Where the hell had he got to? He couldn’t disappear that quickly, could he?
She looked up, expecting him to drop from a tree and strangle her where she stood. Slowly does it, she warned herself, scrambling around trying to find his footprints in the marshy forest floor. A bird cawed and something skittered over her foot. She tried not to yell out as she pushed on deeper and deeper, fearful of the labyrinth swallowing her up.
You’ve been through worse, she reminded herself.
But she had no idea if he was armed. If he lashed out with a knife, he could kill her instantly. She thought of her children. Of little Louis with his chocolate-smeared smile. She even thought of Rose. What would her family do without her? Survive, most likely. Then an image of Boyd flashed in front of her eyes as she ducked beneath another branch. He would miss her, but maybe he had someone else now. He’d asked her to marry him. She’d said yes, but now he was acting like a dick. She would get him back. Yes!
Adrenaline propelled her faster through the maze. She tore away ferns and branches with her bare hands, without even feeling the cuts to her skin.
A dart of something up ahead caught her eye, and her toe stubbed a gnarled branch on the ground. She toppled head over heels, coming to a stop on top of an abandoned bag of fetid rubbish. The foul odour clogged her throat, obliterating the damp forest smell.
Where was he?
A sound to her right. Ignoring the pain shooting from her foot up through her leg, she crept on hands and knees towards it. The swans. Louder now. Close by. It was brighter, the air lighter. A loud shriek pierced the air. What the hell?
At the edge of the forest, the darkness behind her, she saw him. He was standing knee deep in the inky waters of Doon Lake, shouting at the sky.
Dragging herself upright, she inched forward silently. Trying to hear what he was saying above the crashing water and the boom of her heart.
‘Come out, demon woman. The invisible can’t haunt me. The dead are dead. And soon I will be too. Come out and face me.’
‘I’m here. Come with me, Trevor, we can talk. We can sort this out. No need for anyone else to get hurt.’
His laugh tore into her soul. High-pitched, feral. Like a wild animal. And that was what he looked like as the wind gathered momentum and the waves crashed up around his waist.
‘I’m the one who’s been hurt.’ He moved backwards, deeper into the water.
‘Don’t, Trevor. Come to me.’
‘I was abandoned. Left to rot, to fend and scavenge like a rat.’
‘Who abandoned you?’ Keep him talking, she told herself.
‘Everyone. I was abandoned by my birth mother and fostered. My foster mother ditched me for that bitch Cara. Discarded me like trash. And I was treated the same way by every adult in my life. Abused by teachers who almost scalped me bald and a lunatic foster father who made dolls. Dolls! Dressed them in strips of his wife’s wedding dress, and the hair! Oh God, it looked so real.’ He laughed, an unnatural wail from his blue lips. ‘Well, I eventually gave him the real deal!’
‘What did you give him, Trevor?’ She tried to take one step forward on the shore for each that he took backwards into the lake.
His voice calmed and he looked through her. ‘I saw him at the market peddling his fucking gruesome wares. I don’t think he even knew me, or that I was the one who left locks of human hair for him.’ He laughed hysterically. ‘Why do you think I’m like this? Answer me that? I am a product of the people who surround me.’
Lottie was close to the edge of Lough Doon. The stones and pebbles sending shock waves through her damaged foot. ‘I can help you.’
‘No, you can’t.’
‘Why did you kill them? Why Cara? Why Fiona?’
He was silent for a moment. Then, his voice floating on the wind, he said, ‘It was Robert. I took him in when he had nowhere to go, then he betrayed me. I loved him and thought he loved me. But he was laughing behind my back. He was going to undo everything I’d achieved, with his scheming. He had to die. Then the others, they broke everything. They had to die too. They were breakers of hearts. Breakers of promises.’
The water, up to his throat.
The water, up to her knees.
‘Talk to me, Trevor.’ She waded forward. ‘Tell me, who broke hearts and promises?’
‘Cara left me with my foster father. She broke my heart. Then I saw her in the Railway Hotel with Steve. She ignored me, but I was content enough that they seemed happy. She was a sly bitch, though. Filling my Robert’s head with lies and breaking up with Steve.’
