Buried Angels

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘It was just a disagreement. That’s all.’

  ‘Why did you not want her to report it?’

  Jeff sniffed and swallowed. He raised his head and glared at Lottie. ‘Why is the house sealed off?’

  ‘The skull was found there, and I told you, we also found some blood spatter.’

  ‘You found something else, didn’t you?’ His eyes were dead in his head. Lottie thought it was now or never, but she really should have this on tape.

  ‘Will you come with me to make this conversation formal?’

  ‘No. And I know you can’t make me. I can get a solicitor to inform me of my rights.’

  This was all wrong, but after making sure the door remained open, she moved over and sat beside him.

  ‘Something bad happened in that house, Jeff. I need to know what it was.’

  ‘I honestly don’t know anything.’

  ‘Come on. You suspected something.’

  He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. ‘I always got a bad vibe there. It’s hard to explain. You can’t even begin to understand what I mean.’

  She did. She’d often experienced the sensation of evil in the course of her work, and she’d definitely sensed something malevolent in the Cole house. She thought this was what Jeff meant. ‘Try me.’

  ‘I can’t explain it. When I was very young, I was always over there, playing with my cousin Polly. She was an only child. She was sick a lot and home-schooled. Then one day when I was about eight or nine, I was told I couldn’t go there any more.’

  ‘Where is your cousin now?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I wasn’t in that house for years. Even after my mother and father died, I never visited. Then out of the blue I got a call from Aunt Patsy to say she hadn’t long to live and would I visit to give her a hand. So I did. I asked about Polly, and my aunt said she had moved to England with Uncle Noel. I assumed Patsy had been unable to care of her, you know, with the drugs and drink back in the nineties. Anyway, it was obvious to me that any mention of her name was too painful.’

  ‘Do you have any photos of Polly?’

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  ‘What age was she when you last saw her?’

  ‘She was around my age. Nine, I think. At the time, my mother told me that Patsy had friends staying and that’s why I wasn’t allowed over. I’m not sure if that’s true or not.’

  ‘What happened to your mother?’ Lottie felt a tingle at the bottom of her spine. Had Polly really moved abroad? Could the dismembered remains they’d found be hers?

  ‘Mam died of a heart attack five years ago. Dad was long dead at that stage.’

  She felt her skin bristle. On the one hand she was excited that they might have a name for the child’s torso, and on the other disappointed because anyone who could tell her what had happened was dead. She should be recording this, but she couldn’t stop him now.

  ‘Did you ever hear of any incidents happening in the house?’ she said.

  ‘No. Only like I said, that one day I was no longer welcome there.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I’m sure that Faye and our baby are dead. That’s all I’m sure of.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jeff.’

  ‘Why was she killed?’

  Lottie stood and walked to the door. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘There’s an awful lot you don’t know.’

  ‘Yes, but I intend to find out. You’re free to leave for now. Come with me and I’ll arrange it for you.’

  The young man hesitated.

  ‘Do you not want to leave?’ she said.

  ‘I’ve nowhere to go.’

  ‘You can go back to your flat.’

  ‘But is it safe?’

  ‘You’re worried about your safety because of what happened to Faye. That’s understandable. Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt her?’

  He shook his head vigorously. ‘Faye was the kindest soul. She hurt no one and I can’t see why someone would hurt her. Life will be so empty now.’

  She let him walk out past her.

  ‘Where are the keys to your car usually kept?’

  ‘In the flat; that’s if either me or Faye hasn’t got them.’

  ‘Has anyone spare keys or access to your flat?’

  ‘No … Wait a minute. The estate agent we rent it from, he might have a spare set.’

  Lottie wondered if it meant anything. At this stage she had to consider everyone and anything. ‘Who is that?’

  ‘They have an office in town. Ferris and Frost. We dealt with Aaron Frost.’

  Lynch found McKeown in the yard at the rear of the station.

  ‘Didn’t think you smoked,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t. There’s so few people smoking nowadays that I find it’s the only place I can think undisturbed.’

