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

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘Do I need a solicitor?’

  ‘For fuck’s sake. Not that chestnut again!’ McKeown bellowed.

  ‘Gentlemen.’ Lottie glanced from one to the other, her eyes resting on Bannon. He was moving about on the chair as if a colony of ants had invaded it, and rubbing his hands into a knot, while his face was suffused with colour.

  ‘Mr Bannon, tell me about the wedding dress you purchased.’

  ‘The what?’ He raised his eyebrows like a cartoon character.

  ‘A wedding dress was purchased online for your upcoming show. I’d like to know where it is.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Show him,’ Lottie instructed McKeown. He unfolded the two pages and placed them on the desk.

  ‘That’s your credit card, isn’t it?’ she said.

  Bannon opened his spectacle case, but it was empty. He squinted at the first page. ‘I don’t recall purchasing such a thing. Our costumes are kept in the wardrobe room. I can bring you down to the basement and show you.’

  ‘I’m only interested in this one. According to Shelly, it was needed for the show.’

  ‘Shelly? What’s that young hussy saying?’

  ‘This dress was purchased from a company in the UK,’ Lottie said. ‘Customised from the image on their website.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t buy any fucking wedding dress, customised or otherwise. I’ve an extremely frantic day ahead and I need to be getting on with …’ He made to get up, but had unwittingly barricaded himself against his desk.

  ‘Do you want to know why we’re interested in this particular dress?’

  He flipped his tie idly, as if he had no interest whatsoever. ‘Probably something to do with Fiona Heffernan and Cara Dunne, because they were found dead in wedding dresses. That’s it! You think I bought this shitty dress and killed them?’ His tone rose an octave. ‘That’s madness!’ he screeched. ‘I refuse to answer any more of your insinuating questions.’ He scrambled around his desk searching for his phone.

  ‘In that case, I have no option but to bring you to the station, where you’ll be formally questioned about the murder of Fiona Heffernan.’

  ‘I … I … This is absurd. Do you hear me? It’s preposterous.’ He reached for his mobile phone and tapped and scrolled frantically.

  ‘You can call your solicitor from the station. Come on.’ Lottie felt a surge of superiority.

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  ‘I can arrest you for impeding our investigation, for starters, slap handcuffs on you, then march you out past all those parents waiting for their kids.’

  He grunted. Slipped his phone into his pocket, found his spectacles there and placed them in the case. ‘I need to leave instructions for my—’

  ‘Quit the bullshit and come on.’ McKeown folded the pages back into his pocket and held the door open.

  Eventually Bannon was able to manoeuvre his bulk from behind the desk. As they marched him to the car, McKeown said to Lottie, ‘Do you think we should search the costume room? Just in case the dress is still there?’

  ‘It’s not there, because we have it in evidence. Trust me.’

  ‘You’re the boss,’ he said.

  ‘I am for sure,’ she said, feeling good for the first time that week.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Even with the success of the morning, Father Joe’s text was still on her mind. Lottie left McKeown keeping Bannon company until his solicitor was located. A team was dispatched to Bannon’s house to carry out a search for evidence of criminal activity. Ryan Slevin was in a cell. After swallowing a tepid mug of canteen coffee, Lottie, with Boyd for company, drove out to the abbey in Ballydoon.

  There was little evidence of a crime ever having been committed. A wayward piece of crime-scene tape was tangled on a bush, like a child waving its hand for attention. A life lost so suddenly, and they still knew little about what had happened to Fiona on the roof or to her little girl after she’d walked out of her dance rehearsal.

  The winding corridors criss-crossed and a multitude of doors cut into the walls as they headed for Sister Augusta’s room.

  ‘This is like a maze,’ Boyd puffed.

  Ignoring his complaints, Lottie pulled up a chair and sat beside the sleeping nun, who looked even closer to death than she had the other day. She wondered if she had previously asked the wrong questions, and hoped she wasn’t too late to pose the correct ones now.

  ‘Sister Augusta, it’s Lottie Parker. The detective who spoke to you a couple of days ago.’

