‘Another one. What is going on?’ he said.
Sidestepping the barrier, Lottie instructed Lynch to calm Petrovci down while Kirby called for backup and got uniforms on to the site to seal off the area, corral the contract workers and erect a tent over the body. She spied Boyd coming up the street from the other direction. When he reached her, they both pulled on protective gloves and moved to the opening in the road.
Flies buzzed and circled. The stench hit her first. Gasping, she swallowed a breath, composed herself and looked down.
‘Dear Jesus,’ she said.
‘Another woman,’ Boyd said.
Lottie thought he looked decidedly greener than he had earlier.
‘So it is,’ she said softly.
Hunkering down, she peered at the blistered, decomposing flesh swarming with maggots.
‘Dead a few days.’
‘Our missing girl?’ Boyd asked. ‘Maeve Phillips.’
‘I hope not,’ Lottie whispered. But there was no way she could be sure.
Sweeping back a handful of clay, she noticed that the face appeared to be in worse condition than that of the first victim. Black hair, eyes closed, with bulging, crawling lids. Teeth bared through stretched-back lips. Died screaming? Was this Maeve Phillips? No glittering stud pierced the nose. She didn’t know what she’d hoped for.
Further down, the soil was heavier. Boyd helped brush it away from the clothing, though Lottie knew they should wait for the SOCOs.
‘Looks like a bullet exit wound there, dead centre,’ she said.
‘SOCOs are on their way.’ Kirby loomed at her shoulder. ‘Is it the Phillips girl?’
Lottie inspected the girl’s hands without touching her. ‘I don’t think so. Look at the nails.’
‘Very short,’ Boyd said. ‘Bitten to the bone.’
‘A girl who has twenty-seven bottles of nail varnish doesn’t bite her nails,’ she said.
‘If she’d been in a stressful situation for a few days, then maybe her nails were the least of her troubles.’
‘I grant you that,’ Lottie said.
Uniformed officers were working quickly around them, erecting the tent.
‘How did she get in the ground?’ Boyd pointed to the body, now partially uncovered.
‘She hardly put herself there.’
‘I know, but—’
‘Boyd. Enough.’
Lottie stood up and turned. Andri Petrovci was staring at her, his hand shading his eyes from the sunlight. A second body unearthed by him. Sheer bad luck, or something else? She intended to find out.
‘Bring him to the station for a statement,’ she told Lynch.
‘Someone has to have seen something this time,’ Boyd said.
Looking around, Lottie noted that one side of the street was lined with the rear entrances to Main Street shops. To the right was Weir’s yard. Further down, a gate to a small block of apartments.
‘Door-to-door again,’ she ordered. ‘And check if there’s any—’
‘CCTV,’ Kirby interrupted. ‘Yes, boss.’
Boyd rubbed a hand around his chin. ‘This is bad. Very bad.’
‘You epitomise the understatement, Boyd. Every time.’
‘Just saying.’
‘This is worse than bad. It’s horrendous.’
‘I know, and—’
‘Why don’t you make yourself useful? It might get rid of your hangover. Close down the whole area. Cordon it off. No entry or exit. And interview every last person you can find.’
‘But—’
‘No ifs, buts or ands,’ Lottie said, wheeling round on her heel to face him. ‘We found a bullet hole and blood in Weir’s yard over there, a body buried under the street here, and we’re nowhere near finding out the identity of the first victim, let alone a suspect. So I don’t want to listen to any shite.’
She marched off without waiting to hear his protestations.
* * *
‘Detective Inspector Parker! A statement?’
Lottie glared at the crime correspondent for national television, Cathal Moroney, who was standing on the station steps. He lunged forward, his cameraman pointing a lens into her face.
‘How did you find out?’ She moved right up to him and quickly recoiled at the reek of sweat. ‘I’ve only just heard about it myself,’ she added.
A look of confusion scrolled down Moroney’s face and she immediately realised her error. Shit and double shit.
‘Heard what, Inspector?’ He flashed his famous megawatt smile.
‘What were you talking about?’ Trying to divert the inevitable.
‘You tell me, then I’ll tell you.’
Lottie shoved by him and stomped up the steps. Moroney tugged at her elbow, pulling her backwards ‘Shit-head,’ she said. ‘Switch off the camera.’
Moroney hesitated for a moment, then gave a nod. With the camera off, he stood, arms folded, waiting.
‘What do you want me to give a statement about?’ Lottie forced calmness into each syllable.
‘The photos released this morning. One of a dead girl and one of a missing girl.’
Now that she knew where he was coming from, she wondered how she could steer him onto a different route, make him forget her outburst.
‘I’m sure Superintendent Corrigan has issued a full press release.’
‘Isn’t Maeve Phillips the daughter of the criminal-in-exile Frank Phillips? Is her disappearance linked to organised crime?’
‘This is not the inner city.’
‘But Phillips’s family lives round here. Has his daughter’s disappearance anything to do with the murder victim found on Monday?’
Lottie tried to edge by him. He wasn’t budging.
‘Ragmullin will get a bad reputation now, won’t it?’ he persisted.
‘If you broadcast any shite about this town, Moroney, I’ll personally break every one of your show-biz white teeth.’ She nudged his shoulder and hurried up the steps.
Moroney followed her. ‘Lottie, what were you talking about a few minutes ago? You were asking something about how I found out so fast.’
Turning, she jabbed a finger into his chest. ‘Don’t you ever call me Lottie. I’m Detective Inspector Parker to you. And you can follow that inquisitive nose of yours around until you find out for yourself.’
She stormed into the station and tried to bang the door. It glided shut. She hadn’t even that satisfaction.
* * *
Sitting at her desk, Lottie ran her hands through her hair. Things were getting out of control. Where to start? Maybe a good place would be with Andri Petrovci.
Her phone vibrated and she saw Chloe’s name flashing. She answered the call.
‘Maeve’s photo is all over Facebook. Everyone at school is talking about her.’
‘Anyone know where she might be?’
‘The girls are saying nasty things. But don’t believe what you hear. Maeve isn’t like that. She’s having a hard time at home.’
‘What kind of things are they saying?’
‘That she’s a slut and stuff.’
‘So no one said anything helpful?’
‘No. I checked through her Facebook friends list and I can’t see anyone who might be this boyfriend.’
‘We’re working on that. How’s Katie doing this morning?’
‘Like a briar as usual.’
Lottie smiled. ‘I’ll see you later. Do plenty of study when you get home. Not long until your exams. June is only round the corner.’
‘Jeesus, do you have to do that?’
‘What?’