‘You have it all wrong. Steve broke up with Cara.’ Lottie slipped on the stones beneath her feet. Tried to right herself, keeping her eyes fixed on Trevor. His face had filled with uncertainty at her words.
‘No. No. You have it wrong. He told me she broke his heart.’
‘He lied.’
‘Well, she deserved to die.’
‘How did you get into her apartment?’ Keep him talking, Lottie repeated to herself, as the cold water numbed her flesh.
‘It was so easy to slip in and wait there for her. Eve didn’t even see me take the key one night when I brought her home. She was blind drunk. I let myself into Cara’s apartment while she was at fucking Mass. Then she dressed up in that wedding dress and all I could see was my foster father cutting up the white silk his wife had left behind. It felt good to wrap Robert’s belt around Cara’s neck.’
‘But why Fiona?’ Lottie yelled over the rising wind and falling rain.
‘She had everything she ever needed with Colin. And what did she do? Buggered off with a two-bit photographer. And I knew she planned to run out on him too. You see, little kids talk to me.’
‘Lily?’
‘I never touched the kid, if that’s what you’re thinking. I wouldn’t touch a child.’
‘We found her. She’s safe.’
‘I’m glad.’
He’d stopped his retreat. The water was swirling around him. Lottie took another step, the cold seeping into her bones, her teeth chattering.
‘Why dress Fiona in the wedding dress?’
‘You don’t see how it made me feel, do you? Watching Cara waltzing around in hers. I did what I had to do. I was on a high. I couldn’t stop myself. I knew after I killed Cara that I had to make Fiona pay in the same way. I got the Cinderella dress and drove to Ballydoon as fast as I could. I couldn’t let the buzz fade away.’
Lottie couldn’t follow the reasoning of a madman, but she said, ‘What did Christy Clarke ever do to cause you to kill him?’
‘He was a liar and a cheat. He deserved everything he got. And Beth, too. I kept the best for last. With her beautiful black hair and her inquisitive nose.’
‘But she never broke any promises or any hearts.’
‘She wouldn’t acknowledge her mother. Eve came back for her and Beth blanked her. Beth filled Robert’s head with ideas of unmasking Colin’s criminal activity just when I had him eating out of my hand. I couldn’t let her get away with that. I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry for all the murders?’ She was ten strides away from him, the water rising as the bottom of the lake dipped away.
‘Sorry I couldn’t cut off all of her hair, make her feel the humiliation I had to endure, and sorry I couldn’t have slit her throat.’
Lottie took another numbing step, struggling against the swirling current of the lake. Swans circled. Long necks ready to pounce, to peck and plunder. No matter what he’d done, she couldn’t let Trevor drown.
Then suddenly he was gone.
The water swirled like a sink hole where he’d stood a moment before. The swans bellowed like trumpets, the wind whistled and the rain poured down in fat drops. Trevor Toner had disappeared beneath the demonic waters of Lough Doon.
Beth had never been so happy to see anyone as she was to see the detective opening the cabin door and rushing in with the padlock in his hand.
He quickly untied the ropes that bound her. With the door ope
n wide, she could see she was in a dance studio. Or a cabin dressed up to mimic a dance studio. A bar and mirror on one side. A sound system on the other. And a sprung floor beneath her feet. Trevor must have had some hold on Colin Kavanagh to wrangle this out of him, she thought. Another piece to add to her story. The story she hoped to get into the right hands.
‘I’m Boyd,’ he said. ‘Is there a quick way to the other side of the woods?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re from round here. Where is he likely to run?’ His voice was high, a little hysterical, she thought.
‘Trevor?’
He nodded.
Then she understood. ‘This way.’
She walked slowly at first, but found strength in the knowledge that she was free, out in the fresh air. She welcomed the beginning of a shower of rain.
The detective was right behind her.
‘I think I know this pathway,’ he said, panting. ‘I walked it in the dark the other night with my boss.’
