‘When did Steve O’Carroll last have contact with Cara?’
‘He says it was weeks ago. Haven’t found anyone to dispute that.’
‘And Fiona? Was there anything unusual in her relationship with Ryan or Colin Kavanagh that anyone noticed?
‘There’s a nurse at the abbey. The man who found her body.’
‘Alan Hughes,’ Lottie said.
‘Yeah, that guy,’ McKeown said. ‘He says Fiona was very distracted for the last few weeks. He put it down to wedding nerves at first, but after he found her body, he thought about it again. He tried to pinpoint when her mood changed from excitement about the wedding to what he called “manic behaviour”.’
‘Did he pinpoint it?’
‘He says it was about three weeks ago. She became flustered at work. Didn’t want to tend Sister Augusta. And whenever the priest was doing his rounds, Fiona was nowhere to be found.’
‘Three weeks ago,’ Lottie said. ‘That’s when Robert Brady died.’
‘He was found just over two weeks ago,’ Kirby said.
‘The pathologist said he was dead for a week before his body was discovered.’ She looked at Brady’s photograph on the board. ‘Because Kirby thinks it was his belt that was found around Cara Dunne’s neck, and because a lock of hair was found on his person, Brady’s death is definitely suspicious.’
‘Jesus, boss, we have enough to be getting on with,’ Sam McKeown whined.
Lottie ignored him and thought of the priest’s changing demeanour when she’d mentioned Brady’s name. ‘I believe Father Michael Curran could be a link in these murders.’
‘How?’ McKeown wasn’t giving up easily.
‘He gave Cara Dunne a reference for her job ten years ago. He met with Fiona about her wedding and also saw her regularly at the abbey. That is, until she started to avoid him.’
‘Maybe she was avoiding him because of his attitude to her being an unmarried mother?’ Boyd offered into the mix.
‘She’d been an unmarried mother eight years at that stage, so I doubt anything the priest said about it could have upset her too much.’ Lottie looked to McKeown. ‘What’s the status of the investigation into Lily’s disappearance?’
‘CCTV hasn’t turned up anything unusual. The lads are now looking at the dash-cam footage that was handed in after a further appeal.’
‘Wasn’t Gaol Street cordoned off to traffic?’ Lottie said.
‘Yeah, but cars were still able to cut through the car park at the side of the theatre and travel down the hill out of town.’
‘Right, keep an eye on that.’
‘Will do. Oh, and Colin Kavanagh has been on radio and television bad-mouthing us while appealing for the return of his daughter. He’s offered a reward.’
‘I heard,’ Lottie said.
‘We have no evidence that Lily was abducted,’ Kirby said. ‘Now the loonies are out in force, blocking the phone lines.’
Lottie said, ‘I think it’s better to have Kavanagh on the airwaves than knocking on my door.’ But she was worried. Lily had been missing too long. ‘Could she have wandered towards the canal or the river?’
‘The canal is frozen over,’ McKeown said, ‘but we’ve had it and the river checked. No joy.’
‘Keep me informed of any developments,’ Lottie said. ‘Lily’s disappearance must be linked to her mother’s death, so we have to make headway on Fiona’s murder.’
‘Yes, boss,’ McKeown said.
‘Anyone got anything else to add?’
Head shakes and murmurs greeted her. ‘Right. I want Colin Kavanagh interviewed in connection with Christy Clarke. And I want the belt identified conclusively. First, though, I’m going to chat with Beth Clarke.’
With Boyd still in a strop, Lottie headed out to Ballydoon on her own.
As she drove, slush washed along the roadside and the rain beat a tattoo on her windscreen. Branches that had been laden with snow were now bare and black, and the landscape was decidedly greyer as she sped along the narrow road into the village.
Brennan’s Pub had its doors and windows shuttered. The corner shop was open; clear plastic covered bales of briquettes and gas cylinders. Crime-scene tape still hung around Clarke’s Garage with a lone drowned-looking uniformed officer standing guard.
