, did you?’
Beth nodded. ‘He’d shot himself. In the face. In the garage. Why did he do that?’
‘Oh hun. That’s just awful.’ Zoe flopped onto a chair. ‘I can’t even begin to imagine how you must feel.’
‘Don’t try. It’s awful.’
‘Do you think you should … you know … tell your mother? She’s in Ragmullin, you know.’
Beth felt the colour flare up her cheeks. ‘I’m aware of where she is, and for all I know, she could have driven him to it.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I do. Every word of it. She abandoned us. Went off and made a new life for herself, so Dad said. God only knows what she’s been up to.’ Beth couldn’t control the burst of trembling convulsing her body. Her knees rattled so much they bumped off the underside of the table.
Zoe stood. ‘I’ll make that tea.’
Taking her hand, Beth pulled Zoe down to her eye level. ‘Listen to me. I think a lot of things might be unearthed if the guards start looking into Dad’s death.’ As Zoe drew away from her, Beth added, ‘We can’t let anyone find out about you-know-what.’
‘Don’t be silly. Why would the guards be looking into it just because Christy killed himself?’
‘I know from my job what that detective inspector is like.’
‘Oh Beth, this is such a mess.’
Beth stood and grabbed Zoe’s elbows, forcing the woman to look into her eyes. But as she was about to speak, the chime of the doorbell broke them apart.
Chapter Thirty-Two
With Boyd by her side once again, Lottie rang Giles and Zoe Bannon’s doorbell for the second time in as many days. She’d agreed to allow Beth to stay here until she was formally interviewed. Ideally the interview should take place at the station, but Lottie needed to hear first-hand how she’d stumbled across her father’s body, so she decided to strike early.
Once inside, tea was insisted upon, and when she had it made, Zoe went to join her children in the sitting room, leaving Lottie, Boyd and Beth in the cluttered kitchen. The smell of garlic was still as strong as the evening before.
‘Are you positive it’s your dad, Beth?’ Lottie said, ignoring the teapot and cups in the middle of the table.
The young woman seemed to nudge one shoulder upwards in an ‘I don’t know’ or a ‘could be’ gesture.
‘Please talk to me.’ Lottie noticed that Beth’s eyes were dry but red-rimmed. ‘Would it help if I asked Zoe to join us?’
Beth shook her head. ‘It’s okay. I can talk. Just … It was a shock, you know. Finding him like that … my dad … and it was him, I’m sure.’ She swallowed a loud sob. It sounded more like a hiccup.
‘It’s okay to cry.’ Lottie wished Boyd would engage the girl in conversation. He was a lot better at comforting bereaved family members than she was. But he was studying his hands. She felt like giving him a nudge but didn’t.
‘I don’t want to cry,’ Beth said. ‘I want to scream and shout. It’s not fair, you know. Not fair at all.’
After allowing her a moment to compose herself, Lottie said, ‘When you called to the station this morning, I thought you were being a bit premature in declaring your father missing. I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything at the time. Can I ask, though, why were you so worried?’
Again Beth shrugged one shoulder. This time she spoke. ‘He’s been under so much pressure lately. Hasn’t been himself at all. First he was grumpy and angry all the time, then he became so distant. And the last few days he’s been acting like he’s been terrified of something.’
‘Terrified?’
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what I’m saying.’
‘What was your father terrified of? Was it anything that would make him take his own life?’
Beth wrapped the tablecloth round and round her fingers. ‘Do we have to do this now?�
��
Lottie was certain the young woman knew more than she was telling. ‘Why did you go to the garage?’
‘I’d tried everywhere else, I suppose. I couldn’t stay at work and do nothing.’
‘Any idea where your dad might have been all day?’
Opening her eyes wide, Beth said, ‘He wasn’t in the garage when I checked this morning, so I don’t know where he was. If I’d been a little earlier, maybe I could have saved him.’
‘It will be up to the pathologist to rule on time of death,’ Lottie said.
‘And his cause of death?’ Beth prompted. ‘Will the pathologist confirm he killed himself?’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I don’t want to believe he did that. I heard the way everyone was talking about poor Fiona. It was sickening. Do you realise how hard it’ll be for me to continue living here?’
