Lottie had a feeling she was looking at this the wrong way around, but no matter what she tried, she couldn’t make anything fit. A jigsaw with more than one piece of blue sky missing. One thing she knew for sure: Beth Clarke was afraid of something or someone. And Lily was still missing.
She wished Boyd was with her.
Taking out her phone, she rang him and was relieved when he agreed to come out to Ballydoon. She told him where she’d be, then drove away from the Clarkes’ as the rain dissipated. What had Beth omitted? She felt it was something crucial to the murders. As she drove, she phoned Jane Dore’s office. Still no progress on Christy Clarke’s post-mortem. It would be afternoon before Jane got to him. Then she rang Kirby. And he told her something new.
As she drove down the narrow road, she felt everything was like a pot on a stove. They kept throwing things into the mix and soon, very soon, it was all going to boil over. She hoped that when that happened, there would be at least one definitive answer to take hold of and run with.
Beth walked away from her father’s desk. She needed a cup of coffee before she started. Something to spur her on. She’d slept with her eyes open last night. The back door had rattled as if someone had been trying to get in. But she had it double-bolted. At times like this, she wished her father had relented and let her get a dog. But no, he’d said it was too much of a worry, with livestock in neighbouring fields.
She listened to the hungry pigs outside. Much as the idea appalled her, she knew she’d have to feed them. Then she’d have to sort out someone to take them or sell them for her. Or was that now Kavanagh’s responsibility? She had no idea.
Her phone rang in her jeans pocket. She checked it. Zoe. She didn’t want to talk, so she let it go to voice message. Later, when she was feeling up to it, she’d see what Zoe wanted. A message popped up on the screen. A text. Zoe again.
Beth reluctantly opened the message.
One word. HELP.
He wasn’t too worried that he’d been unable to get into the house last night. There’d be another time. He’d continue to keep his eye on her, without her knowing, like he’d done with the others.
From his vantage point he’d admired the long-legged detective as she’d got into her car. She had beautiful hair, but she needed to care for it better. He’d watched as she drove away, and wondered just how much of a problem she was going to be.
He fingered his prize in his pocket. The silky feel of the hair was like gold dust in his hands. He had more like it, but the urge to feel Beth’s hair in his hands was becoming too intense. As he was debating with himself whether now was a good time to strike, the door opened, and she rushed out and jumped into her car.
Another opportunity missed. But there would be others. Of that he was completely sure. And if there were none, he was well able to manufacture them.
He smiled as the smoke trailed from the exhaust pipe as she turned the car in the yard and drove away. Oh beautiful young Beth, you are just the tonic I need.
He drew back into the undergrowth, at one with nature, where he knew no one would ever find him.
Chapter Forty-Four
At the entrance to the lakeshore, Lottie stood by her car, glad the rain had stopped. She cocked her head to one side, listening to birds singing loudly in the trees. She didn’t like birds. They were fine up high, away from her; other than that, they gave her the shivers.
On the water, she saw swans swimming and thought it unusual for December; surely it was too cold for them. After a while, the birdsong and the trumpet of the swans was obliterated by the noise of a car engine. She waited while Boyd joined her.
‘I’ve never been to this lake before,’ he said, buttoning his coat and turning up his collar against the cold air.
‘My county is a soft bed of springs and lakes,’ she said. ‘Doon is the mythical one.’
‘Bit odd having a gate out here in the middle of nowhere,’ he said, looking around.
‘There are fishermen’s caravans further down. It’s probably to keep burglars away.’
‘Right!’ Boyd laughed dubiously. ‘Nothing stopping them walking around the gate and through the bushes.’
Lottie smiled. ‘The caravans were checked out, weren’t they?’
‘They were. No sign of Lily.’
‘I want the site searched again, and this time they’re to look for Robert Brady’s van.’
When he’d phoned it in, Lottie said, ‘Boyd, can I ask what you had to go to Galway for?’
