Twenty-Eight
Glancing into her old office, which one day would be her new abode, Lottie noted that it had been painted. At last. A ladder stood against the wall with a decorator’s paint-splattered table in the middle of the floor beside her old desk. All it needed now was new furniture and plenty of storage cabinets. She was sick of falling over box files. All on order, so she’d been told. Then she would have her own space back. Somewhere to think without an audience. Still no door, though. The plans dictated it would be full-length glass. Too late to order a solid one? For now she was stuck with her three stoogies, as Katie had once called her colleagues.
Hanging up her jacket, she noticed that hers was the only one on the rack. Odd, she thought, that no one else was here yet. She carefully picked her way around the files stacked on the floor. Switched on the photocopier and copied the fragile newspaper cuttings from her father’s box. Two copies of each, so she could give one lot to Boyd. Well, he’d offered, hadn’t he? When she’d finished, she put a set on his desk and the other into her deep, cluttered handbag. She’d look at them when she got time. If she ever got time. She put the originals into her desk drawer. Opening the pharmacy bag she’d picked up on the way back from Annabelle’s, she sighed with relief at the sight of the blister packs of pills.
Boyd arrived, hung up his jacket and sat down at his desk without a word. No chance of taking her pill, then. Maybe later.
Writing her report on yesterday’s activities, Lottie couldn’t concentrate. Peering over the top of her computer screen, she saw Boyd lining up pages neatly into a folder on his desk. When he seemed content that they were straight, he took a packet of disinfectant wipes from his drawer and began wiping his keyboard.
‘What the hell, Boyd? What’s up with you?’
He glanced up, a look of surprise creasing his eyes, as if he had only just become aware of her.
‘Up? Nothing. Why?’
‘You’re in your OCD mode. Something is up.’
‘Where are Lynch and Kirby?’
He was diverting her, but she let it go. ‘I’d love to know.’
She rang Lynch and listened to the call go to voicemail. Maybe she’d already left to relieve Garda O’Donoghue. She tried Kirby. No answer.
Out of the office and into the incident room. Quiet as a churchyard at midnight. She stuck her head into a few of the other offices. ‘Any of you seen Lynch or Kirby this morning?’
‘They might be at that house fire,’ one garda offered.
‘House fire? I heard nothing about a house fire. What are they doing there? For feck’s sake! I’m trying to run a murder investigation.’ Lottie made her way back to her office.
Boyd called up the incident report log on his computer.
‘House fire. Dolanstown. They’re there. First responders called for detectives to attend. One male deceased at the house, another badly injured. Suspicion of arson.’
‘This is all we need.’ Lottie slammed a bundle of reports she hadn’t had time to read onto the already crowded floor and planted her foot on top of them. She didn’t have the resources to lend to an arson attack, body or no body. And she needed the hospital CCTV checked. Someone had to have dropped Marian Russell off there.
‘There’s another incident report here.’ Boyd read from the screen. ‘A car found burned out early this morning, at Lough Cullion car park.’
‘Could it be Marian Russell’s car?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Find out. Then get everyone in for a team meeting.’
* * *
The incident room was packed within half an hour. No sign of Superintendent Corrigan. Good.
‘Let’s get this house fire out of the way,’ Lottie said. ‘Kirby, enlighten us.’
‘Cottage fire. Chief fire officer thinks it’s malicious. One dead male. Dental records will be needed to identify him. The second male is in hospital. Badly burned and minus a few fingers.’
‘Minus a few fingers? Explain?’
‘That’s all we were told.’
‘Do you think someone tried to burn the men out of the house?’ Lottie asked.
‘Hard to know until SOCOs have a look.’
Lynch said, ‘We suspect it might have been a grow house. Strong smell of cannabis above the stench of burning.’
‘Interesting. Maybe they owed money, or were skimming. Hope we haven’t got a drug feud about to explode in Ragmullin. Put someone on the injured man’s ward. Just in case.’
‘At this rate, we should all relocate to the hospital,’ Kirby said.
Lottie thought for a moment. ‘We have reports of a car burned out in the car park at Lough Cullion. It could be Marian’s. We’ll know later on.’
‘Or it could’ve been used by the scum who burned down the cottage,’ Lynch offered.
‘Why aren’t you at Kelly’s?’ Lottie said. ‘You need to relieve Garda O’Donoghue.’
‘Can’t someone else do it?’ Lynch folded her arms defiantly.
‘The FLO is still off sick,’ Lottie reminded her. She flinched as Lynch swiped her bag from the floor, cracking the strap against the desk. ‘Wait until we’re finished here, but then you’ll have to go. And remember, you’re still part of this team.’
‘Right so,’ Lynch said.
‘I need Emma watched for her own protection. Until we find out what actually happened to her mother. I’m going to have another look around the Russell house. Boyd, come with me. Kirby, find out what you can about that house fire and the occupants and investigate the car. Then we can hand it over to another team.’
‘Okay,’ Kirby said.
‘And draw up a list of Tessa Ball’s friends and interview them. Did you trace her last movements?’
‘Working on it.’
‘Do it. Also, find out if Tessa had anything to do with Belfield and Ball, Solicitors. And follow up on the gun we found at her apartment yesterday. Am I talking to myself?’
Boyd stood up. ‘Report is in on Tessa Ball’s phone. The final activity was a call she received at 21.07 on the night she was murdered.’
‘And?’ Lottie asked.
‘It was from Marian Russell.’
Twenty-Nine
SOCOs had already been all over the Russell house, and Lottie had checked around the night of the murder, but now she wanted to have another look, in daylight. It was a converted two-storey farmhouse. A narrow hallway led to the extension, which housed the kitchen. Before the kitchen, a door opened into an anonymous-looking rectangular sitting room. Brown leather three-piece suite and a long coffee table.
‘Minimalistic, isn’t it?’ Lottie said.
‘Bit bare, all right,’ Boyd said, stepping onto the teak timber floor.
Lottie moved towards the iron-framed mirror hanging over the fireplace. She looked at her reflection before quickly turning to lift a couple of paperbacks from the coffee table. John Connolly novels. Beside the books, a mug containing an inch of cold coffee displayed evidence of the SOCOs’ handiwork. A half-eaten biscuit lay beside an open packet of cookies. Traces of life, halted mid-cycle.
‘Emma said she came in here because her mother was working in the kitchen. And then Natasha called and asked her over to her house.’ Lottie opened the door of the stove insert. ‘It’s very clean, isn’t it?’
‘Compared to the carnage in the kitchen, yeah.’
Leaving the lounge, they headed up the stairs. Four rooms. One obviously belonged to Emma.
‘Typical teenager,’ Lottie said, and closed the door on the mess. It didn’t seem right to search the girl’s things. She’d been through enough already, with more heartache to come.
The next room seemed to be a guest bedroom, followed by a bathroom. In the master bedroom, Lottie inspected the contents of the wardrobe, checking the pockets of the jackets. Nothing.
The bottom two drawers of the dressing table held T-shirts and underwear. Opening the top drawer, Lottie observed sterling silver and costume necklaces with matching earrings.
‘I don’t think this was a burglary,’ she said.