  ‘It stinks here.’

  McKeown took a step away before turning back to her. ‘Did you want me for something?’

  ‘I think the boss is off her game.’

  ‘She’s doing fine.’

  ‘Stop standing up for her. You can see as well as I can that she’s distracted by Boyd’s illness. I mean, she ran off to bring him to a hospital appointment straight after we found that young woman’s body. That’s unprofessional behaviour.’

  ‘I see your point.’ McKeown rubbed his shaved head.

  ‘She does things her own way,’ Lynch said. ‘Not always by the book.’

  ‘What evidence do you have for that?’

  ‘She’s just interviewed Jeff Cole down in the cells, alone and without any record being taken.’

  McKeown drew in a long breath. ‘That’s iffy all right. What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘You knew the super from her time in Athlone. Can you have a word with her? Tell her what’s going on.’

  ‘I think Superintendent Farrell is perfectly capable of seeing what’s going on under her own nose. Why would I put myself in her line of fire?’

  ‘If Lottie gets suspended, then we all can move up a notch. Boyd’s sergeant position is up for grabs too, if he doesn’t come back.’

  ‘Are you the Grim Reaper as well as a snitch?’

  ‘No, not at all. I like Boyd.’

  ‘But you don’t like the inspector. Why?’

  Lynch sighed. She didn’t like the way McKeown was drilling down to find her motives. They were best kept buried. ‘It’s nothing personal,’ she lied. ‘I just don’t think she’s doing a good job.’

  ‘Pull the other one.’ McKeown stood up straight and stretched. ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open, and if I witness something inappropriate or unprofessional, I’ll determine the best course of action.’

  ‘I suppose that’s all I can ask.’

  She watched him saunter in through the back door and wondered if in trying to create an ally, she had inadvertently made another enemy for herself.

  Forty

  Lottie found she couldn’t get Jeff’s words about his cousin out of her head. She told McKeown to check if a passport had ever been issued for a Polly or Pauline Cole, and then she called the pathologist.

  ‘Jane, I hate bothering you, but is there any chance you have news for me?’

  ‘I had a look at the skull. The hole is not from a bullet. There’s a slight indent beside it, so it was caused by something with two prongs, one shorter than the other. Possibly a poker.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Is it definitely a child?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A match for the torso?’

  ‘I have no evidence one way or the other.’

  ‘But it’s likely, don’t you think?’

  ‘Lottie, I deal in facts and scientific analysis. Off the record, it’s possible. Tests are being run as we speak.’

  ‘If it’s the same body, I can’t understand why the head would not have been frozen like the rest of the remains.’

  ‘Too easy to identify if everything was found together, may
be. It’s a mystery you’ll have to solve.’

  Why dump the body parts now, years after the murder? Lottie wondered. None of it made sense. ‘We’ve taken a DNA sample from Jeff Cole, the boyfriend of Faye Baker. I want you to run it against—’

  ‘Lottie, I know how to do my job. I will test everything on Faye’s body.’

  ‘I know that, but I also want you to check it against the torso and the skull if you can.’

  ‘Why? Do you think he’s the murderer?’

  ‘I want to eliminate him, but I also want to know if he could be related to the dead child.’

  ‘Oh, right. I can try that. But results won’t be quick.’

  ‘Do your best. Thanks, Jane. It’s all so disturbing and I’m tearing my hair out. I just need some clues, because so far I have nothing.’

  ‘I sent you the blue paint analysis. Did you get it?’

  ‘Haven’t checked my emails. What’s the result?’

  ‘It’s actually minute pieces of plastic. One of the products it’s used in is recycling bins.’

  ‘Oh, that’s interesting. A possible mode of transport to get the bodies to the railway and canal.’

  Lottie mused over this information. Was it even relevant? Maybe the blue flecks had been on the tracks all along and just adhered to the torso.

  ‘Have you looked at Faye Baker’s body yet?’ she asked.

