‘That’s a good skill to have.’ Lottie was thankful the girl was so observant. She knew of A2Z Insurance. Her son was friends with Ruby, whose father worked there.
‘I got on the bus, but it was bugging me, whatever was dripping out of the car boot, so I asked the driver to stop and got off, even though I knew I couldn’t use my ticket again. I went over to the car, got down on my knees and dipped my finger into the … I knew it was blood.’
‘Did you call 999 straight away?’
‘I couldn’t. Not immediately. I’d just broken my phone, so I ran up to the station office. Grumpy Boots behind the desk wouldn’t let me use the phone there. I didn’t know what to do, so I came back out and that woman over there had arrived for the next bus and let me use hers. I don’t even know her name.’
‘Thanks, Karen. You’ve been very helpful. If you don’t mind, I want you to go with Garda Brennan there and she’ll bring you to the station and take your statement.’
‘I want to go home.’ Tears clogged in the glue of Karen’s false eyelashes and Lottie felt a wave of sympathy for the young woman.
‘You can go home, just as soon as we get your statement.’
Lottie watched Karen dipping her head as she sat into the squad car. She waited until it had reached the bridge before she turned towards the cordoned-off vehicle.
‘Anyone able to open the boot?’
‘The keys were on the front seat,’ said one of the two guards standing by the car.
‘Has the interior been photographed?’
‘Did it with my phone.’
Lottie pulled on gloves. Without removing the keys, she pressed the boot icon on the fob and heard the boot click. She half expected it to spring open, but it remained firmly shut. The sound of car horns from the bridge, the squeal of brakes as the traffic lights changed too quickly for an inattentive driver, the chatter of kids in a garden over in the apartments and the clash of metal at the car dismantler’s yard behind her filled the air, and then it all faded as she put her hand on the lock.
She pressed and lifted.
The smell of decay exploded from the confined space.
She hung back, her eyes averted, but the smell told her what she already knew.
At last she looked.
A body lay curled on its side, sheathed in clear plastic. She could see where the blood had pooled and leaked through a gaping hole in the wrapping. Swallowing and breathing in the clear air, she said, ‘Radio for SOCOs and call the state pathologist.’
She didn’t know who was standing beside her to take the order, but she heard the air whoosh as they moved away, leaving behind a vacuum. She steadied herself, straightening her shoulders, swallowing her horror.
The coppery blood mocked her. She put out a hand but stayed it above the body, unable to touch it. She could not turn it over. She knew who it was.
The car was registered to Jeff Cole.
She’d been looking for Jeff Cole.
Instead, she had found Faye Baker.
It was another hour before Jane Dore arrived from Tullamore. In that time, Lottie set uniforms the task of interviewing the group of women who had waited with Karen. She ensured the scene and the station were sealed off. Irish Rail were throwing more hissy fits. She sent other uniforms to Faye’s apartment to seal it until she could get there.
Grumpy Boots, as Karen had called him, was Pete Reilly. He sat in an office behind the screened-off counter with a heater under his desk at his feet. He was holding a tissue to his nose, sneezing and coughing, eyes and nose red from a cold. The air was stifling.
‘It’s like she said.’
‘Tell me yourself.’ Lottie rolled up her sleeves and swatted a fly from her neck. A half-eaten breakfast roll was poking out of the bin, and the room stank.
‘She came knocking on the screen. Wanted to use the phone. Told her she couldn’t.’
‘Is there a public phone?’
‘It got vandalised so many times it was removed by the powers above.’
‘Were you so busy that you couldn’t let her make a call?’ Lottie couldn’t hide her dislike of the man.
He snorted and coughed loudly. ‘I know there are no trains, but the buses are still running. It’s busy and I have to work my shift one way or the other. You let one person use the phone, then everyone will want to use it.’
‘This was an emergency,’ she snapped.
‘She didn’t say that.’
‘Was she distressed?’
‘Sure she was. But everyone is distressed these days.’ He smirked.
