The traffic was crawling on the icy road.
Gerry Dunne wanted to be at work early. Not looking likely now. He needed to go over the file one last time. His phone rang. Bea Walsh. He ignored it. She was an interfering busybody. Only yesterday she had tried to tell him that the file for St Angela’s was missing. He had politely told her it was in hand. In hand? One more day, then it would be out of his hands and he’d be off the hook, with a fat envelope of euros. He wondered if his wife Hazel would like another week in the sun.
As the car idled at the traffic lights on the junction of Main Street and Gaol Street, in his rear-view mirror he saw Mike O’Brien pull out of a parking space, scream down the street and drive straight through the red light. Who put ants in his knickers? Dunne couldn’t wait for all this to be over.
Another week in the sun? It was looking more attractive by the minute.
Sixty-Eight
‘What are you doing?’ Boyd asked, peering over Lottie’s shoulder.
‘I’m checking flights to Rome,’ she said, cursing Ryanair and what seemed like a million boxes she must tick.
‘Are you totally mad? Who’s paying?’
‘Me.’
‘Well, that’s a first. I’ve never in my life heard of a detective paying their own way for anything to do with work.’
He wheeled over his chair and sat beside her.
‘Don’t look at what I’m doing and you won’t have to tell any lies,’ she said, tapping the keyboard.
‘Did you hear anything I said to you earlier? This is crazy.’
‘You said that already. Stop repeating yourself.’
‘I want nothing to do with it.’ Boyd stood up.
‘Who asked you?’
Kirby glanced up at them, shaking his head.
‘Why don’t you go and do something useful?’ Lottie muttered.
‘Like what?’ Boyd asked.
‘Talk to Brown’s lover Derek Harte again. See if you can get anything else out of him. He’s holding something back. Follow up with that young priest in the bishop’s house, Father Eoin. Is that his name? Talk to Patrick O’Malley. Find the elusive Father Con. Will I write you a list?’ They’d had no luck finding Father Con, whoever he was, and she realised there was a lot of things they still hadn’t got a handle on.
Boyd kicked back the chair, clattering it into a radiator, grabbed his coat and banged the door on his way out.
A flight was leaving at one thirty. She glanced at the clock. Enough time to get to the airport. If she hurried. Seventy-nine euro including taxes. Not too bad. She couldn’t really afford it. Could she? The powers-that-be wouldn’t reimburse her unless she had prior approval and she hadn’t time for that. It was going to be at her own cost. But she needed to do this. Clicked it.
‘For feck’s sake,’ she said.
‘What’s up?’ Kirby glanced over his screen.
‘Nothing.’
She looked in her drawer for a pill to calm her nerves. Couldn’t find one. As she slid it shut she noticed the old file. Alone in the midst of the chaos. Sitting. Waiting. For an answer? Could the old records now in Rome give her answers after all this time? If so, it would be worth the expense.
‘Seventy-nine euro one way; return flight in the morning, another fifty-five,’ she said. Kirby pretended he wasn’t listening.
Definitely can’t afford it. She searched her wallet for her credit card. The bill was due. She bit her bottom lip thinking; churning everything over in her head. Had Father Joe really found something useful? What if she was wrong about him? What if he was the one who murdered Sullivan and Brown, even Father Angelotti? What was the truth? But she realised, whatever she might owe on her Visa bill, she owed this to the victims.
She reached into the drawer and removed the old file on the missing boy. It haunted her like a tenacious ghost. Placing it beside her keyboard, she opened it and looked at the boy’s photograph. Ran her finger over his freckles. Made her decision. If Corrigan wants to suspend me, might as well give him a good reason. Entered her card details. Transaction complete. Boarding card printed. Before she could change her mind.
‘Shit.’ She ran both hands through her hair, scrunching it tight.
‘What now?’ asked Kirby.
‘I’ve to get someone to mind my kids.’
Kirby shook his head and went back to what he was doing. ‘That’s definitely not on my CV.’
Lottie dug her nails into her head. Swallowing her pride, she called her mother.
Sixty-Nine
He must have fallen back asleep because when he opened his eyes he could see a thin stream of light.
The man. Standing in the doorway. Jason blinked. He couldn’t see properly.
‘What do you want with me?’ he croaked.
‘I am not sure. Not sure at all. I picked you up on a whim. Never done that before. It felt quite exciting having such young flesh sitting beside me.’
‘You’re a pervert.’
‘Silly boy, calling me names. You might be sorry.’
‘What did you do to me? If you touched me, I swear to God, my father will kill you.’
‘Going by what you told me last night, I would not count on him.’
‘Did you . . .?’ Jason’s voice quivered.
‘Did I what?’
Jason knew he was being mocked.
‘Did I touch you? No. Not yet anyway. Thinking about it. Long and hard.’ He laughed and rubbed his hand along his groin.
Jason’s body convulsed.
‘Did you drug me?’
‘A pill sent you to dreamland. I could not risk you fighting back. That would defeat the purpose of the exercise.’
‘What exercise?’
‘As I say, I have not quite figured that out, yet. Are you hungry?’
‘I’m thirsty. Please untie me.’
A gusty sound filled the room as the man snorted.
‘Maybe some food and water. Next time.’
He turned to leave.
‘Please let me out of here. I want to go home,’ Jason said, breathing a white fog into the cold air.
‘You will do exactly what I tell you.’ The voice rose, then faded, trailing unspoken menace in its wake.
The door clunked shut and a key turned in the lock.
Jason waited. Listened. Scratching in the ceiling above him and a bird cawing somewhere in the distance.
That’s all he heard, otherwise it was deathly silent.
Seventy
After numerous protestations, Boyd agreed to cover for her.
‘It’s only until tomorrow,’ Lottie said.
‘I shouldn’t—’
‘Thanks Boyd. I knew I could count on you.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘If asked, I’m searching the victims’ homes again. Following up clues. Talking to suspects.’
‘What suspects? What clues?’
‘Is there an echo in here?’ Lottie cupped her ear. ‘You’ll think of something.’
If Father Joe had found something worthwhile, she was in the clear, but Corrigan would probably suspend her anyway once he found out she had disobeyed his orders. Then again, he hadn’t categorically said no. Had he? Feck him.
Back at home, Lottie emptied Sean’s school rucksack, stacked his books on top of the drier and ran upstairs to find clean clothes. Dragging shirts and sweaters from hangers, she watched the pile grow into a leaning tower on the bed.