‘I told you. My mother had an appointment at the clinic. I had to bring her. No need to be so suspicious.’
‘But your mother can drive, can’t she?’
‘Did you call me all the way out here to interrogate me?’
Lottie shrugged. He was too evasive. Maybe she’d give his mother a ring. When she had time. For now, they both needed to concentrate on work. ‘I want to see where Robert Brady was found.’
Boyd sighed. ‘It’s been over two weeks since his body was discovered. The entire area was probably flattened by ambulances and the like, not to speak of the snow.’
As they walked, she said, ‘Do you know the legend of this lake?’
‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’
‘The Children of Lir,’ she said, ‘Google it, as Sean says.’
‘I’m not sure it will help us solve any murders.’
They reached the wooded area that Boyd had pointed out from a drawing saved on his phone.
‘Where did you get that?’ she said.
‘It was on Robert Brady’s report. Kirby’s been going over it. Thin file, as you’d guess.’
‘Open and shut,’ she said, and wondered about McKeown’s original thoroughness. Had he fucked up?
‘Through here.’ Boyd held up a branch to let her duck through the gap.
‘I had a look at the photographs in the Tribune,’ she said. ‘Beth and Ryan got close enough to the scene.’
‘Do you think maybe that has anything to do with why their loved ones have died?’
‘Because a reporter and a photographer were at the scene of a suicide?’ Lottie raised his eyebrows sceptically. ‘Doubtful, I’d say.’
‘Maybe we should check with Ryan to see if he has any other photos from that day.’
‘Worth a shot,’ Lottie conceded.
‘That’s if we’re to disbelieve the evidence telling us Brady took his own life.’
‘Evidence?’ Lottie said. ‘Open-and-shut cases rarely get that far. And I’m not sure the assistant pathologist, Tim Jones, did a good job.’
‘He conferred with Jane, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, but I’m reserving judgement for the moment.’ Lowering her head beneath the brambles and thorny branches, she added, ‘Why would Robert come way out here? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Colin Kavanagh’s house is half a mile across the field at the edge of the woods.’
‘And Kavanagh called in the location of the body, after the men who found it knocked on his door.’ Lottie paused. ‘Kavanagh’s name appears every which way I turn.’
‘Every which way but loose.’
‘What?’
‘A Clint Eastwood film. You know, the one with the ape.’
‘Jesus, Boyd,’ she nudged his elbow, ‘we’ve gone from cursed swans to an ape.’
He laughed. ‘Just about sums up these muddled cases.’
‘And for your information, it was an orang-utan, not an ape.’
‘More confusion,’ he said, and gripped her arm as she almost tripped on a root.
She felt a warm surge at his closeness. ‘I rest my case.’
They arrived at a small clearing, the ground soft and well trodden, possibly from the snow. The tinkle of water pierced the air as it dripped from ferns and branches.
She said, ‘Is this the right place?’
He straightened his back and stood beside her. ‘How did they find him? It’s so far in.’
‘Two local men were scrounging through
the woods looking for trees to flog for Christmas. They found more than they bargained for. Kavanagh’s house was the closest, so they raised the alarm with him.’
‘Convenient,’ Boyd said.
‘Gosh, those bloody birds are loud, aren’t they?’ She pulled up her hood just in case one of the damn creatures decided to swoop down and nest in her hair.
‘Did Beth mention whether Brady had any underlying health issues?’
‘No, but she was definitely holding something back. Insinuated that we hadn’t investigated thoroughly because he was homeless.’ Lottie absorbed the scents of the forest and the dim shadows of her surroundings, praying that the dark clouds would smother the rain until they got back to the car.
A large tree trunk loomed up in front of her, its branches knotted around it. She leaned her head backwards, looking up.
‘How did Brady get up there?’
‘Climbed?’
‘What did the report say?’
‘I can ring Kirby. He has the file on his desk.’
‘You won’t get coverage here. Check it when we get back.’