Lottie bristled. ‘I need all your CCTV footage. Including the car park. From yesterday afternoon. Say four p.m. until now.’
‘You’ll have to ask the manager.’
‘Where is the manager?’ Her patience was stretched so thin, she wanted to smack him.
‘At home with the flu. She can stay at home, but I have to come in. Says a lot about who’s important round here.’
Lottie couldn’t follow his logic and didn’t care. ‘Don’t make me get a warrant. The paperwork alone will mean you sitting in here on your arse for a week ticking boxes.’
‘Huh! The car park is run by a different company. Not sure I can give you anything.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Mr Reilly. Just download the damn footage onto a USB or DVD and let me out of this fever-infested cubbyhole.’
‘All right. No need to blow a gasket.’
He shuffled his chair across the floor and opened a door that Lottie had thought was a cupboard but was in fact another small office.
‘Hey, Mickey, the guards are out here. They want our CCTV footage.’ He shouted out the relevant times.
Mickey replied, ‘It’ll be a few minutes.’
‘Do you want to wait?’ Pete said over his shoulder.
‘I’ll get someone else to take it into evidence,’ Lottie said. ‘And Mr Reilly, next time someone looks distressed and wants to use the phone, let them.’
He bent double in a coughing fit and she left him to his germs.
Jane was at the car, leaning over the body, scrutinising it.
‘What do you think?’ Lottie said.
‘She’s been stabbed. Two wounds that I can see without moving her. Looks like she was in or on the plastic at the time. The blood pooled. It was then wrapped around her and she was moved. All conjecture at this stage, but I’ll know more later.’
‘Time of death?’
Jane shook her head. ‘In this heat and without knowing where she was killed or how long she’s been enclosed in the boot of the car, I wouldn’t want to speculate.’
‘Try. For me?’ Lottie said, gulping fresh air.
Jane pulled off her forensic gloves and dumped them in a brown paper bag. ‘I’d estimate sometime in the last twelve hours. I’ll let you know when I get to the post-mortem.’
‘This is the woman who found the skull,’ Lottie said, unable to keep her eyes off Faye’s body in her blood-drenched dress.
Jane looked around at the busy scene while SOCOs took control. She clutched Lottie by the elbow, like Boyd would, and moved her to one side. ‘I had a quick look at it early this morning. It’s the skull of a child, Lottie.’
‘Oh shit. Shit.’
‘I’ll run tests. You’ll want to know if it’s linked to the other body parts as soon as possible.’
‘Yeah, thanks.’
‘About the leg … from the way the bone was severed, I can say it was cut with the same tool used on the torso. I still have analysis to do. Don’t quote me yet. I’m only telling you because you look like you need something to keep you sane.’
‘Thanks, Jane. And the hand. You’re sure it’s an adult male?’
‘Quite sure.’
‘So, including the skull, we could still be looking at three bodies?’
‘It’s possible, but I’ve yet to do a full examination of the skull.’
Lottie watched Jane get into her car, her garda driver shutting the door and walking around
to the other side. As bad as her own job was at times, looking at the aftermath of violence from the outside, she would hate to be Jane, cutting up little children to see what had happened to them from the inside out.
Thirty-Five
Walsh’s butcher’s shop was quiet when Jeff rushed through the doorway.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Derry said, puffing and panting as he slung a side of beef over his shoulder before slapping it down on the stainless-steel table.
‘Something came up. I’m here now.’
‘Have you done something you shouldn’t have?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There was a detective here earlier, looking for you.’
‘For me? A detective?’
‘That’s what I said. You look guilty as hell.’
‘I’ve done nothing.’ Jeff could feel the nervous tic in his jaw and was powerless to hide it.
‘Where’s Faye?’ Derry said.
‘Faye? Why are you asking about her?’
‘I put two and two together. Beat her up, did you?’
‘No, I did not fucking beat her up. What’s going on?’
‘That’s what I asked you.’
