‘DS Boyd, see what you can find out. I believe you know someone who can help us.’
Boyd unfolded his arms and squeezed his hands into fists. He didn’t seem pleased with the task. Tough shit, Lottie thought. A muffled murmur rose among the assembled crew.
‘Any questions?’
Detective Lynch stood up. ‘This Andri Petrovci seems like a prime suspect to me.’
Lottie deliberated over this. ‘Besides McNally, and maybe Russell, he’s the only suspect so far. But why would he unearth the bodies if he had buried them?’
‘Looking for attention?’ Lynch offered.
‘Doesn’t make sense. The whole way the murders and the bodies have been managed shrieks control freak to me. I’m not sure he fits the bill. But by finding the bodies he’s already contaminated them. His DNA will probably prove worthless.’
‘He’s getting off too lightly,’ Lynch protested. ‘I’ve spoken to him twice and he’s definitely using the language barrier as a foil to keep us from digging too deep.’
Lottie thought for a moment. She was usually a good reader of character but she wasn’t at all sure about Andri Petrovci. Why had she asked him to translate the letter from Mimoza? A major mistake on her part? Jesus, she hoped not.
‘Okay.’ She relented. ‘See what you can find out about him and we’ll bring him in again. Anything else?’
‘How does the killer pick his burial sites?’ Boyd asked.
‘He seems to know the contractor’s routine,’ Lynch added.
‘It’s listed on the council website,’ Kirby said.
‘What?’ Lottie said.
‘Traffic management section, online. Shows where they intend working a week in advance.’
‘It still points to Petrovci,’ Lynch said, sticking her pen into her ponytail.
‘I’ve said we’ll bring him in again.’ Lottie knew she was losing control of the meeting. ‘Has anyone got hold of a database from the Department of Justice listing the residents at the DPC?’
‘I got a list emailed to me,’ Lynch said. ‘Took a lot of wheeling and dealing. Russell is running this as a private venture. But the Justice Department relented and sent it on.’
‘I suspect they believe he is compliant with their regulations, but I’m not so sure. We need to go through the names in detail.’
‘I did a quick scan. There’s no one called Mimoza or Kaltrina on the list.’
‘Shit,’ Lottie said.
‘Does that put Russell in the clear?’ Boyd asked.
‘Not in the least,’ Lottie said. ‘What’s to stop him having his own unofficial list?’
‘Why would he do that?’ Kirby stood up, patting his shirt pocket for a cigar.
‘Don’t know yet, but it seems the obvious thing to do if you’ve something to hide.’
Boyd said, ‘We don’t know if he has anything to hide.’
‘If he has, I intend to find out.’
Lottie spent some minutes going over all the details she had outlined and setting up a dedicated team to manage the Maeve Phillips disappearance. Then, with the chatter rising and the detectives shaking their heads, she sent everyone back to work.
A nagging doubt prickled beneath her skin. She hadn’t told the team about Milot turning up at her house. She wouldn’t like it if any of them withheld information, yet here she was doing it herself. Consoling herself that Boyd had said nothing about it, she knew she’d have to follow it up herself.
‘Did you mention something about coffee?’ she asked Boyd as she passed him.
Forty-Seven
‘I said I’m sorry.’ Boyd boiled the kettle. ‘About what I said earlier. But you insinuated I knew something about McNally – that was a bit low.’
‘I’m sorry too. We know McNally was at Maeve Phillips’s house last night,’ she explained again. No point in fighting with the only person who listened to her grievances.
‘Yes. Sent by the girl’s father.’
‘When Jackie called to yours last night’ – Lottie spooned hardened coffee from a jar into mugs – ‘did she mention anything about McNally?’
‘No, she didn’t.’ He poured the water. ‘I got rid of her immediately.’
‘So what are you going to do about McNally?’
‘What are you going to do about the boy?’
‘I wish you’d fuck off,’ Lottie said, with a grin.
‘Be careful what you wish for,’ he said.
They carried their coffees back to the office. Boyd perched himself on the edge of Lottie’s desk, mug of black coffee in hand, matching the dark rings beneath his eyes. She flicked through a file on her desk. He placed his hand on top of hers.
‘Lottie?’
She looked up and caught the earnest look in his eyes.
‘The Child and Family Agency? Did you contact them? You have the number.’
She sighed. ‘Not yet.’
‘For God’s sake—’
‘Hear me out. The boy might know something, and once he’s in the system, he’s lost to us. I’ll have to buy time. Somehow. There’s all the paperwork. In the meantime, we could question him.’
‘Question him? About what? A four-year-old kid without his mother? Get real.’
Lottie stood up quickly, knocking the mug in Boyd’s hand with her elbow. Coffee splashed over his white shirt. He leapt away from the desk. From the scalding liquid. From her?
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘That’s my last shirt.’
‘Look, Boyd.’ She placed her hand on his arm. He continued wiping the stain without meeting her eye. She dropped her hand. ‘He’s no more than four years old. He found my house having only been there once before. He must be living in town. Probably in the DPC. His mother came to me for help. I didn’t give it enough attention at the time, but now I feel she really needs it.’
‘What’re you going to do?’ Boyd asked, giving up on salvaging his shirt. ‘Keep the boy? That’s kidnapping.’
‘Know what you can do?’ Lottie picked up her bag and brushed past him.
‘Go fuck myself?’
She smiled back at him but still banged the door on her way out.
Even if Boyd didn’t want to be part of it, she was going to find out why Milot had ended up at her house. Her gut was telling her Mimoza was in danger. And she knew her gut was always right. Well, almost always.
Standing in the corridor breathing deeply, she heard the office door open behind her and sensed Boyd approaching.
Without preamble he said, ‘Do you honestly think they were living in Russell’s weird set-up?’
‘I don’t know. But it makes sense. It’s local. Mimoza was walking and I saw her meeting up with a girl at the end of my road.’
‘What girl?’
‘I’ve a vague recollection that she was small, black, but I’m not sure.’
‘Will I open a missing person file on Mimoza?’
‘How? I know nothing about her. I need details, her photograph. I’m not even sure she’s missing.’
Pacing up and down the cluttered corridor, stepping around box files, she said, ‘We’ll get an interpreter for the boy.’
‘You could ask the O’Hara fellow working at the DPC.’