As she walked around the tree, Lottie sensed she was missing something. She stared up through the bare branches. Clouds scudded across the sky, partially hidden by the canopy above her head, and for a few moments light glinted through the gaps. She looked down at her feet, and falling to her knees, she began to scrabble around the base with her bare hands.
‘What are you at?’ Boyd said.
‘I thought I saw something just now.’ She dug through fallen twigs and mushy leaves. And then she saw what had caught her eye. ‘Got any gloves?’
Boyd handed her a pair from his pocket. ‘What is it?’
Slipping them on, she carefully lifted the prize from its resting place.
As she held it aloft, light glinted off the piece of jewellery in her hand.
‘It’s a clue.’
Chapter Forty-Five
The cross, attached to a silver chain, was about two inches in length and had a stamp on the back, marking it as silver. Lottie placed it in an evidence bag and put it in the boot of the car. Once they checked the scene photographs, she was sure they’d confirm the piece of jewellery had not been there when the body had been found.
She followed in her car, with Boyd driving on ahead. As they made to pull into the driveway outside the church, another car sped out, almost clipping hers. She caught sight of a head of white hair. That man was turning up everywhere, and just like a slug, he left a trail behind him wherever he’d been. She wondered what business Kavanagh had with Father Curran, and his reason for leaving in such a hurry.
Boyd had already pressed the doorbell when she joined him on the step.
‘Was that—’ he said.
‘Colin Kavanagh, yes.’
Receiving no reply at the door, they walked around the side of the house and came to a shed. Pushing the door inwards, they stalled.
Father Curran was seated on a spinning bicycle, eyes closed, mouth open, and pedalling like his life depended on it. He was bare-chested, wearing tracksuit bottoms and worn-looking runners on his feet. There was also a treadmill, and weights on the floor.
‘Father Curran?’ Lottie said.
His legs stopped moving before his mouth. Eventually his grunts ceased. ‘Holy Mother, what are you doing in here?’
‘I’m a mother all right, but I’d question the holy bit,’ Lottie said, trying to be light-hearted. ‘Can we have a word?’
‘No, you …’ His words caught in his mouth as he struggled to regain equilibrium. ‘I need a minute.’
He alighted from the bicycle, picked up a towel from a bench behind him and ran it over the back of his neck before wiping perspiration from his face.
He looked his age now, she thought. An old man trying to keep in shape. A walk might be better for him, rather than all this equipment.
Straightening his back, he stared at her, pupils so dark she could hardly see the cool blue of the irises.
‘Wait here while I go to the house to get dressed,’ he said.
‘We’ll come with you.’ She stood her ground.
As though admitting defeat was an alien concept, he moved into her space, quickly followed by his body odour. She smelled incense. That’s mad, she thought.
‘What do you want from me?’ he said.
‘Why was Colin Kavanagh here just now?’
‘Colin?’ The priest appeared mystified. ‘I’m afraid that’s my business.’
‘It’s my business when people have been murdered and a little girl is missing.’
‘So sad.’
‘What is?’
‘The little girl being abducted.’
‘Do you know that for a fact?’
His flushed face paled significantly. ‘You’re twisting what I say. It’s common knowledge around here that she was taken.’
‘Is that what Kavanagh told you?’
‘What he told me is confidential. It was a conversation between friends.’
‘So Colin Kavanagh is a friend of yours.’
‘An acquaintance.’ The priest moved to the bench, sat down and dragged a black sweater over his head. When he looked up, Lottie almost recoiled from his icy stare.
‘How long have you known him?’ she said.
‘Since he moved here from Dublin.’
‘Was Lily with Fiona when she called to discuss her marriage ceremony?’
He bowed his head momentarily. ‘I cannot recall.’
‘Can you recall anything about Robert Brady?’
Watching the priest closely, Lottie noticed an immediate change in his appearance. His face dropped some of its years, and a small twinkle of light caught his eyes. And then, in the next instant, it disappeared. What had she just witnessed?