‘She wasn’t home last night when I got back from Dublin. I don’t know where she is. We had a … misunderstanding about something to do with the house. That’s all.’ Jeff pushed past his boss and fetched his white apron. Derry followed him to the back room.
‘What’s up then?’
‘I don’t know, to be honest.’
‘Best get to work. Go out front and restock the counter. I’ve been flat out all morning. And Mrs Stokes is like a bull. You left the bones for her dog out of the order. Again. Don’t keep making mistakes or you’re out on your ear. Do you hear me?’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
Once he was behind the shop counter, Jeff sighed. Mrs Stokes and her dog bones were the least of his troubles. He tidied up the rashers to make it look like he’d restocked the tray, then moved over to do the same with the mince tray. It was only half full. He pushed the mince around with a ladle. No way he could make it look full. He’d have to put the mincer on. He didn’t feel like working, but he’d had to put in an appearance. He’d try to calm his shattered nerves before he headed home.
‘And another thing …’ Derry said, standing at the doorway, a meat cleaver dangling from his hand. The sight of the four-inch-wide blade caused Jeff to back up against the wall just as the shop door swung inwards.
‘Josepha. Good morning,’ Jeff said, diverting his attention from the cleaver. ‘How can I help you?’
‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ laughed the woman, dragging a buggy in behind her.
‘Sorry,’ Jeff said. ‘What can I get you?’
‘A babysitter would be a good start.’ Josepha unwrapped a lollipop from the jar on the counter and handed it to the child in the buggy.
‘Can’t help you there, unfortunately. Anything take your fancy in the meat line?’ He knew he was delaying the inevitable row with his boss.
‘Four rashers and a pound of mince.’
Now he really did have to put on the mince machine. He counted out the rashers and weighed the meat. ‘It will take me a minute or two to get more. Unless you want something else instead?’
‘I need it to make bolognese.’
‘You don’t mind waiting, do you?’
‘As long as Joey has his lollipop, I can enjoy a moment of peace.’
In the back of the shop, Derry had resumed his chopping. Jeff fed the mincer.
‘What’s going on at that house of yours?’ Derry said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just heard it on the radio. The guards have it all sealed off. Rumours that dead bodies were found under the floorboards.’ He slammed the cleaver into the side of beef. The sound of the blade striking through onto the steel table rang in Jeff’s ears like an alarm bell.
‘Dead bodies?’
‘Yeah. Don’t keep Josepha waiting. That little fucker in the buggy will eat all the lollipops.’
The lollipop jar was already half empty. Jeff tipped the mince into its steel tray, weighed out a pound, bagged it and was shutting the till drawer before he realised he’d finished serving the customer.
He closed his eyes and heard the door open and shut. When he opened them, he saw a tall woman with angry green eyes standing there, and he knew he was in trouble.
Lottie waited while Jeff took off his apron and pulled on his jacket, even though it was too warm for it. She was still feeling the effects of Pete Reilly’s stuffy office. Jeff’s face was ashen, and his eyes darted everywhere except to hers.
He said nothing on the drive to the station, and she remained silent too.
In the interview room, his anxiety manifested itself in a sour sweat that peeled from his smooth skin, the beads like welts. She left him alone with his thoughts and went to find someone to sit in on the interview.
As she reached the office, Superintendent Deborah Farrell stepped into her path.
‘What’s this about a body in the boot of a car?’ Farrell was spitting fire. ‘Why don’t I hear these things first-hand? You know, Parker, I’m not liking you very much.’
Not my problem, Lottie thought. ‘I heard about it in the car when I was returning to the station, so I flew down to catch the scene. I didn’t have time to park and come in to tell you.’
‘Insubordination colours your file, and I can see why.’
‘If you say so.’ Lottie edged to move past her superior officer. She didn’t want to leave Jeff Cole too long or he’d start screaming for a solicitor.
‘Who is the victim?’