  The nun’s eyes opened, and as Lottie waited for them to focus, she scanned the room. Unlike before, she now thought the blue and yellow wallpaper was jaded and stuffy. But whereas there had been nothing on the bedside cabinet then, it now sported a poinsettia plant, snared in plastic wrapping. She fought the urge to free the beautiful red petals.

  Sister Augusta said, ‘He brought me that.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘Michael. Father Curran. Trying to soft-soap me in my dying days.’ She waved a bony hand in the air. Her face was as translucent as gossamer, her lips grey.

  ‘Do you need anything?’ Lottie was sure the nun was confused. ‘You had a visitor but I think it was a younger priest. Father Joe Burke.’

  ‘Ah, now I remember. Good-looking young man.’

  ‘What did you speak about?’

  ‘All business, he was. He’d make a good detective if you’re ever stuck.’

  Lottie smiled. Sister Augusta was correct on that score. ‘What can you tell me about Father Curran that might help us solve the murders?’

  ‘You think that old fart murdered those women? You must be as daft as he is.’

  Lottie smiled at the nun’s language. ‘I didn’t say that. We have someone in custody, but we’re still trying to tie it all up.’

  ‘Father Curran didn’t hurt Cara.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’ Lottie felt a tingle of surprise.

  ‘He looked out for her. As if she was his own.’

  ‘Really?’ This did not gel with Lottie’s impression of Father Curran. ‘Was she his daughter?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. He was doing me a favour.’

  ‘Why did you need a favour?’ Lottie felt as confused as she thought the old nun must be.

  ‘Cara was my sister Eileen’s child. I did my best by her. I did what I could.’ Tears filled the dry eyes. ‘It was never enough. Cara always wanted more in life. Felt she was entitled to something better to make up for the death of her mother in childbirth.’

  ‘What about her father?’

  ‘Never on the scene. A one-night stand resulted in Cara’s birth and the death of my beloved sister.’

  ‘Did you raise Cara?’

  ‘No, I was quite a bit older than Eileen and I was in the convent. I did what I could for the child.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Lottie wondered how a nun in a convent could look after a baby.

  ‘I spoke with the bishop, must be thirty-five years ago now. The health board found a suitable family who had already fostered another child. A little boy. Not much difference in age to Cara. Oh, I’m not rightly sure why, but it didn’t work out.’

  ‘What went wrong?’ She was convinced something had happened, but had it had anything to do with Cara’s death?

  ‘I promised that family that I would look out for Cara, and if there was anything untoward, they were to call me. I tried to stay in contact, but they were always evasive. I’m sorry to admit it, but I lost contact with them.’

  ‘Do you know the family name?’

  ‘My brain is not what it used to be. Could have been Brown, or Black. Something to do with colour, anyway. All I recall is Cara’s name. She was always a troubled girl. Think I told you that. But she was my sister’s child, so …’

  Lottie glanced at Boyd, whose face appeared distinctly green. The heat in the room was overpowering, and he looked as if he mi
ght keel over. ‘Sit down, Boyd.’

  ‘It’s very hot,’ he said, and sat on the edge of the bed, the rubber sheet creaking beneath him.

  ‘I hate the stuffy air,’ Sister Augusta said. ‘No one listens …’

  ‘We never found out much about Cara’s background, did we?’ Lottie said for Boyd’s benefit, so that he would concentrate.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘it was like a closed shop.’

  ‘I think she always felt hard done by.’ Sister Augusta’s voice was low and weak. ‘When she was a baby, before she was taken away to her foster home, I gave her a gift to carry with her through life. It was the only thing I possessed. A suitcase with my trousseau. My father gave it to me when I joined the convent. I thought it would be a reminder to Cara that when all else fails, there is still a good path to follow. Cara became a teacher, so she found her calling. Though it did nothing to soften her heart, if her visits to me are anything to go by.’

  Lottie sensed Boyd’s eyes on her. She looked up. He shook his head as if telling her that old ramblings were a waste of time. But there was something hypnotic about the nun’s voice, and she was sure there was more to be released from the dying lips.

