‘It’s all stuff he’s already reported on,’ Boyd said three hours later as he surveyed his handiwork. Lottie was still on her knees, wading through the morass of paper.
‘It’s here somewhere and I’m going to find it.’
‘You don’t even know what you’re looking for. Let’s call it a night and we can get back to it tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Lottie threw her hands in the air. ‘We have case files as high as the body count. Something links them all together. Moroney was on to it.’ Sitting back on the floor, she caught sight of the clock on the wall. ‘God! Is that the time?’ She jumped up, scattering paper and files in her haste.
‘Hey! I just sorted those. And yes, it’s 12.03, madam inspector. Just after the witching hour.’
‘I should’ve been home hours ago.’ She edged out past Boyd to the living room. Catching sight of the box of toys, she faltered. Thank God the children had not been harmed physically, though they would suffer psychological damage. And she knew how bad that could be. Picking up her jacket, she felt her phone vibrate in the pocket. She checked it. Chloe.
‘Hi, hon. I’m sorry, I got held up at work. All okay?’
‘Mom, you’d better come home. Now.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘It’s Katie. You need to speak to her. Little Louis is driving me and Sean mad. Sean even threatened to stuff him up the chimney. He’s only joking, but please hurry.’
‘I’m on my way.’
Lottie stood with the phone in her hand, staring at the fireplace. Then back to the toy box. Where would a man hide something he didn’t want found? Rushing over, she pulled toys from the plastic container. Lego, Peppa Pig, a fire truck, a garda car with a siren that blared loudly as her hand touched it.
‘Slow down. You’re like a lunatic,’ Boyd said, shrugging on his coat.
Her fingers touched it before her eyes registered it. She yanked it out. A faded manila folder. Similar to the one she had kept all those years in her desk drawer until she had solved the mystery last January. A green treasury tag was looped through a double-punched hole at the edge. She stared. Her hand feathered the old paperwork. Sensing Boyd standing over her, she didn’t know whether to hide the file under the toys or show it to him. Gulping down a sob, she felt his hand on her shoulder.
‘What is it?’
‘The answer, Boyd. I think it might be the answer I’ve been looking for.’
Ninety
Boyd retrieved a plastic evidence bag from the car and Lottie carefully slid the folder inside. Time. She would need time and peace to go through it. But the title scripted on the front told her enough. This was Moroney’s bargaining chip. But was it what the killer had been after, or was that something else entirely?
Tiredness creased her legs as she hobbled towards the car, nodding goodnight to the officer manning the crime-scene tape at the gate.
‘Will I drop you at yours or do you want to pick up your car at the station?’ Boyd asked.
‘I’d best get home and sort out the war.’ Lottie clicked on her seat belt.
‘Care to tell me why that file has your father’s name on it?’
‘Not now. I can’t think straight.’
But she was thinking. Thinking how her father’s post-mortem file had gone missing from the Dead House. How Cathal Moroney and his wife had been murdered in their own home. How this file had lain hidden among his children’s toys. She wouldn’t sleep tonight. Her mind was in overdrive.
As Boyd idled the engine outside her house, she saw that all the lights were blazing.
‘Your kids still up?’ he asked.
‘Probably killing each other. Thanks for the lift.’ She put her hand out to open the car door, but felt Boyd tug at her sleeve.
‘You need to be careful,’ he said, his voice as soft as the rain pitter-pattering against the windscreen.
Twisting to face him, Lottie smiled. ‘You know me, I’m always careful.’
She leaned over to peck his cheek, but he turned his head and their lips met, fleetingly. A warm sensation travelled the length of her body and settled nicely in the pit of her stomach. She wanted more. Now. To help warm the chill that had slipped over her body like a coat.
The moment was broken when he drew back and faced towards the rain falling outside. With a sigh, she stepped out onto the pavement and watched him drive off. Clutching the file tight to her chest, she walked towards her front door.
* * *
She sensed nothing until the shock of the whack to the back of her neck caused her to lunge towards the door, cracking her head against the weather-beaten timber. The file in its plastic covering slipped from her fingers to the ground. She fell to her knees, blood pouring from a gash in her forehead. The second punch landed in her ribs. As a gloved hand whipped up the file, Lottie grabbed for the ankle beside her. What if he got into her house? To her children. Her grandson. No!
She turned over and glanced around wildly. Alone. Staggered to her feet. Where had he gone? No car speeding away. Had he escaped on foot? She dragged herself down the path, veering onto the grass patch, blinded by her own blood. Glimpsing a shadow vaulting her neighbour’s wall, she felt adrenaline kick in and took off after him, shedding her bag and jacket as she ran. Would Boyd have heard anything as he left? Her feet were moving quicker than her brain. She swiped away the blood now streaming down her face. As long as the assailant was ahead of her, her children were safe.
Over the wall. Around the side of the house. Where had he gone? A bat-like figure was scrambling up the embankment at the end of the garden. The train tracks. He was heading for the railway. She had no idea which way he would go. She followed.
Grasping at bushes and shrubs, she made her way upwards, slipping and sliding, until eventually she was standing on the tracks. The bells in one of the cathedral spires rang out the half-hour. Rain pelted down on top of her and the wind roared around her. She couldn’t see him anywhere.
‘Scumbag! Come back. Come back here!’ she yelled at the top of her voice, but her words were carried away on the wind.
Swinging round, trying to see where he could have gone, she lost her footing on the wet steel girders and tumbled head over heels down the opposite embankment. Crashing into long grass, she yelped in pain. Blackness all around. The amber glow from street lights, distorted by the wind and rain, flitted in and out of focus. Grabbing the branch of a bramble bush, oblivious to the thorns piercing her skin, she pulled herself upright. Pain shot from her ankle and she stumbled. Attempting a step forward, she tried to think what Boyd would do in this situation. Head back and check on her family? Call for reinforcements? Or continue her quest? Damn it, there wasn’t much she could do with tears of blood blinding her more than the driving rain. She couldn’t go back up the slope, so the only way was forward to the road, then she could limp back to the house and call for backup.
As she began to walk, dragging her leg, a figure stepped up out of the long grass, silhouetted by the warped lights in the distance. Lean, not too tall, clothed from head to toe in black. Waving the plastic evidence bag containing Moroney’s file.
‘Who are you?’ Lottie shouted. ‘I want that file.’
Silence. The figure advanced. One step at a time.
Hightail it the hell out of here? Or stand her ground? The reverberation of little Louis crying and the memory of Chloe’s anxious phone call reminded her that she needed to get home. But she also wanted to know the truth. The truth Cathal Moroney’s father had been prevented from publishing in his newspaper all those years ago. The truth Cathal Moroney had been murdered for. And was it this truth that had wiped out Tessa Ball and her family?