At last, he composed himself and sat cross-legged on the floor, the palms of his hands facing upwards on his knees, his eyes staring at the cracked ceiling.
In his own silence.
Alone.
Resting her head on her desk, her hands on her knees, Lottie allowed the coolness of the timber to feed through her skin. This was becoming a habit, she thought as her eyelids drooped, but before she could fall asleep, she rustled herself back to life. There was no time for rest. Lily was out there somewhere. She had to find the poor little girl. She also had a murderer to stop before he killed again.
Her email icon pinged. An update from Jane Dore, the state pathologist. The encrypted file contained the preliminary report on Christy Clarke.
She entered her password and scanned downwards for the confirmation she needed.
No gunshot residue on the victim’s hands.
Christy Clarke had been murdered.
How did he fit in with the deaths of Cara and Fiona, though? She shook her head, willing energy into her flagging body. She read some more. Tried to find anything relating to Clarke’s hair in the myriad of words merging on the screen before her eyes. Nothing.
She rang the morgue.
‘Hi, Jane.’
‘You just caught me. I’m on my way out.’
‘It’s about Christy Clarke. Did you check his hair?’
‘I sent you my report.’
‘I know, but I’m seeing double at this stage. Can you tell me? Now, please?’
She heard the sound of keys being placed on a desk, followed by clicking on a keyboard.
Jane said, ‘It’s not conclusive, because his skull was shattered. In addition, he had thinning hair to start with. Therefore I cannot confirm one way or the other if some of it was cut off, or if he was killed by the same person who murdered the two women.’
‘But you do think the same person killed Fiona and Cara?’
‘Lottie, I don’t know. All I can say is that both women had a section of their hair removed, and a cutting of Cara Dunne’s hair was found on Fiona Heffernan’s person.’
‘And it’s possible that the hair found among Cara Dunne’s possessions was Robert Brady’s. Plus you have the lock of hair found on his body. That hasn’t been accounted for yet.’
‘I haven’t found any of Fiona’s hair on Christy Clarke.’
‘Maybe the killer is keeping it for another victim.’
Jane said, ‘It’s also possible that the cutting of the hair and the planting of it was not carried out by the killer. Have you considered that? There is no evidence that it was done at time of death.’
When Lottie finished the call, she considered what Jane had said. Weighing it all up, she was as certain as she could be that she was dealing with one killer. But the wedding dresses? What did they mean? She was confident they were not a coincidence.
She shot out of her chair and opened the door.
‘McKeown, have you any update on the wedding dresses?’
‘I hadn’t a chance to run it by you.’ He tapped his iPad screen. ‘The dress Cara Dunne was wearing she purchased locally, six months ago. The dress Fiona Heffernan was wearing has yet to be traced.’
‘Where did Fiona buy her own wedding dress?’
‘Same shop as Cara Dunne. True Brides, here in Ragmullin.’
‘And the staff there, have they been checked out?’
‘All accounted for at the times of the murders.’
‘They’re sure the dress Fiona was wearing wasn’t purchased in their store?’ She crossed her fingers, hoping for a miracle.
‘They’re sure.’
‘Shit.’ She thought for a moment. ‘It was a new dress, wasn’t it?’
‘Looked to be.’
‘And the shop staff, were they able to tell you anything about it? Any hint as to where it might have originated?’
McKeown swiped his finger along his iPad. ‘It’s possible it was bought online.’ He turned the tablet towards her.
She squinted at the image. Unable to hide the disappointment in her voice, she said, ‘It’s not the same.’
‘No, it’s not, but it’s the nearest replica the staff know about. They think it could have been customised or custom made.’
‘Damn. So we’re looking for a seamstress or tailor, and also a hairdresser or barber.’ She felt her body physically deflate. ‘Get a photograph of the dress Fiona was found in. Circulate it through the media. Someone has to recognise it.’
‘If it was purchased online, it could have come from China or God knows where.’
‘Just do it.’
He nodded and busied himself doing as she’d instructed.
