‘You won’t get near him,’ Kirby said.
‘I don’t give a shit,’ she said. ‘Mind the icy road.’ She gripped the dashboard as Kirby swerved, narrowly avoiding an oncoming car. ‘Smoke your cigar if you want.’
‘Your wish is my command.’ He lit the cigar with one flick from a lighter.
‘I found this in St Angela’s.’ Lottie held up a small plastic evidence bag containing the silver pendant.
Kirby eyed it sideways. ‘Nice. Why would it be in that old place?’
‘That’s what I’m going to find out.’
‘So you know who owns it?’
‘I do,’ Lottie said. ‘Will it cost much to fix the car?’
Kirby said, ‘The price of a pint.’
‘I can afford to buy you one pint. My budget won’t stretch to two.’
‘That bad, huh?’ Kirby grunted.
Lottie nodded. ‘You don’t by any chance know how to fix a PlayStation?’
‘Moron,’ the man said, righting his car.
He exited the main road and drove up the side road and through the rear entrance gate into St Angela’s.
‘Where’re we going?’ Sean asked.
‘You ask a lot of questions,’ the man said, through gritted teeth.
‘Just wondering.’
The man edged his sleek vehicle in behind the small chapel and switched the engine off.
Sean slipped his hand around the cold metal in his pocket, glad he had this talisman with him. Something suddenly told him he should run like mad, to get as far away as he could. Before he could react, the man gripped his elbow tight, propelling him towards the arched wooden door with a shiny new padlock.
Though he was not yet fourteen, he was tall, but in the time it took the man to open the padlocked door, Sean felt tiny. He didn’t know if it was because of the man’s eyebrows tightening into a scowl or the secure hold on his arm. One thing for certain, he was glad he had his knife with him.
The door closed and the man slid a bolt in place.
‘Why’d you do that?’
‘Security. This way.’
Sean stood his ground.
‘If the door was locked from the outside,’ he began, ‘how can Jason be in here of his own free will?’
The man’s jaw tightened. Sean backed against the door.
‘I told you I would bring you to Jason. Be a good lad and do as I say.’
‘He’s not here at all,’ Sean screeched. ‘Who are you?’
He held on to the knife in his pocket, hoping the man wouldn’t notice. How stupid, to let himself be dragged here. What was the best thing to do? Hope Jason was here and go along with the man to find out or fight back and escape now? If he used the knife, he could get out the door. What if he was leaving Jason behind? What would his mother do? He had to think fast, or he was going to be in a shit load of trouble.
‘Stop asking questions. Come.’
Sean made his decision and allowed himself to be led down the dull, narrow corridor, his hand clenched firmly around his knife.
Eighty-Eight
Standing outside the nurses’ station, Kirby said, ‘At least he’s out of ICU.’
Lottie rolled her eyes. He was annoying the shit out of her. Never shut his mouth, always had to be saying something. She took a deep breath, trying to instil a calmness she could feel.
‘How did you get on in Rome?’ he asked.
‘Did you just wink at me?’ Lottie walked up to him, locking eyes.
He stepped back.
‘I didn’t mean to. It sort of happened.’ Kirby pulled at his unshaven jaw.
‘Don’t try to be like Boyd. It doesn’t suit you.’
‘You can see the patient for five minutes. No longer. He’s weak, but conscious.’ A young, blue-uniformed, blue-eyed nurse held the door open.
‘Only one of you,’ she said, the upturned palm of her hand stopping them.
‘You go.’ Kirby allowed Lottie to pass.
Boyd lay propped up on the bed, a multitude of wires meandering from various areas of his body to monitors standing like robots around him. The nurse pressed a tube, peered at the liquid passing through. Satisfied, she turned to Lottie.
‘Five minutes.’ She left Lottie alone with Boyd.
Pulling over a chair, Lottie sat close to Boyd’s head. His eyes blinked recognition, their hazel hue dulled. He tried an unsuccessful smile.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I shouldn’t have traipsed off to Rome leaving you to get into trouble without me.’
She smiled as Boyd attempted a weak grin.
‘I know you’re not supposed to talk but can you remember anything about your assailant?’
‘No small talk?’ A crusty croak from Boyd.
‘When Kirby told me what happened, I was terrified,’ Lottie said. ‘I thought you were going to die but I tried not to think about that. You know me – buried myself in work all morning.’
She clasped his hand, feeling the length of his fingers in her own, bent her head and kissed the scratched skin of his forehead.
‘Don’t cry,’ Boyd whispered.
‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ Lottie said.
‘I saw the killer’s back . . . familiar . . . not sure. I’m no help.’
‘Could it have been O’Malley?’
‘Don’t know.’
Lottie found tissues on the locker and wiped spittle from the corner of his mouth.
‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll get him. He’ll be one sorry bastard when I’m done with him.’
‘Be careful,’ Boyd said, his voice gathering strength. ‘No point in ending up here too. Or maybe they’ve a double bed.’
‘Wise arse,’ Lottie said. ‘I’m baffled why the killer struck when you were on your way to see the priest. Did you tell anyone besides Lynch?’
‘No . . . no one.’
She mulled over this for a moment. Confident that Lynch had nothing to do with it and, if Boyd had told no one else, then the only other person who knew was Father Joe. She noticed how weary Boyd looked. This wasn’t the time to tell him of her suspicions. His eyelids closed.
‘Get better quick. I’m lost without you.’ She fluttered her lips on his brow as the nurse returned.
With a backward glance at the now sleeping Boyd, she left the room, determined to put an end to the killer’s quest.
Eighty-Nine
‘I’ve no further information regarding your son, Mrs Rickard, but I need to talk to your husband.’
Lottie leaned against the doorjamb of the Rickard residence. Melanie walked inside. She followed. Tom Rickard rose from his armchair in anticipation. She shook her head. His face slumped.
‘As I told your wife, I’ve nothing new on your son’s whereabouts. We’ve issued a press statement. It’s on social media and we’ll get television coverage.’
‘Inspector, I’m fierce worried,’ Rickard said.
‘We’re doing all we can.’
Lottie sat opposite him in the chair he indicated. Sitting in his crumpled suit, Rickard’s eyes were red-rimmed. A log fire blazed. The room was warm.
‘Tea? Coffee?’ Melanie Rickard asked.
‘Tea, thank you,’ Lottie said. She felt something in the atmosphere between Melanie and Tom Rickard. Ice? Melanie escaped to the kitchen.
‘About St Angela’s . . .’ she began.
‘I’m more concerned with my son’s welfare at the moment,’ he said.
‘Who else has keys to the building?’
Rickard shrugged. ‘My partners. You have my set.’