Broken Souls: An absolutely addictive mystery thriller with a brilliant twist (Detective Lottie Parker Book 7)

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘She didn’t live to sign it.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Someone killed her first.’

  He glared at her. ‘I had nothing to do with Fiona’s death.’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘I do.’

  Lottie felt it was the right moment. ‘Why did you need a legal agreement if Fiona was okay with you having access?’

  ‘I don’t trust Ryan Slevin. He could’ve turned Fiona against me, and then I’d have lost all right to see Lily. It was an assurance to keep my daughter in my life.’

  ‘But she wasn’t, was she?’

  ‘Ah for Christ’s sake. What are you on about now?’ He tugged at the hair above his ears, exasperation lacing his words.

  ‘Lily wasn’t your daughter.’ Lottie sat forward. Watching to see what Kavanagh’s face would tell her.

  ‘What?’ He scrunched his eyes, brows knitting. ‘What are you trying to say?’

  ‘We have Lily’s DNA, from her toothbrush. Forensics ran it through the database.’

  ‘Go on.’ The only muscle he moved was his mouth. His expression frozen.

  ‘Lily is not your daughter, Mr Kavanagh.’

  Lottie pulled back into her chair, waiting for Kavanagh to spring across the table at her. Instead, his head slumped into his hands and his shoulders rocked.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Boyd said. ‘Will I fetch you some water, or a coffee?’

  ‘Colin?’ Lottie said gently, unsure if she had made the right call or not. ‘Did you know about this?’

  He shook his head, silent except for muffled sobs.

  ‘Fiona never mentioned anything to you? Never gave you any idea?’

  Kavanagh raised his head. ‘Why would she tell me? I was paying her to raise our daughter.’

  ‘If she had told you, would it have made any difference to you?’

  Once again, his eyes found the spot on the wall. She thought he had slipped into a trance, he was silent so long.

  At last he spoke. ‘I always suspected it, you know. That she wasn’t telling me the truth.’

  ‘Do you know who the father is?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but I have my suspicions.’

  ‘Care to share them with me?’

  ‘If you know I’m not Lily’s father, I’m sure you already know who is. Are you going to enlighten me?’

  ‘Not at the moment.’ She didn’t know the identity of the child’s father. They’d only run Lily’s DNA against Kavanagh and Fiona. But she would follow up.

  He stood. ‘It changes nothing, you know.’

  ‘In what way?’ Lottie stood too, suddenly feeling sorry for the man in front of her. A man into whose heart she’d just stuck a knife. Metaphorically speaking.

  ‘I still love Lily. I’ve made appeals on television and offered a reward. I want to find her. Help me do that. Please.’

  ‘You know that reward offer brings us more difficulties. We are doing everything we can. I’d appreciate it if you could tell us anything you know that might help us.’

  ‘All I know is that I lost Fiona a long time before she died, but I don’t intend to lose Lily.’

  ‘We will need to talk more. About Christy Clarke.’

  ‘Okay. But not right now.’

  ‘Sure.’ So far, no evidence had been discovered to link him to Christy Clarke’s death. Shit.

  ‘One final thing. Fiona had very few possessions at her home. Do you know where they might be?’

  ‘At Ryan Slevin’s blasted cottage, possibly.’

  ‘That was empty.’

  ‘Then I don’t know. You saw my house. Lily’s room there is full to the brim with toys and clothes for her when she’s with me. Other than that, I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Thanks, Colin.’

  ‘I’d like a word with McMahon now.’ Kavanagh moved towards the door.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’ve had no success finding Lily, so I’m going to talk to a man who has more power than you.’

  Boyd wound up the formalities for the recording. When Kavanagh left the interview room, Lottie felt as deflated as he had looked.

  ‘We discovered nothing new from all that,’ she said. ‘But I’m beginning to think Kavanagh introduced Christy to the criminal element. Why else would he buy him out?’

  Boyd rose, filed his notes into a folder and put a hand on her arm. ‘We will find Lily. And the murderer. I have every faith in you and our team.’