When they reached the lakeshore, she saw the detective, Lottie Parker, waist high in the lake, and the top of Trevor’s head disappear further out in the water.
Before she knew what was happening, Detective Boyd had ripped off his jacket and shoes and was diving into the depths. Then she saw Lottie Parker go under. Bubbles floated on the surface, and then only the crash of raindrops dotted the choppy water.
She watched, transfixed, her voice lost in terror. They were all going to drown. She knew the currents. They did not. She knew what the lake could do. They did not.
Without thinking of her own safety, she rushed into the lake. The waters were gloomy and dank, but she found the floating hair and grabbed it. Pulling the body close to her chest, she shot up to the surface, gulping down big ugly breaths.
‘It’s okay, don’t panic. Tread water.’ She pulled the woman to her chest.
As she turned to face the shore, she saw Detective Boyd break free like a torpedo from the depths, Trevor gripped in his arms.
On the stony shore, Lottie lay flat on her back, staring up at the clouds scurrying like frightened rats, dropping their load on her face. She welcomed the freshness. She breathed in the air in desperate gasps. Beth lay in a crumpled heap beside her, Trevor Toner at her feet. Boyd! Where was Boyd? She struggled up on her elbow and twisted to her side. Boyd lay there struggling for breath. She put out her hand and squeezed his. He looked at her and smiled weakly.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Three days later
The boat rocked slightly on the canal in the morning breeze.
He’d never known any different. He wasn’t blessed, or cursed, with children of his own. His wife had told him foster care was the way to go.
A boy and a girl. Perfect family.
Only it wasn’t perfect. She’d broken it up and taken the girl with her. Along the way, he’d heard his wife had died. Never knew what became of the girl. Probably more foster care.
He took the wire and pushed the head on. Then he extracted the small lock of hair from the clear plastic bag. Beautiful. He never asked questions. Never enquired as to where it had been sourced.
Once again the boat rocked, and he listened, thinking someone had stepped onto it, but all was still. The ice had melted, but he had yet to leave. He thought of his market stall, abandoned as soon as he’d latched on to those eyes. A stranger in the street. Only they had not belonged to a stranger. They’d belonged to his foster son, Trevor.
Nurture versus nature. Ah, he never knew the answer to that question. The only thing he was sure of was that Trevor had to be taught a lot of lessons throughout his young life. Plenty of necessary hair snipping. Who did he think he was? Dancing like a pansy. Stupid boy. Not heard of in his day. Needed to be cut out of him.
The man snorted. He paused his work. He was sure it had been his foster son who’d left the hair on the stoop outside. Had Trevor followed him, once he’d recognised him at the market? He grimaced.
The talk of the town was that Trevor was the murderer. Stupid boy. All that pent-up anger. The boy who’d tried to become a man only to become a pansy dancer. He laughed, then stopped suddenly. Was it his fault that Trevor had turned out the way he had? Surely not. He’d only been a firm parent. But he couldn’t escape the fact that he had reared a cold-blooded killer.
As he held the long black lock of hair to the light, he wondered if it had come from one of the murder victims. Fiona Heffernan, maybe.
He picked up a piece of wire sheathed in a strip of yellowed silk and wound the hair around the head.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Cynthia Rhodes walked with an added bounce in her step as the duty sergeant led her to Acting Superintendent David McMahon’s office. The envelope in her satchel felt lighter after she’d had a good read of the document inside. Unexpected, to say the least. It was a good scoop, but she owed it to him to tell him before she broadcast anything.
He flushed bright red when she entered the office, and started fussing because there was no chair for her to sit on.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll stand.’ She placed the envelope on his desk. ‘But I think you’ll need to sit to read this.’
‘What is it? Why are you here?’ He plopped onto his chair, his long legs jigging. She wondered what he’d do if she leaned over and ran her fingers up his thigh like she’d done the other night.
‘You wanted me to dig the dirt on Lottie Parker, then you changed your tune. Now I know why.’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’ He was vigorously flicking his fringe, trying to keep it out of his eyes.
‘You thought if I burrowed too deep into her life and work, it would reflect badly on you.’