  ‘She’s next on my list.’

  ‘Will you check for signs of sexual assault?’

  ‘As I said, I know my job.’

  ‘Sorry. Let me know as soon as you’re ready to start the post-mortem and I’ll try to get over for it.’

  She was about to hang up when Jane said, ‘The male hand. You didn’t ask about that. It’s also in the email I sent.’

  ‘I’ve been run off my feet. Tell me.’

  ‘I found a slight hint of what might be a tattoo on the wrist. Possibly the end of inking from an arm tattoo. It’s indecipherable, but it might help in your missing persons search. I’ve sent you a photo now that it’s all defrosted.’

  Lottie hung up and browsed her emails. She read through Jane’s report and studied the image of the ink on the hand. The pathologist was right. It was indecipherable. And the blue recycling bin angle was virtually useless. There were thousands of those bins throughout the county. She was getting no breaks at all. What to do next? Jeff had mentioned that the estate agent might have keys to his apartment. She decided to follow that up.

  Ferris and Frost estate agents occupied a small unit on Friar’s Street. Lottie walked quickly through the town and noticed the quietness of the street. She realised it was almost 5.30. The day had got away from her.

  The office was small and modern. She was sure it had once been a chipper, and subliminally she smelled vinegar. She saw a young man behind a low desk under the window, which was gritty from exhaust fumes. Inside, she showed her ID.

  ‘I’m looking to speak with Aaron Frost.’

  ‘Sorry, he’s not here at the moment. Can I help you?’

  ‘Was he at work today?

  ‘He’s been in and out. Busy. No point in him coming back now. I’m about to lock up, so I reckon he’s clocked off.’

  ‘Is Mr Frost the boss?’

  ‘No, that would be Mr Ferris.’ The young man indicated a photograph on the wall of two older gentlemen.

  ‘Who’s the other man?’

  ‘That’s Aaron’s father, Richard Frost. He’s no longer in the business.’

  Lottie assumed that the younger man in the next photo must be Aaron Frost. He wore spectacles that enhanced a handsome face.

  ‘Can I have a word with Mr Ferris?’

  ‘He’s been away on holidays for the last week. Not due back for another two.’

  ‘Oh. So who is in charge at the moment?’

  ‘Aaron is, but as I said—’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Dave. Dave Murphy. I’ve only been here six months.’

  ‘I see,’ Lottie said. ‘Was Mr Frost working yesterday?’

  ‘He was, but he was out of the office all day.’

  ‘Can I see his diary?’

  ‘Not really. It’s on the computer. Linked to his phone calendar.’

  ‘Can you print it off for me?’

  For the first time the young man looked uncomfortable as he slid his finger over the shiny screen of his iPhone. His white shirt seemed too tight and his shoulder-length hair too slick. As if sensing Lottie’s scrutiny, he rolled a bobbin from his wrist and tied his hair back.

  ‘I’m not sure I can do that. I’d need permission or a warrant or something. Has Aaron done anything wrong?’

  ‘I’m pursuing an active investigation. I’m not at liberty to divulge sensitive information.’ Shithead, Lottie thought, quelling an overriding urge to tug his ponytail. ‘Can you give me his phone number and address?’

  ‘Don’t think I can give out his address, but this is one of his business cards. His mobile number is on it.’

  Lottie took the card. She could find his address easily enough, but Murphy was getting on her nerves.

  ‘Do you keep spare keys here for properties you rent out?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can I check to see if there is a set for the property that’s the subject of my investigation?’

  ‘No can do. I’d imagine you’d need a warrant for that.’

  ‘You’d imagine, would you?’ Gosh, he was such a little prick. ‘If I give you an address, can you check if the keys are here or not?’

  ‘No. Sorry.’

  Her patience was a thread that had started to unravel way too fast. ‘Can you tell me what you were doing last night, say from eight p.m.?’

  ‘I was in the Chinese having a meal with my girlfriend. It was her birthday treat. I went to hers afterwards. You can check.’