She still had to receive word from the pathologist on whether there was anything suspicious about Christy Clarke’s death. Making a mental note to follow up once she was back at the office, she turned left before the entrance to the abbey and drove to the farm.
Beth’s blue Volkswagen Golf was parked haphazardly in the yard. Lottie pulled up behind it. Rain and mud flowed under her boots when she got out of her car, and the air was foul-smelling. That stalled her for a moment until she spotted the large sheds and heard the animals squealing. She was immediately transported back to a year ago, when she’d stood in a similar yard where a man had met his death through the blades of a slurry agitator. Shrugging off the shiver that ran through her, she approached the back door, the obvious door to try when in the countryside.
After a second burst of knocks, it still went unanswered. Looking all around, she noted a well-worn pathway. She walked along it until she reached the hedge. Beyond, through the spills of rain, she had a direct line of sight towards the roof of the abbey. And in between, the wooded area with the eerie-looking white statues. Was this where someone had been standing a couple of evenings ago, while Fiona Heffernan lay dead on the ground beside the abbey? It seemed likely. Had it been Christy Clarke she’d seen, or his daughter? Perhaps even someone else?
As the rain stung her face, she tightened the hood of her jacket, shielding herself against the sharp rain, and turned away.
‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed. ‘You shouldn’t creep up on people like that.’
The kitchen was neat and tidy. Lottie felt like having a mug of tea or coffee to warm her up, but Beth didn’t offer anything. They sat at the large wooden table across from each other.
‘I’m sorry for scaring you, but you were trespassing on my father’s property. Although I suppose that’s not strictly true now.’
Beth’s eyes were red-rimmed and her hair, equally red, was wild and loose. Lottie could see the young woman was wound up so tightly that at any second she could unravel and spring in all directions. Her job was to ensure she learned the truth from Beth. Experience had taught her that truth was usually revealed in twists and turns, and more often than not, it was smothered in lies.
‘Explain what you mean,’ she said, smiling kindly.
‘It’s difficult for me to talk about it. My last image of my father, which I’ll have for the rest of my life, is a grotesque mask of blood and flesh. That’s not right, is it?’
‘I’m sorry you had to find him. No daughter should have to see that,’ Lottie said. ‘I know exactly how you feel.’
‘Do you?’ Beth fiddled with a crumb on the table. ‘You must see some sights in your job. I’m sure nothing shocks you.’
‘Everything shocks me. Inhumanity comes in many forms, not necessarily personified by visible violence, but the things I see don’t harden me to the trauma families have to go through after a death.’ She paused, surprised to see Beth listening intently. ‘What did you mean a moment ago?’
‘It’s Colin Kavanagh. It’s all his fault. That’s the reason why Ryan went for him in the pub last night.’
‘What did he do?’
‘I’m not sure. I haven’t had time to go through Dad’s paperwork, but he was here yesterday when I got home from Zoe’s house. Sitting out there at Dad’s desk.’ She pointed to the door that led to the rest of the house. ‘He had the cheek to say he owned all of our assets, including this house.’ A cry broke from Beth’s throat and tears threatened at the corners of her eyes.
‘Really? Do you think that’s true?’
‘It could be. He was Dad’s solicitor, as far as I know, and Dad was acting very strangely lately. I told you all this yesterday. It kind of makes se
nse now. I think he may have signed everything over to Colin Kavanagh. What I can’t get my head around is why. I don’t believe it was because of my mother, like Mr Kavanagh said.’
‘Your mother? Eve Clarke?’
Beth nodded.
‘What did Mr Kavanagh say about her?’
Beth abandoned the crumb and pinched the bridge of her nose with her finger and thumb, as if she was trying to remember the exact words. ‘He said Dad didn’t want my mother getting her hands on his money. But Dad never voiced that concern to me. Never. That’s why I don’t believe it.’
‘Leave Mr Kavanagh to me, Beth. I’ll talk to him, and when I find out the truth, I’ll tell you. No need for Ryan or anyone to be throwing punches. Okay?’
‘Okay.’ Beth dropped her hand from her face and fiddled with the crumb again until it disintegrated between her fingers. She glanced up, her eyes full of grief and fear.