  She could feel the heat of his fingers through the sleeve of her cotton T-shirt. She leaned her head against his shoulder, longing to have him soothe her scalp with his long, lean fingers. To have him whisper calming words in her ear. But that wasn’t going to happen in a stuffy, overpowering interview room. An arm around her would have done, she thought, but Boyd picked up the recording and wrote the date and time before sealing it.

  When she was at the door, he said, ‘Why did you tell him?’

  ‘Tell him what?’

  ‘That he wasn’t Lily’s father.’

  ‘To see if he already knew, and if so, whether he knows the identity of the girl’s father.’

  ‘I think he does,’ Boyd said, holding the door open for her.

  ‘I think he does too. Call the forensics lab. Tell them to run Lily’s DNA through the system. Let’s hope we find out before Kavanagh does anything stupid.’

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  While Boyd went to the canteen to fetch fresh coffee, Lottie found McKeown in the office.

  ‘We’ve found out nothing from Kavanagh,’ she said. ‘He claims he didn’t know Lily wasn’t his daughter.’

  ‘Her biological father could have taken her,’ McKeown said.

  ‘We need to find out who he is. Boyd is contacting the lab.’

  ‘With regard to Christy Clarke, I think I’ve uncovered a financial morass,’ he said.

  Lottie wheeled over a chair and sat down. McKeown was busy tapping his keyboard. He stopped and pointed to the screen.

  ‘I’ve been looking at the land registry folios.’

  ‘I thought Boyd said he was going to do that.’

  ‘I offered to take some weight off his shoulders,’ he said. She scowled at him. He added, ‘I’m keeping a close eye on everything to do with Lily at the same time.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Most of Clarke’s property, except for the garage, is currently in Colin Kavanagh’s name. I couldn’t find anything in Beth’s name, or her mother, Eve Clarke’s.’

  ‘Right. What about the pigs?’

  ‘Nothing on paper, but I heard the stock was removed earlier today to another piggery. On Kavanagh’s instructions.’

  ‘The cars in the garage?’

  ‘Clarke’s accounts were released from the bank and the tax office. I had a quick look. There’s no mention of the sale of cars anywhere. The garage made a loss for years. But about two months ago, there was a cash deposit of fifteen thousand euros. It did little to fill the black hole.’

  ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘It was a cashier’s cheque. I’ll follow up with the bank.’

  ‘Any employees?’

  ‘No. Not even a salesman or a mechanic.’

  ‘So it was a front for stolen vehicles. God knows how we’ll get to the bottom of that one.’

  ‘Our super might have some inkling of what was going on. I had a word with him. He shut me up immediately. I gather he doesn’t want it going public.’

  ‘He’s waiting for concrete evidence,’ Lottie said. ‘The bank statements. Had Clarke any money at all?’

  ‘Up to his neck in debt. Loans left, right and centre.’

  ‘But he had enough to buy and sell pigs?’

  ‘All the farm accounts show little or no expenditure on the pigs. Which leads me to believe he was buying supplies and feedstuff with cash.’

  ‘Cash he got for the stolen cars being housed in his garage.’

  She stood up and stretched her muscles as Boyd arrived with the coffees.
She took one and sipped it, willing the caffeine to hit the spot.

  ‘We need the Criminal Assets Bureau on this one,’ she said. ‘I’ll see if McMahon knows a reliable detective there. It needs to be looked at quickly.’

  ‘I wish you luck with that,’ McKeown said.

  Boyd said, ‘Do you think Christy Clarke was killed as part of a criminal gang feud?’

  Lottie thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know, but it would make things clear cut. Otherwise it’s highly likely he was killed by the person who murdered Cara and Fiona.’

  Putting down his coffee, Boyd said, ‘Oh, I meant to tell you. Eve Clarke is back at her apartment.’

  Eve Clarke was not happy to be sitting in front of two detectives in her own apartment. She picked at an invisible spot on the arm of the chair.

  ‘Eve, please look at me.’

  Detective Inspector Parker looked like she could do with a good feed to put meat on her bones. Come to think of it, Eve couldn’t remember when she herself had last had a square meal.