  ‘I will. Does Mr Frost work outside of office hours?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Was he really this stupid, or was he playing silly buggers with her? Whichever it was, it riled Lottie up another notch. ‘Does he carry out valuations and viewings after hours?’

  ‘Oh, yes. For people who work during the day.’

  ‘But you just said he’s clocked off.’

  ‘I meant he’s not in the office for the rest of the evening. But he could still have appointments.’

  ‘Did he have appointments last night?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but—’

  ‘You can’t tell me.’

  ‘No can do.’ He shook his head, a slight smirk curling up the corners of his lips. She wanted to smack it off him but remained outwardly calm.

  ‘Can you tell me anything about Aaron? What is he like to work for?’

  ‘Oh, he’s okay. Mr Ferris is the bully.’ Murphy’s hand flew to his mouth. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. Bad-mouthing my employer is not on. I take it back.’

  Lottie had the impression that she was watching a performance. A bad one at that. There was a distinct odour of insolence in the air and she knew she was getting nowhere. She wanted to speak to Aaron Frost, not this whippersnapper.

  ‘Right so,’ she sighed. ‘Here’s my card. In case you get your brain cells working and think of anything important. I’ll be back for that diary. I’d appreciate you having it printed off or ready to email when I request it with a warrant.’

  ‘I believe it won’t be a problem then.’

  ‘You’re sure making it seem like a problem.’

  She turned and left without waiting for his smug reply.

  Forty-One

  Lottie spent five minutes wandering around the car park behind the Ferris and Frost offices looking for her car before she remembered she had walked there. Definitely time to go home. She needed food. She needed to talk to normal people; that was if she could call her kids normal. She smiled then, thinking of the chaos that greeted her every evening, and she knew she wouldn’t change it. Well, maybe a little bit once she and Boyd got sorted. Once he got well.

&n
bsp; She suddenly felt cold, though the evening was warm. As she set off down Friar’s Street, her phone vibrated. Pulling it out of her jeans pocket, she saw an unknown number. She answered the call. It was Karen Tierney. She listened, and when she hung up, she crossed the road and headed back the way she’d come.

  A2Z Insurance had a Closed sign on the door, but she rang the bell anyway. A man opened the door on his way out. Lottie stepped inside.

  ‘Hey, we’re closed,’ he said, pointing to the empty public area.

  ‘I’ll be just a minute. Where would I find Kevin O’Keeffe?’

  He seemed anxious to head home rather than debate it. ‘Up the stairs. Door on the right. Open-plan office. I’m sure he’s still there.’

  She followed his simple instructions, which wasn’t hard because there was only one narrow staircase, with two doors at the top. The one on the left said Toilets. She pushed open the door on her right.

  She counted sixteen desks set up in cubicles of four, separated by blue and grey dividers. Only five were occupied. There was a door at the end that she presumed belonged to the manager.

  Holding up her ID, she said, ‘I’m looking for Mr O’Keeffe. Is he here?’ When he raised his head, she smiled. ‘Hi, Kevin.’

  ‘Lottie, what are you doing here? Is Ruby okay?’

  ‘I’m sure she’s fine. I’m afraid this is business. Can we talk in private?’ She gestured to the remaining staff, who were ducking their heads, unsuccessfully trying to let on they weren’t listening.

  ‘My manager has left. We can use his office.’ He led the way through the door at the end of the room.

  ‘How long have you worked here?’

  ‘A long time. Business is changing all the time. All about commission now. Not like the old days.’ He was in his mid forties, around her own age. ‘What’s this about?’ He seated himself in his manager’s chair.

  Lottie shut the door and leaned against it. It was late, and after a long day, she decided to be direct.

  ‘How did you know we’d found the body of a female this morning?’

  ‘What? I don’t follow.’ He began fiddling with the stack of forms neatly piled on the desk.

  ‘It’s a simple enough question.’ She folded her arms and put one foot up against the door for support.