‘Don’t be thinking like that.’
Beth folded her arms on the table and buried her face in them. ‘You don’t understand.’
Lottie put out a hand and smoothed her hair. ‘Actually, I do. Very much so.’ She felt her voice break a little. Her own father had taken his life with a pistol in his mouth when she’d been just four years old. She’d known very little about it at the time, but she’d lived through the devastating effects in the aftermath.
Beth raised her head, sniffling. ‘Sorry. I can’t believe he would hurt me that way. I never thought, not in a million years, that he could do something like that. Never!’ Her voice rose in an unnatural shriek. Lottie touched her hand. She had to make the girl focus.
‘Take a few deep breaths. Look at me. Does your dad own a shotgun?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where does he normally go during the day?’
‘I don’t know. I leave for work around eight every morning. Usually he’s already fed the pigs by then. Oh God, I’ll have to feed them now. I hate the mucky bastards. The smell of them.’
‘Don’t think of them for now. You’re telling me about your dad’s routine.’
After another sniff, Beth said, ‘Sometimes he goes to the shop. For milk and the newspaper, and bread if we’re out of it. I don’t know why he was at the garage this afternoon. It’s been closed for over a year.’
‘But the cars I saw in there look new,’ Boyd said. Lottie welcomed his interjection.
Beth continued. ‘I work in Ragmullin every weekday. Some weekends too. I’m on call twenty-four-seven. Ridiculous for a local paper, but I do podcasts and I write a blog as well. Sometimes my stuff gets picked up by the online news sites.’ She paused and shook her head. ‘I honestly don’t know what my dad does all day.’
‘Are you sure his car wasn’t at the garage when you checked this morning?’ Lottie asked.
Beth closed her eyes, as if envisaging her earlier actions. ‘It wasn’t there, that’s why I didn’t go in then. I left work early and went home, and when he still wasn’t around, I headed back to the garage to check again. That’s when I found his car parked out the back.’
‘Did you see or speak to anyone?’
‘Only Colin Kavanagh. He was there walking around, looking for dad.’
Lottie raised an eyebrow at Boyd. ‘Lily’s father?’
‘Yeah. He and Dad are … were acquaintances. He advised Dad on stuff to do with the business, as far as I know.’ Beth scrunched up her nose like a child who didn’t want to eat her broccoli.
Lottie’s heart broke for the young woman. Beth wasn’t much older than Katie. She felt a twinge of guilt gnaw her heart. She hadn’t checked in at home all day. Shit. Then she wondered about Kavanagh’s connection to Christy Clarke. Kavanagh had lived with Fiona Heffernan for years and was the father of her child. She didn’t believe in coincidence, but she knew it was possible, especially in a small village. And Lily was still missing.
‘Did you ever hear any rumours about why Fiona left Colin?’
Beth’s eyes opened wide. Was that a streak of fear that had flitted across them before a veil of tears sheathed them again? ‘I … I think Fiona said he was too old for her.’
‘And Lily? Colin can’t have been happy to see another man raise his daughter, can he?’
‘I don’t know what you mean. Ryan loves Lily as if she were his own. And Mr Kavanagh had rights to her, so there couldn’t be any problem, could there?’
‘I don’t know,’ Lottie said. ‘If you think of anything, will you let me know?’
‘Can I go home now? I’m wrecked.’
‘Why don’t you stay with Zoe tonight?’
The blue eyes turned almost ebony as Beth replied, her voice wavering like she could cry again any second. ‘I’m only friends with Zoe because of Ryan. I work with him. I wouldn’t feel … comfortable here. I want to go home.’
‘Have you any other family?’
‘Just Dad. My mother is estranged from us.’
‘Who is your mother, Beth?’ Lottie knew what the girl was going to say even though she’d already denied knowing the woman.
Beth stood and moved to the sink. She filled a glass with water. Turning back, Lottie noticed the shake in her hand as water spilled over the side.
‘My mother’s name is Eve Clarke. And I hate every bone in her body.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
They left Beth in the care of Zoe Bannon. She only agreed after Boyd worked his charm and convinced her it was best not to be alone.
