‘No.’
‘You sure you don’t know anything about the girl mentioned in it, Kaltrina?’ She studied his face, waiting for a reaction. It was marble-like. Unmoving. Even his eyes didn’t blink. Staring. Silence. Except for the constant buzz of flies in the heat.
‘Help me out here, Andri,’ she said, hoping her informality might work on him.
‘Why you want help? You police. You look.’
‘I don’t speak the language. You do.’
‘What you want?’
‘Ask around? Ask your people.’
‘My people? Who you mean?’
Lottie tried a smile. ‘We think the girl you uncovered in the ground is a foreigner. No one has reported her missing. We don’t know who she is. We are stuck. Please, can you help?’
‘No.’
‘No? Why not?’
‘I not do work for you.’ He tugged his helmet forward onto his forehead, pulled on his goggles and stepped back into the trench.
Walking away, swatting the flies, Lottie was just about to text Boyd to come and meet her when a message came through from Dan Russell.
Detective Inspector. Seven tonight. I’ll pick you up at the greyhound stadium. Don’t forget.
She sighed. Perhaps if she met him she could work him out better. What was he really up to? She sent him a brief text agreeing to his plans and hurried back to the office, all thoughts of a late breakfast disappearing.
At her computer she read up as much as she could discover on Russell, which wasn’t a whole lot more than Lynch had found out. Thirty years in the army, rising to the rank of commandant, retiring in 2010. He had established his business, Woodlake Facilities Management, in 2012. It seemed to be making a handsome profit. She closed down her search, thinking how he had travelled just about far enough under her skin to start an itch. And she didn’t like how that felt.
She wondered again if Russell had ever served with Adam. He’d answered her question evasively when she’d asked, but there was no way of finding out anything online, though Russell’s overseas dates seemed to confirm that the two men had been in Kosovo at the same time, serving under the NATO flag on peacekeeping duties. She clicked into an article about the Kosovo conflict. Mimoza had written her letter in Albanian, so it might have a tenuous link to the investigation. Flicking from article to article, she scanned them without fully absorbing the stories of human tragedy and murder.
When eventually she raised her head, it was lunchtime. A morning wasted. She phoned Boyd. He said he’d meet her in Cafferty’s. She grabbed her bag.
‘I’m going to grab some lunch,’ she told Lynch, who had buried her head behind a mound of door-to-door reports. All yielding absolutely nothing.
* * *
Boyd was standing at the counter in Cafferty’s with house-special sandwiches and a pot of tea for two when he discovered he didn’t have his wallet.
‘When did you have it last?’ Lottie asked when he returned to their small round table in a corner of the bar.
Every morning, once he had dressed, he put his wallet into his trouser pocket. He couldn’t remember doing it this morning. He couldn’t remember even seeing his wallet.
‘It’s Kirby’s fault,’ he muttered, eyeing the overflowing sandwich, his appetite suddenly taking a dive and the contents of his stomach rising up his throat.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘You look a bit green. I know Kirby is used to benders but I don’t think you are. And you’ve missed a morning’s work.’
‘If I want a lecture I’ll visit my mother, thank you very much.’
‘Touché.’
Boyd bit into the sandwich and swirled around a mouthful of tea to wash it down.
Lottie laughed. ‘You know what you need?’
‘No, but I’ve a feeling you’re about to tell me.’
‘The hair of the dog.’
‘You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?’ he said. Wrong thing to say. Too late now.
Lottie slammed her cup down on the saucer, stood up and marched to the counter. Her voice rang across the bar to where Boyd was sitting.
‘Darren, can you wrap up this sandwich? I think I’ll have it back in my office.’ She pushed her bank card across the counter. ‘You can take for everything, as my esteemed colleague appears to have mislaid his wallet.’
Boyd caught Darren’s wink as he scanned Lottie’s card on the machine.
‘Was there a session here last night?’ she asked.
‘Oh, the usual crowd.’ The barman was non-committal.
Boyd shook his head, cringing with the pain shooting up behind his eyes.
Lottie took the receipt, her card and the tinfoil-wrapped sandwich. Boyd searched his pockets once again before gingerly getting up from his stool.
‘Maybe you should file a report,’ Lottie said and let the door close behind her as she stepped out into the midday heat.
Boyd knew she was wondering what he and Kirby had got up to last night. If he had anything to do with it, it would be one night she would never know about. Not that he could remember much about it himself.
He’d better talk to Kirby. And soon.
First, though, he just needed to rest his head for a few minutes.
‘Will I wrap yours up too?’ the barman asked, pointing to the sandwich with one bite gone out of it.
‘Don’t think I can stomach food today,’ Boyd said.
‘Some session the two of you had, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘I’d agree with you if I could remember it. I didn’t by any chance leave my wallet behind, did I?’
‘I cleaned up last night and I was first in this morning. No wallet. Did you go to Bed after here?’ Darren asked, referring to the nightclub.
‘I wish,’ Boyd said. ‘My own bed.’
‘The two of you were last to leave, so I reckon you lost it wherever you went after here. Maybe you left it in a taxi?’
Boyd rested his head against the leather of the seat and shielded his eyes from the sun squinting through the dusty stained-glass window.
‘Kirby, you bastard,’ he whispered, the full realisation hitting him. He remembered exactly where they’d gone after leaving the pub.
The doe-eyed girl had robbed him.
Thirty-Six
Entering her code on the inner door at the station reception, Lottie met Kirby coming down the stairs, Maria Lynch bobbing behind him.
‘Come on, boss.’ He grabbed her by the elbow and steered her back out the door.
‘What the—’
‘The contractors. They’ve found another body. Columb Street.’
‘What the hell? I was there this morning.’ She dumped her sandwich into the bin outside and jumped into the car with Kirby and Lynch.
Speeding away, Kirby switched on the siren and flashing lights. They screeched up Main Street on the wrong side of the road. The lunchtime traffic came to a standstill. Swerving round by the chipper, he pulled up outside Weir’s yard.
Andri Petrovci was pacing around in circles, running his hands up and down his arms, his safety helmet pushed right back on his shaved head.
Jumping out of the car, Lottie ran towards him. She felt his fingers dig into her arms as he grabbed her.