The square panes of glass rattled and sheets of rain hammered against the window behind her. Feeling in her jeans pocket for her phone, she thought of the call she had made earlier. Maybe she should have waited. Was there still too much danger around? Taking the phone out, she sat at the table to dismantle it. She snapped out the battery and then the SIM card. Her fingers shook from fear and cold and she dropped the card. Where had it gone? She scanned the floor. Nothing. Maybe it was still on the table. As she searched around the pile of books, she noticed one sticking out obliquely. Lifting the stack, she pulled it towards her. It looked familiar. Opening it, she glanced at the name inscribed on the inside cover. A gasp of recognition escaped her lips. What was going on? Just who the hell was O’Dowd?
She tugged off her spectacles, wiped them with the end of her shirt and replaced them on her nose. Picked up the book again. Wind crashed against the window and rain pounded like pellets on the tiled roof. Emma sat still. Waiting. Listening. Shivering.
The door opened.
‘What is this?’ she said, vaulting up from the chair, waving the book.
She stopped. Felt the blood drain not just from her face, but from her entire body.
The first punch knocked her back across the table. The book flew out of her hand and her phone crashed to the floor. The second smashed her spectacles into her face, glass shattering, cutting her skin and breaking her nose.
Emma Russell never felt the third blow as she slipped into unconsciousness.
Fifty-Two
Kirby pulled a chair across and sat beside Lottie’s desk. She felt like asking him for a hug, just to feel human contact, but thought better of it. A sense of loneliness descended on her shoulders and she longed for one of her pills. Impossible to sneak one with them all looking at her like she should be locked up.
‘Kitty Belfield,’ Kirby began as he flicked over pages of his notebook.
‘Just the outline,’ Lottie advised.
‘Her husband Stan Belfield was a partner with Tessa Ball in the firm of solicitors, Belfield and Ball. This was from the sixties to the early eighties. Closed up shop in 1982.’
‘Okay. What’s your punchline?’
‘Kitty told me the firm were involved with some very contentious cases in the early to mid seventies. There was one in particular that Tessa dealt with. According to Kitty, Tessa had an unhealthy interest in it and wouldn’t let Stan in on any meetings or consultations.’
‘What was the case?’
‘She was very vague. She’s ninety if she’s a day. I pressed her and she said she only recalled that it resulted in a mother apparently trying to burn down her home with two children in it. The mother was sectioned and placed in St Declan’s Asylum. Apparently every file in the office pertaining to that case was stolen in a burglary in 1976. Nothing else was taken. The place wasn’t ransacked. It seemed the burglar knew where to look. Interesting, isn’t it?’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘It points to Tessa, doesn’t it? She handled the case. She knew where all the files were kept. She had to be in on it.’
‘I can’t see how one incident in 1976 has anything to do with Tessa’s murder forty years later.’
Kirby grunted. ‘Well, I thought it was significant.’
‘Were the files ever found?’
‘No.’
‘Who was the woman who tried to kill her children?’
Kirby ran a finger down his notebook. ‘Carrie King.’
‘Okay,’ Lottie said. ‘This could lead us into a rabbit’s warren. We haven’t the manpower, so let’s park it for now and we’ll see what develops.’
‘Right, boss.’ Kirby stood up and with slumped shoulders wheeled his chair back to his own desk.
‘Where’s the transcript of the statement O’Dowd made today?’
Boyd tapped at his computer. ‘Odd.’
‘What’s odd?’ Lottie said. When she was sure none of her colleagues were watching, she snuck a pill from her bag and quickly swallowed it. Keep calm, she commanded herself.
‘There’s nothing on the system relating to it.’ Boyd turned round. ‘Lynch? Did you take O’Dowd’s statement?’
‘No.’
‘Kirby?’
‘Not me. I’ll check with the front desk.’ He lifted his phone. After a moment he said, ‘Desk sergeant has no record of O’Dowd coming in.’
Lottie shoved her chair back and stood.
‘That’s priceless. Just priceless,’ she said. ‘Kirby, how did you find out O’Dowd owned the cottage?’
‘Land registry.’
‘No idea of who rented it then?’