‘This is a right mess,’ Boyd said as they headed for Colin Kavanagh’s house.
‘Why do you say that?’ Lottie asked.
‘For starters, yesterday morning Eve Clarke discovered the body of Cara Dunne. That initially looked like a suicide but is now a fully fledged murder investigation.’
‘Go on, Sherlock.’
‘And this afternoon Eve’s ex-husband Christy is found with his brains blown out. Also looks like a suicide.’
‘You don’t think Christy Clarke killed himself?’
‘I don’t know what to think.’
‘You’re right on one thing,’ Lottie said, staring at the snow pelting against the window. ‘It is a right mess.’
They lapsed into silence as the car sped along the narrow, slushy road. She could detect that Boyd was uptight. She felt like burying her head in his shoulder and seeking the comfort of his body close to hers. He’d been so distant lately, she feared their wedding might never take place.
‘We can sort it, though,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘I’m not worrying about the case.’
‘What’s the scowl for then?’
‘I’m concerned about you.’ She could have sworn his hands tightened on the steering wheel as she spoke. ‘What’s up with you, Boyd?’
He turned his head slightly without taking his eyes off the road. ‘I’m fine, Lottie. Absolutely fine.’
‘We are getting married, Boyd. I promise you.’
‘You don’t even want anyone to know.’
‘I need to get my head around how it will affect our working relationship, and then we can tell my family and make the arrangements. Are you excited for us?’
He concentrated on the dark road ahead. ‘I am.’
She didn’t believe him. He was up to something. But right now, she felt she had enough on her plate with two murders and a suspected suicide. Not to mention a little girl who was still missing. She radioed the station for an update. It turned out there was little to report. Lily Heffernan was still missing. No sightings. But Kavanagh had been ringing the station constantly, and was filling the news channels with pleas for his daughter’s safe return.
Lottie rang home. Just to check her family were all okay. And that was when Katie told her about her plan.
‘No fucking way,’ Lottie said when she’d hung up.
‘What are the Parker kiddies up to now?’ Boyd winked, winding her up more.
‘Katie wants to fly over to Tom Rickard in New York. For Christmas, for fuck’s sake.’
‘It might be good f
or her to get away.’
‘I thought you were on my side!’ Lottie fumed. ‘She wants to bring baby Louis with her and get this … Chloe wants to go too.’
‘Well, they’ve been through a horrendous experience recently. Let them off.’
Lottie tried to twist around in the seat, restrained by the belt across her chest. Trying hard not to hyperventilate, she said, ‘Boyd, would you ever shut up. What do you know about kids, anyway?’
‘Nothing, Lottie. Not a thing.’
She breathed long and hard as Boyd kept his eyes on the road. The headlights made the snowflakes sparkle and flutter before they disappeared, and she felt herself sinking into the seat. She had a missing child to find, and now her kids were running rogue. Life seemed to be unravelling around her. Nothing new there, she thought.
Boyd idled the engine at the gates to Colin Kavanagh’s house while Lottie went to the intercom. No reply. She walked back to the car, looking around in the dark.
‘There’s no one home,’ Boyd said, getting out and searching his pockets.
‘Don’t light a cigarette,’ Lottie said. She went to the car boot and extracted two torches.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I really want one. But I don’t want one. Follow?’
He zipped up his jacket and nodded. ‘What do we do now?’
‘I wouldn’t mind a snoop around.’ She handed him a torch.
‘The gate’s locked,’ he pointed out.
‘Never stopped me before.’
She began walking along the perimeter hedge. From experience, she knew it was virtually impossible to secure a property out in the countryside unless you constructed a ten-foot-high wall all the way round. And Colin Kavanagh hadn’t done that.
‘Wait up, Lottie. What do you think you’re doing?’ Boyd caught up with her.
‘Looking for a gap.’ She shone the torch up and down as she walked, ducking beneath overhanging branches, and realised just how dark it was without the haze of street lights, even in the distance.
‘You’re mad.’
‘I know. You must be too. You’re following me.’
Broken Souls: An absolutely addictive mystery thriller with a brilliant twist (Detective Lottie Parker Book 7) Page 17