‘Anything for us?’ Lottie asked.
She sometimes didn’t know what to make of Maria Lynch, with her freckled nose, inquisitive eyes and long hair tied up childishly in a ponytail, always dressed smartly. She looked eighteen, but having served fifteen years in the force, she was closer to thirty-five. Enthusiastic without overdoing it. She was aware that Lynch was super ambitious and Lottie had no intention of falling into the female rivalry trap. But she had to admit to a slight jealousy of the domestic stability her detective possessed. Lynch was married, she assumed happily. It was said her husband cooked, hoovered, brought their two small children to school before he went to work and all that shite.
‘It’s an absolute tip in there. I don’t know how the woman survived in such a dump,’ Lynch said, wiping dust from her pressed navy trousers.
Lottie raised an eyebrow. ‘That doesn’t gel with the image I formed of her after seeing her office and the people she worked with.’
She stepped into the hallway with Boyd. The house felt crowded. Two SOCOs were busy and Detective Kirby’s rotund rear protruded as he rifled through the kitchen garbage bin.
‘Nothing in here but rubbish,’ Kirby’s voice gurgled, a large unlit cigar hanging from his lips, his bushy mop of hair like an antennae on top of his head.
He grinned at Lottie. She scowled. Larry Kirby was divorced and currently cavorting with a twenty-something-year-old actress in town. More luck to him, she thought. At least it might stop his flirtatious glances at her. Despite all that, Kirby was called the lovable rogue within the force.
‘Put away that cigar,’ she ordered.
His face reddened and he put the cigar into his breast pocket. Grunting loudly, he opened the fridge and inspected the contents.
‘And make sure the neighbours are canvassed,’ Lottie instructed. ‘We need to determine when Sullivan was last seen.’
‘Right away,’ Kirby said, slamming the fridge door shut and stomping off to give the order to someone else.
Lottie could see what Lynch had been talking about. Dirty dishes piled high in the sink; a pot with potatoes, half of them peeled, on the table; an open sliced pan; a jam-pot with a knife protruding from it and white mould circling the rim. A bowl, encrusted with the remains of porridge, sat in the midst of the mess. It was difficult to determine if the woman had just had breakfast or dinner. Maybe both together. The floor was dirty, crumbs and dust everywhere.
‘The sitting room is worse,’ Lynch said. ‘Have a look.’
Lottie turned out of the kitchen, followed her colleague’s pointed finger and stood at the door.
‘Holy shit,’ she said.
‘Good God,’ Boyd said.
‘Agreed,’ Lynch said.
There were hundreds of newspapers stacked in every conceivable space in the room. On the floor, the armchairs, the couch and on top of the television. Some were yellowing and others appeared to have been shredded by a mouse. The room was dust-covered. Lottie picked up a paper from the nearest bundle. December 29th. Sullivan had been working her way outwards. Lottie began counting the newspapers in her head.
‘Some mountain of rubbish in here,’ she said. ‘Must be at least a couple of years’ worth.’
‘This woman had serious issues,’ Lynch said, from behind her.
Lottie shook her head.
‘I can’t marry this scene with the absolute tidiness of her office. It’s like she was two different people.’
‘You sure you got the right house?’ Boyd queried.
Two sets of eyes glared at him.
‘Only asking,’ he said and slouched up the stairs, dipping his head beneath the low ceiling.
‘Keep looking,’ Lottie said to Lynch. ‘We need to locate her phone. It’ll give us her contacts and maybe information as to who wanted to kill her. I don’t see any sign of a laptop or computer.’
‘I’ll look for them. The SOCOs are almost done here.’ Detective Maria Lynch squeezed back into the crowded kitchen.
Lottie followed Boyd upstairs. He was in the bathroom.
‘Pills for everything, from a pain in the arse to a pain in the elbow,’ he said.
He sounded like her mother. She pushed him out of her way and peered into the medicine cabinet. Sullivan should have been on suicide watch, she thought, eyeing packets of Prozac, Xanax, Temazepam.
‘Looks like she wasn’t taking her medicine,’ she said, quelling the urge to pocket a few blisters of Xanax. Jesus, she could function for at least three months on this lot.
‘Because there’s so much still here?’ he asked.
‘Yeah. Oxycontin too.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Morphine,’ said Lottie, remembering her own medicine cabinet, before Adam died. She checked the prescription details, recording the pharmacy name in her phone to follow up later. She looked around the bathroom. It was filthy. She edged out past Boyd and entered the bedroom.
‘In here,’ she called.
He joined her. ‘Incredible.’
‘What was going on in this woman’s head, in her life?’ Lottie asked.
The bedroom was sparkling clean, sterile. Nothing out of place. The bed, dressed to army standards in pure white, clean linen. A dresser, naked of any cosmetics. Wooden floor, shining. That was it.
‘I can almost see myself in the floor,’ she said and opened the dressing table drawer. Everything was folded with military precision. She closed it again. Someone else’s job to desecrate the belongings of the dead. She wouldn’t do it. Not after Adam. ‘This woman was a contradiction.’
‘And she lived alone,’ Boyd said, checking the other bedroom.
Lottie glanced over his shoulder. It was bare. Four white walls and a wooden floor. She shook her head in confusion. Susan Sullivan was definitely an enigma.
Downstairs, she looked around again. Something didn’t gel. What was she was missing? She couldn’t quite draw her thoughts to a conclusion.
She had to get out.
Boyd joined her outside, a cigarette between his fingers.
‘Where to now?’ he asked, taking a deep pull on the cigarette. Lottie gladly inhaled the smoke and yawned.
‘I better go home and feed my kids.’
‘They’re teenagers and well able to look after themselves,’ he said. ‘You need to look after yourself.’
A statement that did not require a reply. It was the truth.
‘I have to digest this case. I want to pull together the few facts we have, to see if I can make sense of it all. I need space.’
‘And you’ll get that at home?’
‘Don’t be smart.’
She felt his closeness, not just bodily close, but in mind. Boyd unnerved her. Conversely, she would love to feel his arm around her in a comforting hug. In the same instant, she knew she would repel it. Welcome to the world of frosty Lottie Parker. Her mood just about matched the weather.
‘There’s nothing else we can do this evening. I’m going to walk. I’ll see you in the morning. Remember, team meeting at six a.m. Corrigan will be there, so don’t be late.’ Redundant words, she thought. Boyd was never late.
She trudged along the icy footpaths towards home, alone.
Six