  ‘Sorry, I was miles away. What was it you wanted to speak to me about?’

  ‘Your husband. Christy Clarke.’

  ‘What about him? I heard he killed himself. Always was a coward, that man.’

  ‘It’s been confirmed that he did not take his own life,’ Lottie said evenly. ‘I didn’t know Christy, but from what Beth told me, I don’t think he was the kind of man to leave his daughter behind with no answers.’

  Eve blinked rapidly. ‘And what about me?’

  ‘You were estranged a long time, were you not?’

  ‘That’s neither here nor there. What do you want from me?’

  ‘Can you think of anyone who might want to harm him?’

  ‘Everyone he owed money to, probably.’

  ‘Who would that be?’

  ‘Christy couldn’t manage to find two matching socks, that’s how inept he was at everything. Never stopped him trying to be someone he was not. He always put on the big-man act with the real big men.’

  ‘And who were these real big men?’

  Eve snorted. ‘Colin Kavanagh, with his fancy car and his converted barn that’d fetch a million or more on the open market. His kind has people willing to fork out cash over and above the market value.’

  ‘Really?’ Lottie said, and Eve guessed it was with feigned surprise. ‘I thought he was an upstanding citizen.’

  ‘Huh.’ Eve snorted. ‘That’s the impression he portrays. But I know that if you get into a bath with sewage, some of the shit is bound to stick. He’s mired up to his white head in it.’

  She sat back and watched the inspector intently. She couldn’t read the vivid green eyes that were boring into her own. Something was coming, and Eve knew she was not prepared for whatever that might be.

  ‘How do you know this?’ Lottie kept her gaze fixed on the woman’s face, watching for signs that showed truth or lies.

  Busying herself lighting a cigarette, Eve lowered her eyes. ‘Kept my ear to the ground, and the rumours turned to fact over time.’

  ‘You were abroad for a number of years, though.’

  ‘I picked up more information on the Costa del Sol about criminal activities than the drug squad here. Mark my words, Colin Kavanagh is dirty.’

  ‘Did he kill your husband?’

  ‘If he didn’t, I’m certain he was behind it.’

  Lottie figured Eve didn’t know everything. Time to drop the bombshell. ‘Eve, we believe Christy signed all his property over to Colin Kavanagh within the last year.’

  ‘What?’ The cigarette clung to Eve’s open lips.

  ‘Our investigation turned up evidence that his land and property is now owned by Kavanagh. You won’t inherit anything by Christy’s death.’

  ‘I wanted nothing from him when I left him. I want nothing from him now.’ She laughed sardonically. ‘I can’t believe you think I killed him.’

  ‘I never said that.’ Lottie held her stare. ‘Who do you think could have been behind the stolen high-end cars?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘We found a number of Mercedes and BMWs in Christy’s garage. We believe he was being paid cash for either holding them or selling them on. It’s possible this money was used to fund his piggery operation.’

  ‘The fucking pigs. His babies. Never wanted him to get involved in that venture. But Christy never listened to me.’

  ‘Answer the question, Eve.’

  Another long drag on the cigarette. Blowing out a circle of smoke, she said, ‘Ask Colin Kavanagh. It was his idea. He’s behind it all.’

  ‘How do you know so much about Kavanagh?’ Lottie studied the woman, who seemed much older than her fifty-odd years, her eyes blinking continuously behind her spectacles.

  Eve shifted to the edge of the chair. ‘He was one of the reasons Christy threw me out.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I had an affair, a disastrous affair, with Colin Kavanagh. Christy found out, and to this day I believe Colin told him about us. Boasting or something.’

  ‘But in that case, why would Christy continue to do business with Kavanagh?’

  ‘He was gullible. He saw me as the one who did wrong, I suppose.’

  ‘So you left alone? You didn’t go abroad with a lover? Why didn’t you tell Beth the truth?’

  ‘Because I’m as big a coward as Christy. How is Beth holding up?’

  ‘Why don’t you contact her? I’m sure she could do with a mother’s love right now.’