Lottie felt a twinge in her heart. ‘Is there something else worrying you?’
‘Isn’t it enough to have my father kill himself and that Fiona’s dead? No explanation for either death. I’m a journalist, but I’m also the daughter of one of those victims and a friend to the other. I want answers.’
‘I’ve just told you, I will let you know.’
‘Right. In about six months, when there’s an inquest.’ Beth’s lip curled with derision.
‘I’m warning you, Beth, don’t go snooping. Too many people have died already, and a little girl has disappeared.’
‘Poor Lily. Inspector, do you think the deaths are connected?’
Lottie didn’t answer. She thought about the wedding dresses and the locks of hair. Other than that, there was nothing concrete to link the victims to each other. So why had they been targeted by a killer? She still had no confirmation as to whether any hair had been shorn from Christy Clarke. She shivered at the thought that the evidence might have been obliterated by the gunshot. She needed the post-mortem results. And she was haunted by the fact that eight-year-old Lily was still missing.
They sat without saying a word, rain beating against the window, the pigs squealing and crows cawing loudly outside. Was this the time to bring up Robert Brady?
Beth said, ‘You know about Robert Brady, I suppose.’
Serendipity, Lottie thought. ‘Yes. He was found hanging in the forest by the lake. Near here, wasn’t it?’
‘Not far from where Colin Kavanagh lives,’ Beth added, her lip curled. ‘You know Robert did some work on that barn Kavanagh bought?’
‘Did he?’
‘Yeah. And he worked on Ryan’s cottage. Then the poor sod ended up living in his van. That’s so unfair.’
‘Did you know Robert?’ Lottie asked, thinking she must get the team to follow up on his living arrangements. She studied the young woman’s face intently. ‘Please, Beth, I need to know if I should be looking into his death.’
‘You haven’t enough to be looking into?’ The curled lip returned.
‘I’m trying to establish facts. Following the evidence, tracking clues, investigating victims’ lives. That’s police work.’
‘A bit like journalists.’ A half-smile, lined with sadness, broke on Beth’s face. The effect lifted her whole demeanour and her eyes lost their emptiness momentarily.
‘If there is anything you think might be suspicious about Robert’s death, then I need to know.’
Beth stood. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
She did, but not now. ‘The tea can wait.’
The young woman sighed, sat down and found another crumb to play with. Lottie counted the seconds in the silence.
With her elbows on the table, one shoulder raised as if cradling her head, Beth concentrated on the crumb as she spoke.
‘I liked Robert. He was one of those inoffensive people. A bit simple, my dad called him. But he wasn’t. Not really. He was clever with his hands. Always making things. He was a great builder. He was even known as Bob the Builder. You know, after the cartoon character? He never went anywhere without his builder’s belt. Always showing off his work tools. Lads made fun of him, and girls laughed at him. I just felt sorry for him.’
‘Did you befriend him?’
Beth blushed. ‘I did, in a way. Though he must have been more Ryan’s or Zoe’s age than mine.’ She started to cry.
‘What’s the matter, Beth?’ Lottie reached out and took the girl’s hand in her own. ‘You can tell me.’
‘I’m not sure I can.’
‘If you want me to keep it between us, I will do my best. Until such time I think it might have a bearing on the other deaths. Okay?’
Beth sniffed away her tears and rubbed her nose on the end of her sleeve, childlike. ‘The company Robert worked for folded, and he only had odd jobs here and there. The bank took his house. His self-worth disintegrated. Can you imagine what that can do to a person? To wake up every morning and only have a van to live in; to have nothing to look forward to. And you know what? I might have no father. No home, if Kavanagh is telling the truth.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘But at least I have my job.’
‘And you have your mother.’
‘Don’t mention that woman. She abandoned me. She’s dead to me, corny as that sounds.’
‘Tell me about Robert,’ Lottie coaxed.
Beth shook her head, but after a few seconds, she relented. ‘I met him when he was doing some work at Ryan’s cottage. He was polite, but quiet in himself. It struck me as odd that Ryan didn’t appear to like him. Made him redo all the skirting boards, saying they were shoddy. That kind of thing.’