‘Faye Baker. Aged twenty-five. Pregnant.’ She felt a lump gather in her throat as emotion threatened to overwhelm her. Why had Faye been killed? It made no sense. Murder never did.
‘Domestic dispute that spilled over?’ Farrell probed.
Lottie shook the emotion from her shoulders. ‘We don’t know yet. Two stab wounds. Wrapped up in plastic, shoved in the boot of her partner’s car and abandoned at the railway station.’
‘Did the partner do it and then do a runner on the train?’ Farrell folded her arms and leaned against the door, satisfied-looking. This maddened Lottie even more.
‘The trains are cancelled because SOCOs are still working the torso investigation on the tracks, so no, he didn’t make a getaway on a train.’
Farrell flexed her fingers before balling them into fists. Lottie guessed she didn’t like smart-arses.
‘What about the bus? Another car? He has to have fled somewhere.’
‘Doubt it,’ Lottie said.
‘Why are you so sure?’ Farrell stepped into her personal space. Lottie didn’t flinch.
‘Because I know where Jeff Cole is.’
‘And where might that be?’
‘He is sitting in Interview Room 1. I’ve just picked him up at his place of work.’ She didn’t want to tell her boss that Jeff was a butcher, and that a bloody axe had been found at his house, along with specks of degraded blood behind the bathroom skirting boards. Not yet.
Farrell’s cheeks flushed. ‘What are you doing up here? You should be down there, interviewing him.’
‘I will be. As soon as you let me pass. I have to get Kirby or McKeown or Lynch or someone, anyone at all, to conduct the interview along with me. Excuse me.’ She dipped around her superior and headed into her office. She counted to five while Farrell disappeared down the corridor.
Kirby poked his head around the door, flustered and red-faced.
‘That poor young one,’ he said. ‘She was so timid and frightened last night. Why was she murdered?’
Lottie let a long, sad groan escape her lips. ‘Maybe it was the boyfriend. Lost his rag over her telling us about the skull. Or maybe it wasn’t. We need a warrant for Walsh’s butcher shop. All I know is that an innocent young woman and her unborn baby died violently. It sucks, Kirby. Fucking sucks.’ She took a few de
ep breaths and blew them out. She felt an aching sorrow for a young woman she’d only met for the first time yesterday. ‘Sometimes I hate this job.’
‘It’s a bit of a mess all right.’ Kirby turned to leave.
‘Don’t disappear. I need you in the interview room.’
Thirty-Six
Jeff had taken off his jacket, and Lottie could see dark patches under both armpits when he stretched out his arms. Pleading for answers? Yeah, well, she wanted answers too.
‘What’s this about? Why am I here?’ He twisted his hands feverishly while Kirby finished up the mantra for the recording.
‘When did you last see Faye Baker?’ Lottie tapped the table idly.
‘Faye?’
‘Your pregnant partner.’
‘She’s my girlfriend. Partner makes her sound ancient. She’s only—’
‘I know what age she is. This time when I ask a question, I expect an answer. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
Lottie felt a sudden sadness for the young man. Where did that emotion spring from? For all she knew, he had butchered his own baby and its mother.
‘When did you last see Faye?’ She repeated the question into the malodorous air.
‘Yesterday. Late afternoon. She was in a state. You see, she found … she found a fake skull in the wall of my aunt’s house. Well, it’s my house now, but I still call it my aunt’s house. That’s what I always knew it as—’
‘Go on.’
‘She wanted to tell you lot about it, but I told her not to. Didn’t want to be wasting your precious time.’
‘You argued with her?’
‘Not really. We discussed it and then I had to leave for Dublin to pick up stock from a supplier for my boss.’
‘Where did you talk with Faye?’
‘At our apartment.’
‘What time did you arrive home from Dublin?’
‘Not sure. I think it was before midnight. Dropped the van at the shop and walked home. There were no lights on. I thought she was fast asleep. But she wasn’t there.’
‘Where did you think she was?’
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