‘Girls, please. I’m tired. Don’t start.’ Lottie placed the box on her desk and dished out slices of warm pizza. She was hungry but in no form for eating. She ate it, anyway.
The girls were silent, eyes downcast. Guilt welled up inside Lottie. She wished she could spend more time at home. She thought of the mothers who had abandoned their children to St Angela’s. Her own mother had abandoned Eddie. Was she as bad? Did it run in her genes?
‘Wish Sean was here,’ Chloe said.
‘Sean is fine,’ Lottie said. ‘I’ll ring him now.’
‘Leave a voicemail if he doesn’t answer,’ Chloe said.
‘Sean, you better ring me back or, if you’ve no credit, message the girls on Facebook. I’m giving you five minutes.’
Chloe said, ‘You are so intimidating when you’re mad, Mother.’
‘No I’m not.’ Lottie smiled.
‘First Jason, now Sean,’ Katie said.
‘Shut up,’ Chloe said, slamming the pizza box shut.
‘Don’t be crazy Katie, it’s only five o’clock.’ Lottie wiped her hands on her jeans and called a taxi to take her daughters home. Should she be worried?
‘Do you think . . . Is Sean all right, Mam?’ Katie asked. ‘I’m so freaked out over Jason.’
‘They are fine. Now go home and wait. I’ll get my mother to call round.’
‘No!’ Chloe said. ‘We’ll be fine without Granny. You’ll be home soon, won’t you?’
‘Things are a bit hectic at the moment but I promise, as soon as I can escape, I’ll be home.’
‘First Jason, now Sean,’ Katie repeated, walking down the corridor with Chloe.
Lottie rubbed her hands up and down her arms trying to ease the rising goosebumps. Sean better be home when the girls got there. Her phone rang. Father Joe’s name flashed up on the caller ID.
‘I hope this is important,’ Lottie said, curtly.
‘Just checking in to make sure you got home safely,’ he said.
‘I’m busy. I have to go.’ Lottie hung up. She didn’t need further complications in what was already a minefield of a day.
The phone rang again. Father Joe’s ID. She sent the call to voicemail.
‘Are you not getting that?’ Kirby asked, hauling his bulk through the door.
‘Mind your own business,’ Lottie said.
‘I’ve the printout from Susan Sullivan’s phone. Same info we got from the service provider.’
‘So, no leads there.’
‘But we’ve accessed her photographs.’
‘Really? I suppose you’re going to tell me there’s nothing of interest in them either.’
‘There’s just the one.’ Kirby handed Lottie a print.
There wasn’t a photograph in Susan Sullivan’s house but she had one on her phone. Curious woman, Lottie remarked to herself.
A shady colour photograph of a tiny baby. Light hair and thin cheeks, eyes closed. Was this all Susan was left with? The only image the poor woman had of the child she’d given birth to? And where did she get the photo from?
Holding the picture, Lottie felt sadness for the murdered woman and her fruitless quest for her child. She hoped she could at least bring Susan’s killer to justice.
‘Any word on the body at the railway?’ Lottie asked.
‘It’s been removed from the scene,’ Kirby said.
Her mobile rang.
Boyd.
‘I remembered something.’ His voice was low and brittle.
‘You should be resting.’
‘I’m tied to this bed with tubes and wires. I’m going nowhere.’
‘Good. You need to get better. Soon.’ Lottie couldn’t dwell on the image of an incapacitated Boyd. ‘What do you remember?’
‘Not much, but I sensed there was something familiar about my assailant. I still can’t pinpoint what exactly. He was fit and strong. I got a good kick at him and I think my fist connected with his jaw. So whoever it is, he could have a bad limp or a bruised face.’
‘I’ve got a bruised face,’ Lottie said, feeling a weight lifting for the first time that day.
‘I imagine yours is prettier than his.’
‘Thank you, Boyd. You’re a tonic.’
‘I could do with one.’
‘I’ll keep a look out for fit guys with bruises and limps.’
Boyd laughed weakly.
Lottie saw the missed call flashing on her phone with Father Joe’s name. ‘Boyd, can you remember who else might have known you were going to visit Father Con?’
‘I took your call when I was at the gym.’
‘The gym? Could anyone have overheard you?’
‘Sure. There were lots of people around. Mike O’Brien even gave me his pen to write with.’
‘Mike O’Brien?’
‘Yes, Lottie, and a whole bunch of other people. Don’t jump to conclusions just because you don’t like him because of his dandruff.’
Lottie’s stomach stirred. Maybe it was the pizza or maybe, just maybe, Father Joe was in the clear. Where did that leave Mike O’Brien?
‘I’ll have to find out where O’Brien went after the gym,’ she said.
‘Wish I was there to help you.’
‘Me too,’ Lottie said and hung up.
Maria Lynch came up behind her.
‘Here’s the information on Derek Harte.’
Lottie began to read. She noticed his date of birth: 1975. Something clicked in her brain.
‘I need to see the copies of the Rome ledger records.’
She sucked in her lips, looking at the picture of Derek Harte, his personal details printed underneath.
Lynch spread out the pages. Lottie hadn’t had time to analyse them since getting back from Rome and now she ran her finger down the entries and stopped at one. The reference number. She raised her head.
‘What is it?’ Lynch asked.
‘I’m not sure.’ Lottie checked the date of birth on the file again.
‘Does that mean what I think it means?’ asked Lynch, looking over Lottie’s shoulder.
‘I don’t know what it means,’ Lottie said and closed her eyes.
Ninety-Six
Looking up, Lottie was surprised to see Jane Dore standing in the office.
‘Hi, Jane, anything wrong?’ Lottie frowned. Why was the state pathologist visiting the station?
‘I’ve finished at the railway. I thought you might like to know.’
‘Thanks,’ Lottie said, still not understanding why Jane was here.
‘I did a quick preliminary examination of the body at the scene. There’s no tattoo on the inside thigh that I could see. The body is in a bad state so I’ll know for sure when I do the autopsy.’
‘What?’ Lottie sat up straight. She wracked her brain trying to recall if O’Malley told her he had the tattoo. She was sure he did. ‘I thought it might’ve been Patrick O’Malley.’
‘Whoever it is, my guess is he succumbed to hypothermia,’ Jane said. ‘Though, I don’t normally do guesses.’
Lottie laughed tiredly.
Jane smiled and handed Lottie her phone.
‘What’s that?’ Lottie asked, squinting at the dark image. It was a photograph.
‘This was in the vicinity of the body.’
‘I can’t make it out.’
‘Wait a minute. I’ll email it to you,’ Jane said and sent the photo from her phone. ‘The body was in an area used by a number of vagrants. Sleeping bags, crates, cardboard, plastic bottles, you name it. SOCOs found this inside a sleeping bag. I thought it might be important enough for you to see it straight away.’
Lottie clicked her email, bringing up the attachment. Handwriting. She read the words and they bolted through her.