‘Not through any of the estate agents in town. I even broadened my query outside of town.’
‘Back up a bit,’ Lottie said. She moved over and sat on the edge of Kirby’s desk. ‘Have you a copy of the land folio or deeds?’
‘I’ll bring it up.’
Lottie breathed deeply, watching Kirby’s chunky fingers stamp down on the keys. He clicked on a document.
‘Print it.’
‘Done.’
Lottie took the page. ‘Boyd, have a look at this. See who owned the cottage before O’Dowd?’
‘Jesus!’
She picked up her bag and rolled her jacket over her arm. ‘Kirby, process a search warrant for Mick O’Dowd’s farmhouse and lands. Come on, Boyd, we need to speak to O’Dowd again. And this time he will tell me the truth.’
Fifty-Three
The car lurched from side to side as Boyd tried to avoid the water-filled potholes along the gloomy country road. Ebony clouds chased each other across the starless sky. Torrential rain crashed against the windscreen; the wipers couldn’t keep up.
‘Should’ve brought a pair of wellingtons,’ Lottie muttered.
‘Bit of a move up the fashion ladder for you.’ Boyd wrestled with the steering wheel.
‘O’Dowd’s yard will be like a swimming pool.’
‘More like a slurry pit.’
‘Hey, there’s the turn.’
‘Can’t see a thing. Hold on tight.’
Lottie clamped her feet to the floor as Boyd swerved, taking a sharp right. She felt herself being flung sideways. Her seat belt jerked against her shoulder. ‘Take it easy. I know I said to hurry, but I want to get there alive.’
‘Not a light on anywhere,’ Boyd said, screeching the car to a halt in O’Dowd’s yard.
‘The Land Rover’s here. Let’s take a look.’ She zipped up her jacket and exited the car. Boyd switched off the headlights, plunging them into darkness.
‘Can’t you leave them on?’
‘I’ve got flashlights.’
He produced two from the boot. Lottie took one, checked it worked and followed the cone of light up to the front door.
Hammering the knocker on the door, she shone the torch through the glass. It reflected back, blinding her.
‘Thought I saw a ghost.’ She turned to Boyd. He was nowhere in sight. ‘Boyd? Where are you? The dog could be loose. Come back.’ She flashed the light about wildly.
‘He’s not loose.’ The wind carried his voice around the side of the house to Lottie’s ears. ‘He’s injured.’
‘What? How?’ She ran, splashing through puddles, wind buffeting her against the gable end, and fell over the crouched figure of Boyd.
‘Ouch,’ she cried.
Lying on her back on the slimy dung-splattered ground, she tried to get traction with her elbows; slipped again.
‘Lottie? Are you okay? Give me your hand.’
‘Where’s the damn torch?’ She dragged herself to her knees.
Boyd shone his beam around the yard and she saw the dog.
‘Oh my God? What happened?’
‘Poor bugger’s dead.’
Holding a hand to her mouth, she said, ‘He was a nasty dog, but he didn’t deserve this.’
‘Surely O’Dowd didn’t kill his own dog?’ Boyd asked, picking up her torch.
Reaching for Boyd’s hand, Lottie allowed him to haul her to her feet. The warmth of his fingers did little to dispel the chill cartwheeling along her skin.
‘This is not good,’ she said, shaking off his hold.
‘We should come back in daylight.’
A strong gust flung a tin can across the yard.
‘Just a minute. Let’s try the back door first. Give me the torch.’ She took it and led Boyd round to the rear of the house, where she knocked on the door.
‘This is pointless,’ Boyd said.
A pane of glass rattled in the door. ‘We’ll search it in the morning. Get a squad car to come and housesit.’
‘What for?’
‘In case O’Dowd comes back.’
‘But his car is here.’
‘He’s not, though, and his dog is dead. I need to check if the bike is still in the shed.’
Shivering from her fall, Lottie walked in the illuminated cone cast by the torch. The rain continued unabated. At the door of the shed, water dripped down into one of the blue plastic barrels. Inside, the tractor loomed like an iridescent monster. No sign of the quad. No sign of the…
‘Boyd. Quick. Come here.’
She sensed him moving to her shoulder. Felt his breath on her neck.