‘I want the team in the incident room in an hour, with comprehensive updates on everything, including little Lily.’ She fetched her bag and jacket.
‘Where are you off to?’ Boyd said.
‘I need a shower and food. Is my car back yet?’
‘It’s in the yard. Will I drive you?’ He half stood from his chair. She put a hand on his shoulder. He sat back down.
‘No, I’m fine, Boyd. Give McKeown a hand with Lily’s investigation.’
‘Sure thing.’
‘I’ll be back in an hour.’
As she walked out of the office, down the corridor and out to the yard, she couldn’t help feeling a sense of intense loneliness settling on her shoulders. As Chloe might say, would she ever get her shit together?
The house was unnaturally silent when Lottie entered. In the kitchen, there was no sign of any attempt having been made to cook dinner. Breakfast dishes were piled up in the sink. The cereal box and milk carton were still on the table.
‘They never learn,’ she said, and put the milk back in the refrigerator. She noticed Louis’ buggy folded up at the back door.
‘Katie? Chloe?’ she yelled. ‘Are you here? Sean?’
Nothing.
She thought she heard a sound upstairs. She flew up the steps and paused outside Sean’s room, out of breath. He was talking to someone. She turned the handle. His door was locked.
‘Sean Parker, open the door this instant.’
His footsteps plodded across the floor and the door opened. ‘What are you doing home?’
‘What are you doing in there with the door locked?’
‘It’s my room. I can lock it if I like. What do you want, Mam? I’m busy.’
Over his shoulder she saw his computer monitor with a screen saver and his PlayStation on pause in the middle of a FIFA game.
‘I was wondering where everyone has got to.’
‘The girls took Louis into town to get stuff for their escape to New York.’
‘But his buggy is downstairs,’ she said. What stuff could they need? she wondered.
‘They went in Granny’s car.’
‘Really? Was Leo with them?’
‘Suppose so.’
‘Was he or not?’
‘I don’t know, Mam. Can I go back to my game now?’
‘Who are you playing with?’ She took a step into his lair. Clothes were scattered on the floor and his bed was unmade. He could do with opening a window to let fresh air circulate.
He rolled his eyes because he knew she hated that gesture. ‘Like you even care.’
She caught his arm and stared into his blue eyes, so like his father’s. ‘Sean, I do care, so much it breaks my heart. Listen, I want you to know you can talk to me. You don’t have to be calling round to Boyd, complaining.’
‘Is that what he told you?’
‘No, but—’
‘And I thought he liked me. You’re all the same.’
‘Who?’
‘Adults. Just thinking of yourselves. And the girls, too. Never even asked me if I wanted to go with them.’
‘They said they did ask you.’ So Katie had lied, to placate her. ‘But you don’t want to go. Do you?’ She held her breath. She couldn’t allow him anyhow. He was only fifteen.
‘That’s beside the point. T
hey could have asked me. It’s like I’m invisible in this house.’
Lottie couldn’t help the laugh that broke from her throat.
‘What’s so funny?’ Sean squinted at her, confusion knotting his brow.
‘Oh Sean, I feel invisible all the time.’
‘Then you know what it’s like. Can I get back to my game now?’
‘How was school today?’
‘Boring.’
She turned to leave. ‘Open the window and bring your dirty clothes down to the washing machine. I’ll put on a wash before I go back to work.’
‘You have to go back?’ The tall fifteen-year-old looked at her like the little boy he was at heart.
‘I’m running multiple murder investigations and an eight-year-old girl is missing. So yes, I’m sorry, but I have to go back.’
‘I understand.’
‘I’ll cook something for you before I leave.’
‘It’s okay. Katie said she was going to pick up stuff for dinner on her way home.’
‘Great.’ Lottie racked her brain trying to remember if there was anything she could rustle up for herself.
‘Make sure you eat too,’ he said.
She smiled and ruffled his hair.
He pulled away from her. ‘Mam?’
‘What?’
‘You should take a shower before you go back to work. You smell.’