‘If Ryan didn’t like him, why did he engage him to work for him?’
‘It was Fiona. She recommended him.’
‘Fiona knew Robert too?’
‘She must have done. Maybe it was because of the great job he did converting Kavanagh’s barn. Have you seen it? The house? It’s amazing.’
Lottie grimaced at the memory of the breaking-and-entering escapade. ‘Yeah, I’ve seen it. You told me previously you thought Fiona left Colin Kavanagh because he was too old for her. Is there any other reason?’ She knew she was changing direction in her line of questioning, but it was something she needed to know.
‘Maybe money wasn’t everything to her. If he’s so obnoxious in public, who knows what he’s like behind closed doors.’
‘Do you think Robert might have known Cara Dunne?’ Lottie said. Beth opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. ‘Come on, Beth, help me out here.’
‘I don’t know if he knew her or not.’
‘Did he ever go by the initials BB?’
She shrugged. ‘As I said, some people called him Bob the Builder.’
‘Anything else you want to tell me about him?’
‘If he hadn’t been homeless, I think his death would have been investigated more thoroughly. Vulnerable people are easily forgotten – by the authorities and people in general. Easy targets to whitewash out of your consciousness. I’m not convinced Robert was …’ Beth paused. ‘I don’t think he’d gone far enough … to kill himself.’
There was something else. Something she was holding back. Lottie tried again. ‘What are you not telling me, Beth?’
‘I’ve said enough.’ She stood up suddenly.
‘When did you last speak to Robert?’
‘Ages ago. When will Dad’s body be released for burial?’
‘I’ll check when I get back to the office and let you know.’ Lottie stared at her. ‘How well did you actually know Robert?’
‘Not well enough, obviously.’
‘Any idea where his van is?’
‘Try the caravan park at Lough Doon. The day he died, he had to get out there somehow, hadn’t he? Can you leave now?’
‘One final thing. Will you go through your father’s paperwork to see if you can help me confirm what Kavanagh said is true?’
‘Okay.’ Beth held the door open and the rain splashed inside. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Sure.’
Lottie zipped up her jacket.
‘What do you think has happened to Lily?’
‘I’m trying to find out.’
‘I’ll see if I can discover anything that might help.’
‘Beth?’
‘What?’
‘You be careful.’ Lottie stepped out into the deluge.
Chapter Forty-Three
Beth stood at the window and watched the detective making a call in her car. Who was she contacting, and why? Had Beth said something she shouldn’t have? She replayed the conversation in her head. No, there was nothing that had given anything away. If the detective found out things in her own way, Beth had nothing to fear. Then she remembered the warning to be careful. Could she be in danger?
She shivered, though the kitchen was warm. Icicles of foreboding trickled down her spine and flew around to her abdomen. She felt like someone had dunked her into a barrel of freezing cold water. With trembling hands, she slid a bobbin from her wrist and whipped back her hair at the nape of her neck.
As she turned away from the window, she missed the shadow passing by.
In the living room, she sat at her father’s desk and began the task of trying to understand what he had been up to with Colin Kavanagh. A surge of energy propelled her. This was real investigative work, something she had always wanted to do, though not in these circumstances.
She fleetingly wondered how Lottie Parker remained sane with all she had to deal with. Beth knew that if it was her, she would slowly go mad.
Lottie sat in the car, pondering her next move.
There were so many half-truths, and an almost total lack of evidence, but there was enough to convince her that maybe some or all of the deaths were linked. She just had to find what connected the victims. She felt a rush of adrenaline. The connection would be found in Ballydoon. Each one of the dead – Robert Brady, Cara Dunne, Fiona Heffernan and Christy Clarke – was linked to the village in one form or another. Sister Augusta had said It’s all about the child. So how did the disappearance of little Lily Heffernan fit in with the deaths?
Broken Souls: An absolutely addictive mystery thriller with a brilliant twist (Detective Lottie Parker Book 7) Page 23