‘Jesus, Chloe, give me a break. Please.’
‘No, Mother. I won’t. Sean’s going round like a zombie, Katie’s… not herself, I’m a mess and you’re a madwoman the minute you have to return to work.’
Lottie stared helplessly at her daughter and kept her mouth shut in case she said the wrong thing. These days everything she uttered appeared to send the sixteen-year-old into either a sulk or a tantrum. And Chloe wasn’t finished yet.
‘You need to do something. This family’s falling apart and what does all-important Mrs Detective Inspector do? She goes back to work.’
Chloe scraped back her unruly blonde hair, piled it on top of her head and wrapped it up with a bobbin. It stuck out in places and loose tendrils framed her face. Lottie went to smooth it but her daughter stepped away.
‘I’m trying,’ Lottie said, slumping on a chair. She’d spent the last few months trying to build her family back up after tragedy had struck while she had been trying to resolve her last case. She’d thought things were a lot better now. How wrong could you be? ‘You’ve had me at home for the last few months. Granny is coming over later to have dinner ready when you and Sean get in from school. She’ll keep an eye on Katie too. What more can I do? You know I have to work. We need the money.’
‘We need you.’
What could she say to that? Adam would have known what to say, she thought, remembering her dead husband’s gift for finding the right words. But he was never coming back. Four years dead come July, and she still struggled without him.
Chloe picked up her school rucksack. ‘And I hate this shit-hole of a town. What hope have I of ever getting away?’ She banged the front door on her way out.
‘Want a lift?’ Lottie shouted to a shadow.
No keys. Shit! Now she’d have to walk to work. Swiping her hand across the table, she knocked the contents of her handbag to the floor.
The doorbell rang. She jumped up and ran into the hall.
‘What did you forget?’ she asked, opening the door.
It wasn’t Chloe.
Three
The girl was dressed in a navy sweater despite the morning warmth.
Stepping into her footsteps, a good fifteen strides behind her, he assessed her long legs. Not muscular, but beautifully slender. Blonde hair lolling on top of her head in an untidy bun made her appear taller and leaner. She had large breasts for a teenager, beneath her loose school uniform. He knew this because he’d seen her wearing a tight long-sleeved T-shirt in Danny’s Bar at the weekend. Unnoticed in the heave of hot bodies spilling pints in the beer garden, he had been close enough to touch the V of her back, just above her buttocks. He had removed his hand quickly though he’d wanted it to linger, to trace the vertebrae beneath the light cotton, to let it wander lower. Her hair was hanging loose that night, long and voluminous, with a few strands nestling in the curve of her breasts. Every detail registered, stored in his mind, for him to return to whenever he wanted.
Now she walked slowly and he had to keep several paces behind. She strolled up Gaol Street and onto Main Street. The school was another ten-minute walk from there.
He forced himself to concentrate on the end target. She needed saving. Because he knew why she wore long sleeves. Soon she would search the depths of his eyes, begging for a happy release from her pain.
He smiled contentedly, following her along the street, watching her swing her rucksack from one shoulder to the other. She must be very hot by now; too hot. Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed her stopping and turning around.
Dipping his head, he overtook her.
He kept walking. Normal pace. Had she noticed him? A glance over his shoulder to see why she had suddenly halted. Perhaps she had sensed him. Would she recognise him as a dangerous Lucifer or a guardian angel? He would know soon enough.
At the old harbour he crossed the road, avoiding the few girls chattering at the school gates. He walked along the canal bank and idly watched a swarm of flies hover above the stagnant waters. A sleek brown shadow lurked in the depths – a predator searching for prey? He was aware that menacing pike swam in these waters with their large gaping mouths, fangs gnashing and snaring unsuspecting trout and bream.
His excitement had been tempered. For now.
His little fish had escaped him. For now.
But he would continue to prowl the shadows, waiting to snatch his chance. Like the pike with its open mouth, he could be patient.
Four
Lottie stepped back from the front door.
The young woman standing on the step was a stranger. A white silk scarf wrapped around her head, a hijab framing a gaunt face. A small boy was clutching her hand tightly. He stared up at Lottie with scared brown eyes. A cracked-plastic cream-coloured jacket over a cotton blouse and jeans did little to hide the woman’s thinness. Lottie noticed that despite the oppressive heat she was wearing heavy brown boots.
‘Can I help you?’ Lottie asked wearily.
‘Zonje.’
‘Sonja?’
The young woman shook her head. ‘Zonje… madam…’ A shrug of her shoulders.
‘Oh. Zonje means madam. Got you now.’ Lottie stepped forward, closing the front door behind her. ‘Look, I can’t stop. I’m in a hurry, I need to get to work.’
The woman didn’t move. Lottie sighed. This was all she needed. Next she’d have Superintendent Corrigan shouting down the phone to hike her arse into work. Was the woman begging? She thought of the coins she’d tipped out of her bag. Maybe they would do the trick.
‘Ju lutem… please.’ The woman looked at her imploringly, her broken English soft and accented.
‘I’ve no money,’ Lottie said. Almost true. ‘Maybe later.’ Not true.
With a shake of her head, the young woman lifted the little boy into her arms. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘help.’
Sighing, Lottie said, ‘Wait here.’
Back inside, she picked up a coin from the floor. When she turned round, the woman was standing behind her. In her kitchen.
‘Jesus! What are you doing?’ Lottie held out the two euros. ‘Here, take this.’ She waved her hand toward the front door.
Declining the money, the young woman tugged a crumpled envelope from her jeans pocket and offered it to Lottie. She shook her head without taking it.
‘What is it?’ she asked. Was it one of those notes begging for money? The morning was going from bad to worse.
The woman shrugged and the little boy whimpered.
Feeling the stirring of an instinct within, Lottie pulled out a chair and gestured for the woman to sit. The boy climbed on to her knee and nestled his head into the silk scarf.