Water drummed on her head as Lottie tried to expunge the image invading her brain of her half-brother shopping with her daughters, grandson and mother. A half-brother who’d lived all of his life across the Atlantic Ocean. She knew feck all about him. As she lathered shampoo into her hair, she resolved to find out what she could. He was edging sideways into her family’s life and she felt a niggle at the base of her skull over that.
After rinsing the shampoo from her hair, she scrambled around for conditioner and found the bottle empty. Typical. Her skin felt coarse and harsh. From the wind and bad weather? From neglect?
Her fingers scaled the ridges left by unknown fingers on her throat. Someone had tried to kill her! She stopped, hands in mid-air, water streaming down her body. No, if he’d wanted to kill her, he could have. He’d only wanted to stop her moving further into the forest. Why? Had he needed time to hide something? To make something vanish? Something from the lookout? Or had he just wanted to frighten her? She shivered with the idea of what could have happened if he’d wanted to stop her permanently. Her family; her children. How would they cope without her?
She watched the water run free of suds at her feet. Switching off the shower, she leaned her head against the glass panel. She barely had time to relish the moment of silence before she heard the front door open and the sound of her daughters’ laughter and squeals of delight from little Louis. She smiled as her heart filled with love for her family.
Then she heard a male voice following them into her home. Leo fucking Belfield. She definitely had to do more research on him.
Chapter Fifty-One
Showered, but still feeling unrefreshed, Lottie dressed quickly in the cleanest jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt she could find on the floor of her bedroom. Katie’s idea of getting something for dinner had reached the giddy heights of a Chinese takeaway. A scowl in Leo’s direction and he got the message. She stood at the door until Rose’s car had disappeared down the estate. Stuffing prawn crackers in her mouth, she left her children to their illicit feast and headed back into work.
Standing in front of her team, she stared at the victims’ photographs. And the one of Lily, long fair hair framing a smiling face. Guilt wormed its way through her body as she thought of the lack of headway they’d made on finding her.
‘Okay,’ she said, ‘first off, Detective McKeown has no leads on the wedding dress found on Fiona. Both her original dress and Cara Dunne’s were bought locally. He has circulated a picture of the dress through the media. It might lead us to the killer.’ She took a deep breath.
‘Now, Christy Clarke. Aged fifty-six. Separated father of one. Pig farmer and garage owner in the village of Ballydoon. His body was found yesterday afternoon at his closed-down garage. Cause of death, bullet wound to the head. The preliminary post-mortem results report that no gunshot residue was found on the victim’s hands. It is safe to assume, therefore, that Christy Clarke was murdered. Who wanted him dead, and why? If we can nail down the why, we should find the who.’
McKeown said, ‘Is his murder linked to the Dunne and Heffernan investigations?’
‘No evidence to suggest it so far. No hair removed that the pathologist can see, and none of Fiona’s hair found on his person.’
‘Any eyewitnesses? Anyone hear anything?’
‘No one has come forward so far, but Beth Clarke says that when she arrived at the garage, Colin Kavanagh was leaving. When I spoke to Kavanagh last night, he refused to account for his whereabouts and answered no comment to my questions. Beth says he claimed that he owns all of Christy’s property, including the garage.’ She flicked through a file. ‘Has he been formally interviewed yet?’
‘He’s waiting for his solicitor,’ McKeown said, then laughed when no one else did. ‘Sorry, bad joke.’
‘This is no time for messing.’ She scowled at him. ‘Sergeant Boyd and I saw Kavanagh leaving the local priest’s house earlier today. Surely someone can haul his arse in here for a few questions. We need to eliminate him if he is innocent of any wrongdoing.’ She didn’t believe this for a second. If Beth was to be believed, Kavanagh had fleeced Christy Clarke.
McKeown said, ‘Colin Kavanagh represented some of the mid-player drug gang leaders during his time in Dublin.’
‘There could be a criminal element involved in Christy’s death. Have you sourced any further information on the stolen cars discovered in the garage?’
‘I’ve contacted the relevant garda stations in Dublin and I’m waiting for replies.’
