‘The bicycle is gone,’ he said.
‘You wouldn’t let me take it earlier. It was evidence that Emma was here.’ Her voice was even. The pill was working. Keeping her from screaming at him.
Boyd spoke in an even-tempered tone. ‘You know you couldn’t take it then. We needed a warrant.’
She turned. He was so close, she could see the pores of his skin in the light from the torch in his hand. All around, shadows swarmed at her, the galvanised roof rising and falling with the force of the tempest raging outside. Something howled in the distance and a massive crunch, then a bang, signalled a falling tree. Lottie flinched and moved towards Boyd. He wrapped his arm around her. Too close. But she wanted to feel his closeness. To feel safe. Leaning into him, she let her cheek touch his. Briefly. Breathed in his scent.
And then he spoke. Almost breaking the spell. Almost.
‘You’re tired. Soaking wet. It’s been a long day. You need to go home.’ He trailed his fingers through her sopping hair.
She said, ‘You’re right. As usual. Let’s go.’
But she didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
He lowered the torch as his mouth met hers. Their lips brushed silently, quickly, and something stirred within her. Something that had been dormant for so long, she hardly recognised it.
‘Oh Boyd. Don’t do this to me.’
‘You want me to stop?’
‘No.’
His hands slid around her back and her body was drawn tightly into his. She could sense it in him too. A longing. A craving. Call it whatever… she wanted it. Her muddy hand rose automatically, up around his neck, and she pulled him down to her lips.
Another loud crash separated them. The wind had succeeded in lifting the roof clear from the rafters, flinging it high into the black sky and out over the field. Rain gushed in.
‘The gods are in some temper,’ Boyd said, with a strained laugh. He shone the torch up into the heavens. ‘All O’Dowd’s equipment will be destroyed without the roof.’
‘Serves the bastard right.’ Lottie walked with measured steps around the side of the tractor, her body still tingling. ‘I see the drainpipe took off with the roof.’ She glanced at the plastic barrel as she passed.
A flash of lightning cracked the sky and emblazoned the yard. In a spark of clarity, she halted. The warmth that had coursed through her body a moment ago fled. Her blood froze midstream to a solid icicle.
Taking a step backwards, she whispered, ‘Boyd… In… in there. Look.’ She pointed to the barrel. ‘I… I saw something.’
‘Probably a drowned rat. Like us.’
He swung his torch around and the beam settled on the water in the barrel that once held O’Dowd’s Propcorn. Lottie followed the glow with her eyes, felt her legs go weak, cried out, lost her breath, gulped down the acidic bilge.
She dared to look again.
A swathe of hair rippled around two open eyes looking up at her from the depths of the watery grave.
It wasn’t a drowned rat.
Lottie screamed.
Fifty-Four
The man circled the car, rain pounding on his head.
He had a call to make. A very difficult call. He wasn’t at all sure of the reception his message would get. He tapped the number, rainwater drenching his iPhone screen. No signal. Good… or was it?
He turned round at the sound of sirens blaring, coming towards him. The shrieking noise seemed to be in competition with the storm that had yet to reach its peak.
Watching until the garda cars and the ambulance disappeared over the hill, he decided the call could wait. He got into his car and followed the lights into the night.
He knew where they were headed.
Fifty-Five
Even with Boyd’s coat over her shoulders, Lottie continued to shiver. Her jeans settled like a damp sheath on her legs, hair matted to her scalp. Balling up her fists, she thumped them against her head.
‘She was here, Boyd. All the time. God almighty, this is all my fault.’
‘No use going there, Lottie.’
‘That’s the point. We were here. Earlier. We saw the bike. We should have gone inside the house.’ She stared up into his eyes. The sparkle of hazel had turned to black. ‘Leave me alone.’
Without answering, Boyd shrugged and went to direct the SOCOs towards the barn.
She slumped down onto the doorstep. Looking up at the sky, she allowed the rain to run down her face, along with tears of helplessness. The white-suited SOCOs swarmed around the barrel holding the body of Emma Russell, sightless in her watery grave.
There were no stars in the sky, only bullets of rain shooting down the darkness. The storm howled like a banshee welcoming the dead, and branches crunched and cracked and fell to earth. The cattle in the second shed lowed long and hard. Another flash of lightning lit up the heavens, and a thunderclap followed.
Spotlights were erected by the team, and as she sat there on the lonely wet step, Lottie thought how surreal the night had become. A seventeen-year-old girl, submerged until she drowned. Without sympathy or pity. Without prayer or penance. Without remorse or guilt. Shoved into a barrel while rain pummelled her body and water flooded her lungs until her last breath left her being, her life extinguished in a strangled gulp.
Lottie felt her brain helter-skeltering inside her skull. A flutter of movement caused her to shift her focus down to her feet. A small bird, its wings drenched so badly it probably couldn’t fly. Its tiny body shivering. It was useless. So was she. Forcing herself, she tried to comprehend what had happened. Who was this monster she was dealing with? One thing was definite: Lorcan Brady and his partner had had nothing to do with Emma’s death. Brady was lying in hospital and the nameless man was already dead. So who then? Had O’Dowd killed the girl? It seemed most likely. Everything pointed to him. The bicycle in the shed. The fact that he had vanished. The lies he had told and the truth he had kept hidden.
Why had Emma’s grandmother, Tessa Ball, signed over the cottage to O’Dowd? How did she even come to own it? And who was the man stabbed to death in its embers? Why had Emma come here? Why was she dead? Why?
Sensing Boyd’s presence, Lottie glanced up. Silhouetted by the lights, the rain for a backdrop, he stood like a weary Grecian god, smoke from his cigarette swirling and dying in the cold night.
‘Want one?’ he asked.
‘Please,’ she whispered.
Crouching down beside her, he lit it for her.
The sound of tyres crashing through water caused them to look at each other. Lottie heaved herself up. A door slammed and heavy footsteps followed.
‘What the feck is going on here?’ Superintendent Corrigan bellowed against the storm.
‘Emma Russell. We found her. Drowned,’ Boyd said.
‘Drowned? What happened?’
‘Yes, sir. In a barrel used for Propcorn.’ Boyd started to explain. ‘It’s acid, used for animal feed. You mix it—’
‘All right. All right. What was she doing out here?’ Corrigan stretched his hand towards the activity in the barn.
‘I have to figure that out yet, sir,’ Lottie said. Throwing down the cigarette, she shoved her hands into her damp pockets and awaited the tirade.
‘Figure it out soon.’ Corrigan marched towards the SOCOs.
Boyd exhaled. ‘Narrow escape.’
‘Don’t speak too soon.’ Lottie watched the superintendent chatting with McGlynn, before he promptly returned.
‘First thing in the morning. My office.’ And he rushed back to his car.
Jane Dore arrived and suited herself up under an enormous umbrella held by a garda. Lottie nodded acknowledgement of the state pathologist’s presence and walked with Boyd to watch the SOCOs removing the teenager’s body from the barrel.
A man with a gurney and a body bag waited inside the roofless barn as incessant rain spilled down on top of it.
Boyd clutched Lottie’s elbow. She shook him off.
‘I’m fine. I’ve seen bodies before.’