‘That’s ridiculous. You were upsetting her family every time you doorstepped her. You should have stayed in Dublin, Cynthia.’
‘If I’d stayed in Dublin, I’d have missed all the fun. Though I think I’ll miss our nights together now. Oh, when you’ve read that, ring me with a comment, will you? It’s going to air tonight. Nine o’clock news. And it doesn’t matter if you destroy it. I’ve got the original.’
‘What is it?’
‘A story. A good one. It will make Beth Clarke hot property. Might even help keep Ryan Slevin out of jail. Not so sure about you, though, David.’
He was out of the chair and rushing towards her, but she wasn’t worried. What could he do to her in a garda station? Not a lot, she thought. Still, she took a step backwards.
He stopped and picked up the envelope from the desk. ‘What’s in this?’
‘You’ll see. I’ll leave you to read it.’
‘Cynthia …’
‘Oh, and when Colin Kavanagh surfaces from whatever hole you’ve hidden him in, tell him I’d like a comment from him also.’
‘You’re a bitch.’
‘But I’m not a criminal. Is that why you took this job, David? To be closer to the action once Kavanagh moved from the city. Did you think the two of you could escape from under the radar of the Drugs and Organised Crime Bureau? Move your dirty business to a village no one cared about?’
‘I still don’t get it.’
‘Oh, you will.’ She smiled. At the door, she turned. ‘I guess you didn’t figure on an enthusiastic young reporter or a serial killer disrupting your operation. Even if Beth originally started snooping because she and Ryan thought Zoe’s husband was having an affair. I figure she has Giles Bannon and Robert Brady to thank for her story.’
‘Wait, Cynthia, you have it all wrong. I was here to trap Kavanagh, not become involved in anything criminal or—’
‘Really?’ She patted down a curl at the side of her forehead and straightened her spectacles on her nose. Dropped her smile, too. ‘If that’s the case, how come my sources tell me Kavanagh took a flight out of Ireland Friday night, unhindered? He’s now somewhere in the Costa del fucking Sol. Oh, and there’s one lovely photograph in the envelope. You and Colin Kavanagh standing outside Christy Clarke’s garage. It’s
date stamped. Two months ago.’
He stared at her with his mouth hanging open. The envelope dropped from his hand.
‘I’ll be waiting for that quote.’ Cynthia left with an even lighter bounce in her step.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Boyd stood at the door to her office.
‘Lottie, I know we have mountains of paperwork, T’s to cross and I’s to dot, but I need to take the rest of the week off.
‘Bollocks to that,’ she said, trying but failing to inject a touch of good nature into her voice. ‘Will you get those files ready for court as soon as possible?’
‘I’m serious.’ He remained standing at the door.
‘So am I. Please go and do some work. Oh, the forensic analysis on the doll I got from the barman at Cafferty’s is back. Horsehair. And the hair found on Robert’s body likely belonged to Trevor Toner.’
She had to finish up everything as quickly as possible today, because tomorrow she had to bring her girls and Louis to the airport. She felt her heart break a little at the thought of that. But for now, she was busy.
‘The clothes found piled up in Trevor Toner’s flat have been traced to Robert Brady,’ Boyd said. ‘And the suitcases in Father Curran’s house belonged to Fiona and Lily.’
‘Poor Fiona. She was the only one who realised Robert had been murdered, and she thought it had been at Kavanagh’s hand. That was why she planned her escape, only to fall foul of Trevor. If only she’d talked to someone other than that demented old priest. He should have told us everything sooner.’ Lottie shook her head. ‘By the way, what about that cashier’s cheque in Clarke’s account?’
‘It came from Giles Bannon,’ Boyd said, still lingering at the door. ‘He says he was helping Christy out, but McKeown is still digging to prove he was involved in criminality.’
‘I think Eve was correct when she said Christy was gullible. Kavanagh and Bannon walked all over him. Only for him to be murdered by a damaged young man. Such a waste of a life.’
Broken Souls: An absolutely addictive mystery thriller with a brilliant twist (Detective Lottie Parker Book 7) Page 34