‘Keep on it,’ Lottie said. ‘The fact that Clarke had stolen property on his premises might be a clue as to why he was killed.’ As she spoke, she turned over in her head what Beth had said about the solicitor. ‘I need someone to look into Christy’s finances and carry out a search on his property folios. Find out what he has in the bank, what he owes, who he owes and what he owns.’ Gosh, but she missed Detective Maria Lynch for this kind of work.
‘I’ll do it,’ Boyd volunteered.
‘Great. Thanks.’ She was grateful he’d offered. Otherwise she’d have had to allocate it to McKeown, which was a bit unfair as he was also working on the dash-cam footage in relation to Lily’s case. Resources stretched to the limit. Nothing new there, she thought. ‘Has Eve Clarke been in yet for her interview?’
‘She’s not at her flat,’ Kirby said.
‘Where the hell is she?’ Lottie paced two steps and stopped at the wall. ‘Find her and get her here.’
Boyd said, ‘Shouldn’t we interview Clarke’s daughter, Beth?’
‘We have interviewed her.’ Lottie dug her nails into the palms of her hands, adding to the ridges already there from frustration about previous cases that had gone around in circles.
‘Not formally,’ Boyd countered.
‘Okay. Bring her in.’ She sincerely hoped Beth had not been involved in the death of her father. But she couldn’t discount anything at this stage.
‘Now let’s move on to Robert Brady. Anything back from forensics on the belt used to strangle Cara Dunne?’
‘We’ve got a result,’ Kirby said. ‘Robert Brady’s DNA is a match to the DNA from the belt found in Cara’s apartment. His fingerprints are all over the belt, along with some partials from Cara but no one else.’
Lottie gave him a thumbs-up. ‘Great, but Brady was already dead, so how could his belt have been used in Cara’s murder?’
‘Someone took it from his body or possessions?’ Kirby offered.
‘Have you located his van?’
‘It was found at the rear of the caravan park at Doon Lake. Full to the gills with tools and stuf
f. SOCOs are going through it.’
‘Beth mentioned he was living in it.’
‘It’s possible. There’s so much stuff in it. I’ll see if I can find anything further on his living arrangements.’
‘Okay. We might also need to exhume Brady’s body for another autopsy.’
‘This is my fault,’ McKeown said. ‘After all, I worked Brady’s suicide.’
‘You didn’t highlight anything suspicious in your report.’ Lottie twisted her head to stare at him.
‘There wasn’t anything suspicious about it,’ he said indignantly.
‘I’m not accusing you!’ She balled her hands into fists, trying to keep the exasperation from her voice. ‘I’m only saying.’
‘Until the pathologist informed us about the lock of hair found on his body – weeks later, I might add – his death was a cut-and-dried suicide.’
She wondered if the cut-and-dried comment had been intentional. ‘I know Kirby has gone over it, but I want you to review the case file with fresh eyes. See who was interviewed at the time and talk to them again.’
‘Okay.’ McKeown ran his hand over his head. ‘I’m flat out, though. Not enough minutes in the day.’
Lottie said, ‘We’re all stretched. Any update on Lily Heffernan?’
‘There’s still no word.’ he said. ‘Every teacher, caretaker, parent and child has been interviewed twice. All the after-school club staff and kids, and the dance tutors and dancers too. Every business with CCTV has had it checked, but we’ve found nothing suspicious. The lads are still looking at the dash-cam footage, but the kid seems to have disappeared into thin air.’
‘Interview Trevor Toner and Giles Bannon again. And Shelly Forde. They have to have seen something.’
‘Right. This will be the third time.’
‘I don’t care. Keep interviewing and keep searching. And the other kids and their parents, talk to them. Again.’
‘No one remembers a thing. It was mayhem that evening, what with the market on the street and traffic diversions.’
‘You’re telling me that a car couldn’t have got close to the dance school for someone to snatch the child?’
Broken Souls: An absolutely addictive mystery thriller with a brilliant twist (Detective Lottie Parker Book 7) Page 27