  ‘My rows with her father were loud and ugly,’ Eve said quietly. ‘And after I left, I heard Christy was a different man. I tried, but Beth never forgave me for what I did to our family. So I don’t blame her for hating me. She’s better off without me.’

  Lottie sank back in the chair. For once, she was struck dumb.

  It was late, and she had to go home, but the interview confirmed one thing she’d already suspected. Colin Kavanagh had a lot more questions to answer.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Colin Kavanagh wasn’t at home. No one answered the intercom. No lights. Beth wondered what had possessed her to trek so far in the darkness. Maybe it was the madness that possessed one in grief. She’d heard about things people did after a loved one died. Irrational things. As if their minds were possessed and they had no control over their actions. Was that what was going on in her head? She had no idea. And no notion of what to do now that she was miles from civilisation, alone in the solid darkness of night.

  Robert Brady had lost his life close by, and she recalled how she’d heard about it. The text. Just like the one that had come to her phone the other day, when Cara Dunne died. She still did not know who her source was, and now, in the startling darkness, she wondered if it had been not someone throwing a newsworthy item her way, but someone who wanted her to witness the aftermath of the deaths. Still, she’d stumbled on her father’s body without anyone prompting her.

  She walked in the direction of the lake. She’d know the way even if she was blindfolded, and that was what it felt like now. Edging along the grass verge to make sure she stayed on the roadway, she thought of what Zoe had told her about her father borrowing money from Giles. What had he needed it for? All those fancy cars in the garage showroom? Madness, she thought, but she knew he’d been involved in something shady. Maybe if she’d been more of an investigative journalist rather than a small-town reporter, she’d have seen what was right under her nose a lot sooner than she had.

  Twisting rainwater from her drenched hair, she walked on and on until she could hear the luring lapping of the water on the stones and pebbles. As she inched around the gate and walked on to the shore, the rain stalled in the sky and the moon glittered through the haze of the night. And then she heard her name being uttered.

  Rooted to the spot, she could not breathe.

  She swallowed a gulp and made to turn around, but a hand pressed down on her shoulder, stalling her movement. The clouds shifted, and once ag
ain Beth was plunged into deepest darkness.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Lottie yearned for an evening, even one evening, with a glass of wine in her hand and a comforting arm around her shoulders. One of those things she knew she should not have, but maybe the other mightn’t be so unattainable.

  Eyeing the empty suitcases in the hall, she headed for the sitting room. The light was switched off. Her children and grandson were in bed. She had the room to herself. She tapped Boyd’s number on her phone and listened to it ring. Listened to it go to voicemail. She hung up without speaking.

  How had it got to this?

  She had given him the answer he’d craved and now he was ignoring her. She tried his number again. Same thing.

  ‘Damn you, Boyd.’

  She waited ten seconds. Dialled again.

  ‘What the hell, Lottie? I was asleep. What’s wrong?’

  ‘I need you,’ she said.

  ‘I’m way too tired to talk.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘Just asking.’

  ‘Lottie, I’m wrecked. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’

  ‘It’ll have to do, I suppose.’

  ‘Right. Goodnight, Lottie.’

  ‘When are you going to Galway again, if you’re not there at the moment?’

  ‘Lottie …’

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Goodnight.’

  She listened to the dial tone before moving to the kitchen, where she found the bottle of wine. Without hesitation, she uncorked it, filled a glass to the brim and toasted the dark kitchen window. ‘Fuck you Boyd,’ she said, and her heart shattered into minuscule pieces.

  Cynthia Rhodes sat on the narrow sofa with her laptop on her knee, browsing the online evening news. She watched back over the press conference she’d reported on and decided she was fed up with Ragmullin and its crimes, and sick to the bone of Lottie Parker.

  She looked at the red wine in her glass before deciding a bellyful of sediment was not the best recipe for a good night’s sleep. She clicked on Google, then with one finger keyed in Colin Kavanagh’s name. She’d seen him leaving the garda station earlier, and her suspicious nature fuelled her interest. Granted, his little girl was missing, and his ex-partner had been murdered, but a visit to the station at that hour seemed a little unusual.