‘Why do they have them?’
‘I provided them with keys ages ago, in case they needed to check out the place. I never asked for them back. I’ve no idea if they used them or not,’ Rickard said. ‘What has this got to do with anything?’
‘I don’t know, is the honest answer,’ Lottie said. She held up the bag with the pendant. ‘Do you recognise this?’
Rickard glanced away. ‘No. Should I?’
‘I thought you might. Are you sure?’
‘Goddammit woman, what are you doing to find my son?’
She rose to leave. The fire was too comforting to sit any longer. ‘Another thing, do you have St Angela’s original floor plans? I need to see the layout.’
Rickard shrugged, sighed and hauled his bulk from the armchair, a bear waking from winter’s hibernation. He extracted a rolled-up document from a desk in the corner and handed it to her.
‘Keep it. I’ve lost all interest in the project,’ he said and returned to stand beside his chair.
‘Even though you’ve got your planning permission?’
‘My son is more important to me now. When you’ve finished with those you can burn them. Just find Jason. Make it your priority. I’m begging you.’
Rickard turned towards the fire, staring at the orange flames leaping over the burning timber.
Lottie rose to leave. Melanie arrived with a tray. She put it on the table and placed a hand on her arm, lips silent, eyes pleading.
Lottie nodded, feeling the other woman’s anxiety.
She left the couple to their lonely despair.
Ninety
‘Look at this, Kirby,’ Lottie said, pointing to the plans laid out on a desk in the incident room. ‘I was right.’
‘About what?’
She rolled her sleeves to her elbows and drew a circle on the page with a yellow highlighter.
‘The plans show the corridor with sixteen windows on the second floor. I counted thirteen inside, but sixteen on the outside.’
‘Which means what, exactly?’ Kirby asked, searching his pocket.
She tapped the drawing with the marker.
‘It means there are three windows behind a wall, which also means there’s an extra room or rooms blocked off.’
‘So what?’ he ventured.
‘So why?’ Lottie asked. ‘Why do that? Who did it? When? That’s what I want to know. What does it mean?’
‘What has it to do with the murders?’
‘I don’t know, but we have nothing else and I need to find out. Do we have an address for O’Malley?’
‘He lives on the streets.’
‘Go look for him.’
She glanced around the room, noticed Lynch studying the incident board.
‘Something doesn’t add up,’ Lynch said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Derek Harte. Brown’s lover. I’ve reviewed his statements and I think something’s not right. He either lied to us or was economical with the truth. I can’t find him registered as a teacher in any school.’
‘Follow it up ASAP.’
Lottie hadn’t time for this now. She was on a mission. ‘I think Mrs Murtagh, the woman who runs the soup kitchen, might know where Patrick O’Malley’s hanging out. Give me the car keys, Kirby.’
‘I haven’t seen him,’ Mrs Murtagh said, leading Lottie inside, shooing the dog out.
The kettle was boiling and warm bread rested on a plate in front of Lottie.
‘Where are his usual haunts?’ Lottie asked.
‘Patrick O’Malley could be anywhere, Inspector. At night, he usually beds down on Main Street. Sometimes you’d come across him behind the train station; in the carriages or in one of those houses, you know, the old terrace with the roofs caved in. But I haven’t seen him anywhere, these last few nights.’
Lottie sighed, ‘I’ll get someone to look for him.’
Mrs Murtagh poured the tea and they drank from mugs.
‘Where is your skinny partner today, Detective Dottie?’
‘The name is Lottie and DS Boyd was injured last night. He’s in hospital.’
‘That’s awful. I’ll say a prayer for him. What happened?’
‘Nothing for you to worry about.’ Lottie checked the time on her phone. ‘I ought to be getting on. Thanks for the tea.’
‘That reminds me of what I was trying to think of the last time you were here.’
‘What does?’
Mrs Murtagh fidgeted with the crumbs on her plate. ‘The phone.’
‘What about it?’
‘Not your phone.’ The old woman hesitated, said, ‘I have Susan Sullivan’s mobile phone.’
‘You what?’ Lottie abandoned her smile and clenched her hands. ‘Where is it? It could be vital to our investigations. Why didn’t you give it to me before?’
‘I forgot I had it and now I’m not sure I even want to give it to you,’ Mrs Murtagh said, folding her arms rigidly.
‘I could charge you with impeding a murder investigation. We might’ve been able to prevent another murder. There could be vital information on that phone.’
Lottie knew she was being irrational. They’d got all the information from the service provider. Seeing the look of confusion on Mrs Murtagh’s face, she tried to soften her voice.
‘It is okay. Don’t worry. As long as you hand it over now it will all be fine.’
‘It mightn’t even work.’
‘That’s beside the point.’ Lottie dug her nails into the palm of her hand and gritted her teeth. ‘How come you have it?’
‘I’ve just remembered it all now. Susan let it fall into the soup. Ruined one batch completely. We had to make more. Such a hullaballoo.’
‘When was this?’
‘The evening before her murder. I put it in a bowl of rice in the hot-press. That’s what Susan said you’re supposed to do.’
‘Why didn’t she take it with her?’
‘We were busy, forgot all about the phone when we came back from our soup run. Then the poor soul was killed.’
‘And you kept the phone?’
‘She was murdered the next day,’ Mrs Murtagh explained, tears in her eyes.
‘You should’ve given it to me.’
‘I forgot I had it.’ She raised the teapot questioningly.
Lottie put her hand over her mug, refusing the gesture.
‘Susan is dead. Her secrets could help solve her murder. Can you get me the phone now, please.’
Mrs Murtagh rose slowly and went out to the hall. Lottie heard a cupboard opening and closing.
‘It’s hard to know what could be on it after the soaking it got.’ The woman returned and handed the phone to Lottie.
Not much, thought Lottie, putting it into a plastic bag before sliding it into her handbag.
‘There’s something else too . . .’ Mrs Murtagh began, rubbing her forehead.
‘Go ahead.’
‘St Angela’s. Susan mentioned there were two priests there.’
‘Go on.’
‘After she met Bishop Connor, she was in an awful state. She’d arranged to meet him to see if he could release records to help in her search for her baby. I thought she’d seen a ghost. Did I tell you that? She told me she recognised the bishop as a priest from her early days in Ragmullin.’
‘What?’