‘Robert was an unfortunate individual,’ Father Curran said softly.
‘How well did you know him?’ Boyd asked.
‘My only interaction with him was while he was in the village doing odd jobs. He was a devastated man.’ He looked over at Lottie, as if challenging her to disagree. ‘He came to me looking for advice.’
‘I’d say that was good.’ She couldn’t help herself.
‘What advice did he request?’ Boyd said.
‘He needed direction in his life.’
‘And you were well equipped to deliver that, were you?’ Lottie snapped. ‘Did you send him to Mass like you did Cara?’
Father Curran directed a stony glare at her.
‘When was this meeting?’ Boyd again.
‘Must be about six months ago, if memory serves me. He was in a bad way. No work, no money. Inconsolable.’
‘And did he take your advice?’
‘Evidently not. He committed a mortal sin by taking his own life. I pray for his soul, every day.’
‘Enough of this bullshit,’ Lottie said, pacing the claustrophobic cabin. ‘What advice did you give him? Repent of your sins and follow the way of the Lord, maybe?’
‘Something like that.’ The priest’s chin jutted out. He was not allowing her to intimidate him.
She ceased moving and glared. ‘You believe Robert Brady committed a mortal sin, yet you claimed his body and had him buried in the cemetery. That doesn’t make sense to me.’ Kirby’s phone call earlier had informed her that undertakers acting on Father Curran’s behalf had taken Brady’s body to be buried.
‘He is not buried in the cemetery.’ The priest twisted the towel into a knot.
‘What?’
‘I said all the prayers I could for his soul, then I had him buried outside the walls of the cemetery. In unconsecrated ground. As it should be.’
‘Oh for Christ’s sake.’ Lottie paced a tiny circle. Was this man for real?
‘Do not take the Lord’s name in vain.’
She stepped into his space, eyeing him coldly. ‘That poor man had no one in this world, and now he has no one in the next.’
‘It is written in the doctrine I studied.’
‘I believe what I believe.’
She took a few breaths to align her thoughts. ‘Where were you the day Robert died?’
‘When was that again? My memory is not what it used to be.’
As she tried to recall the exact date as determined by the pathologist, the galvanised-metal roof above her head rattled with loud pecking. Birds. Goddam birds.
‘His body was found two weeks ago,’ Boyd said. ‘It’s estimated he’d been dead for maybe a week before that.’
‘I would have said morning Mass, worked out here in my gym, and then conducted my daily rounds for the sick at the abbey.’
‘Have you been to the site where Robert was killed?’
‘The site?’
‘The forest at Lough Doon.’
The priest stared at the roof, where the birds were now pecking with greater intensity. ‘I need to get this place insulated.’
‘Answer the question, please.’ Lottie gritted her teeth.
‘Do I need my solicitor?’
‘If that’s the way you want to play it, I can take you into the station to have you questioned. Six hours initially, and then a further six when my superintendent approves it. And he will.’
‘That would be Acting Superintendent McMahon, wouldn’t it? Colin told me about him.’
‘What?’ Lottie said.
‘Apparently your superintendent and Mr Kavanagh go back a long way,’ Father Curran said smugly.
‘Are you refusing to answer the question?’ Lottie said. ‘Did you visit the site where Robert Brady’s body was found?’
‘Yes, I went there a week ago. To pray at the place where Robert lost his battle with his faith.’
‘Did you leave anything behind?’
‘I assume you mean a silver cross and chain at the foot of the tree?’
‘I do.’
‘It was already there. So, Inspector, you need to look for someone else.’
She was not going to believe him that easily.
‘Are you prepared to let us take your fingerprints and a sample of your DNA?’
‘Not unless you have a warrant. Do you?’
Broken Souls: An absolutely addictive mystery thriller with a brilliant twist (Detective Lottie Parker Book 7) Page 24