  ‘Did you give Cara anything else? A piece of jewellery, maybe?’

  ‘I did. A lovely silver cross and chain. Blessed by the Pope, it was.’

  ‘You told me previously that you thought Cara was waiting for you to die. Why was that?’

  ‘She blamed me, you see. For abandoning her as a child. I made the mistake of putting a note in the suitcase, vowing to always look out for her. Then I didn’t. She never forgave me for breaking that vow.’

  ‘Why was it so important to her?’

  ‘She told me her life had been lived in a crush of broken vows. The latest being that Steve fellow. He broke her heart, like so many others in her life.’

  ‘Is there anything you can tell me about Father Curran?’

  ‘Ah, Michael. He likes to give the impression he’s a contrary old git. But he has a soft heart. Believe me. He helps those who are broken, without making any of it public. Don’t judge him too harshly.’

  Lottie thought she would judge him any way she wanted to. ‘The other day, you said “It’s all about the child.” I thought it was Lily you were referring to, but it was Cara, wasn’t it?’

  ‘God, no, silly woman. It was that other youngster. Lovely bouncy tresses all over her shoulders. Inquisitive she was, too. Always asking probing questions.’ Sister Augusta’s head sank deeper into the pillow and she began to cough.

  ‘Here, let me help you.’ Lottie raised the nun’s head and plumped the pillows before holding a glass of water to the parched lips. There was no way she was leaving until she got a name.

  ‘I’m fine. Don’t fuss.’

  ‘Who’s the child you’re referring to?’

  ‘Beautiful young thing, but so full of turmoil. Her heart had been broken. So like Cara in many ways. Both lost their mothers.’

  ‘Sister Augusta, who are you talking about?’

  The nun’s gaze was piercing. ‘Beth Clarke, of course.’

  The door opened and a stream of daylight blinded her. She felt the cold breeze as he entered.

  ‘I’m going to take off your gag, and if you scream, I’ll slit your throat. Might even cut your tongue out.’

  Beth nodded in silence and waited while he removed the gag. She was unable to see in the darkness, and stars glittered behind her eyelids from the harshness of the outside light when he’d opened the door. But she was sure he either wore a mask or had a hood pulled down over his face.

  He was still talking. Mumbling, as if to himself. ‘You just couldn’t leave it alone. Always snooping around, poking your nose in. I wanted to help you. To sort things out for you. And I did. I got rid of your old man.’

  ‘You what?’ Beth hardly recognised her own voice. It was croaky, and her throat was dry, but this was not the time to ask for water.

  ‘Then again, I didn’t really do it for you. I’m on a mission, you see. To fix things. To punish those who let people down. I can’t stand people who break their promises. You won’t let me down, will you, sweet little Beth?’

  She had no idea what he was talking about as she strained her ears to identify his voice. It was there, somewhere at the outer reaches of cognisance, but she couldn’t grasp it. Was this the man who’d killed Fiona and Cara, and even her dad? Slithers of fear wormed up her spine and gnawed along her hairline. She thought she might vomit if she didn’t get a drink soon. That thought caused her throat to tighten, and she gasped for breath.

  ‘Are you okay? I have some water.’

  She heard him moving about and felt his hot flesh as he tipped up her head and held a bottle to her lips. She hoped it wasn’t laced with poison. Thirst overrode her fear and she let the tepid liquid linger on her tongue before gulping some more.

  ‘Say thank you,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks.’

  That voice. She knew she knew him. It was there. His voice attached to an image, flittering about in her brain, like an elusive spider trailing a thread from its web. But it was clouded by the night of terror she’d endured.

  ‘Your father, Christy, wasn’t a nice man,’ he said. ‘You’re better off without him. He wouldn’t take your mother back. He was a cheat and had dealings with bad men. I know, because Robert told me. He had seen the evidence when he was working on Kavanagh’s house. Enough to put Kavanagh away for a very long time.’

  ‘Evidence?’ She had begged Robert to tell her. The scoop of a lifetime. But he’d said there was someone else who might benefit from his information, and so she’d had to do her own investigating.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Did you kill Robert too?’

  It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the space. She heard his breathing quicken and his foot tap on the floor. Anger reverberated in each tap.

  ‘He took everything from me.’

  ‘What did he take?’ If she kept him talking, he’d forget to hurt her. Maybe someone would come. She silently prayed.

  ‘Robert took my heart. I loved him and he fucked with me. Fucked with you too, sweetheart.’

  ‘He was my friend. I don’t understand.’ And she didn’t.

  ‘You’re not meant to. It’s complicated. But I’m making life simpler for all of us.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘Your story.’

  ‘My what?’

  ‘All the stuff you’ve gathered. I know you were spying.’

  ‘I wasn’t spying. You’ve got it all wrong.’

  ‘Don’t tell me I’m wrong.’ His voice was sharper, acid dripping from his tongue. ‘I know I’m right.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said and wondered if there was a way out of this, even though she knew it was futile.

  She no longer had the story.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  McKeown placed both hands on the back of the chair, stifled a yawn and leaned in over the young garda’s shoulder. He couldn’t believe what he was looking at on the screen.

  ‘That’s Lily Heffernan!’ he said incredulously. ‘Can you freeze it and zoom in to the number plate, Ben?’

  ‘It’s a taxi dash cam,’ Ben said. ‘Not great quality.’

  As the garda fiddled with the keyboard, the screen pixelating, McKeown picked up the screen shot that had been printed from the footage they were watching. Lily, with a small rucksack on her back, sliding into the open back door of a dark-coloured Avensis. Not being pushed or dragged. Someone she knew, perhaps? He looked at the tall man getting into the driver’s seat. Who was he?

  When the zoom was clear enough to read the registration, Ben keyed it into the database and waited for the name and address to pop up on the screen.

  ‘Holy fuck!’ McKeown said. As he ran from the room, he fumbled in his pocket for his phone and with sweating hands quickly tapped in Lottie’s number.

  The gardaí who were conducting the search at Bannon�
�s house reported that Beth was not there. She was not at her own home either when Lottie and Boyd called after visiting Sister Augusta.

  ‘She could be anywhere,’ Boyd said.

  ‘Radio for someone to check with Eve. Beth could be in danger, even though we have Ryan and Giles locked up for now. While we’re in the area, let’s have a quick word with Father Curran. He might be able to fill us in on some details about Cara, and at the same time help us with regard to Giles Bannon.’

  ‘You think Giles is our man?’ Boyd said, pulling up in front of the priest’s house.

  ‘Any better ideas at this stage?’

  He shook his head. ‘I only asked the question.’

  ‘Well, don’t ask.’

  ‘I can’t see Bannon going to the trouble of dressing a woman in a wedding dress before throwing her from the roof of a building,’ Boyd said as he climbed out of the car. ‘What’s his motive? And why kill Cara too? This doesn’t make sense, Lottie.’

  Lottie ignored him, and banged the front door with her fist until eventually it was opened.

  ‘What’s the fuss?’ Father Curran said, stepping outside.

  She had to move backwards, and collided with Boyd.

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Boyd muttered. ‘Sorry, Father.’

  ‘We need to speak to you.’ Lottie went to edge past the priest.

  He held his ground. ‘I was about to go to my gym.’ He attempted a smile, but it died on his face. ‘I suppose you’d better come in.’

  He brought them to the old-fashioned living room and stood at the unlit fireplace. Lottie remained standing while Boyd sank into an armchair.

  ‘How can I help you?’ Father Curran said.

  ‘A few things. What can you tell us about Giles Bannon?’

  A streak of confusion knitted the priest’s eyes into a frown. ‘Giles? Why are you asking about him?’

  ‘He’s a person of interest in the murders of Cara Dunne and Fiona Heffernan. We also think he may have abducted Lily.’

  ‘That’s absurd.’

  Lottie recalled that that was the exact word uttered by Giles earlier. ‘We have evidence to suspect him. I’m wondering if you have anything to add, maybe about Colin Kavanagh too, as he seems to be a friend of yours.’