He pushed open the door to the mess and ushered her inside. Lottie looked around. The walls were covered with posters; paint was peeling from the ceiling. Very different from the evenings she and Adam had spent here. Back then there had been a fire blazing in the wide old hearth, groups of men playing pool and a handful of regulars hugging the bar, recounting sniper fire from some peacekeeping duty. She’d loved those evenings. Comradeship and friendship. Now it was gone, in every sense.
Russell led her through to the main function room. Rows of desks and chairs were lined up in perfect symmetry. Tables along one wall held four computers. She counted ten girls dressed in school uniform. What were schoolgirls doing in here? Tutoring the women? The girls sat at the desks, a woman beside each of them, poring over pages. The women wore cheap clothes similar to those Mimoza had worn. A young woman sat by the side wall, idly flipping through the pages of a magazine. Lottie thought she recognised her as a teacher from Chloe’s school. As she went to speak with her, a man who had been showing one of the women something on a computer turned and stood up, blocking her view of the teacher.
‘Hello,’ he said, approaching her and holding out his hand.
Lottie shook it, surprised at its coolness. ‘Detective Inspector Lottie Parker.’
‘I’m George O’Hara,’ he added.
‘Pleased to meet you. Can you tell me what’s going on here?’
‘It’s a language project.’
‘And you’re the tutor?’ Lottie asked. George O’Hara was older than she had anticipated, maybe early thirties. Head shaved closely, he wore clothing similar to Russell. Some sort of uniform? His feet were shod in brown leather shoes. No socks. Tanned ankles. She supposed it was better than Kirby’s open-toed sandals.
O’Hara glanced at Russell. ‘Yes, I am. Part time at the moment.’
A bustle of movement caught Lottie’s eye at the back of the room. Emily Coyne, curls bobbing away, jumped out of her seat.
‘Hiya, Mrs Parker.’ Pushing her spectacles back up her nose, she said, ‘This is what Chloe will be doing next year.’
‘Is this the project you mentioned the other day?’
‘Yes. It’s great. We get to teach English.’
‘Seems a bit unusual, to say the least.’
‘It’s all new. You can ask Miss Scully about it if you like.’ She pointed to the bored-looking teacher. ‘It’s so exciting. All these women have such great stories. I think I’m going to write a book about their adventures.’
Dan Russell moved between Emily and Lottie. ‘I don’t think they would describe their experiences as adventures.’
Was he dismissing the girl? Lottie wondered.
Emily was having none of it. ‘George is brilliant. I wish he could teach in our school.’
‘That’s nice, Emily,’ George said. He stroked Emily’s arm and Lottie gave a start. What type of class was this?
With a flick of her curls, Emily bopped back to her student.
Lottie concentrated on the tutor. ‘Can I talk to some of the women?’
‘Their English is almost non-existent,’ Russell interjected.
‘I can interpret what they say for you,’ George said.
Their conversation was interrupted by a loud shriek from one of the schoolgirls. ‘I saw another one! I swear to God. He ran right over my foot.’
‘Calm down,’ Russell said. ‘It’s only a mouse. Can’t do you any harm. Sit down.’
George O’Hara rushed to the girl, took her hand and helped her down off the chair. Once she was seated again, he stood beside her, kneading her shoulders, comforting her. Lottie felt queasy. She glanced at Miss Scully, who was still oblivious, engrossed in her magazine. Jesus, anything could be going on here.
‘I need to talk to you,’ she said to Russell.
‘Seen enough already?’ he asked, moving round to stand by her side.
‘More than enough.’
‘Come over to my office and we can have a chat.’
* * *
When they were seated in his office, Lottie placed a photograph of the second dead girl on Russell’s desk. She watched for his reaction. Frozen. That was how she would describe it. His hand stopped motionless in mid-air. A sheet of steel shifted over his eyes.
‘What is this?’ he asked.
‘Another murder victim. Do you know her?’
‘Know her? I can’t even make out her features.’ He ran his fingers along his moustache, and beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead.
Lottie sat forward in the chair and folded her arms. The photograph lay on the desk between them like a weapon.
It only took him a few seconds to compose himself. ‘I don’t know her. I’m sorry.’ He lowered his hand and pushed the photograph back at her. ‘You were asking me earlier in the week about a girl called Mimoza.’
She held her breath and nodded.
‘I did a little investigative work for you. I found out she was indeed a resident here.’
Why was he suddenly deciding to be helpful? Lottie wondered. Now she could get that search warrant.
She kept her expression neutral and said, ‘I want to talk to her.’ But then a thought struck her. Maria Lynch had said Mimoza wasn’t on the official database of residents. So was Russell lying?
‘Impossible,’ he said.
‘What? Why? I need to speak to her. Urgently.’
‘Mimoza Barbatovci was here, but unfortunately she appears to have run away.’
‘Mr Russell—’
‘Dan.’
Lottie sighed, glad he’d interrupted her. If Mimoza was missing, it was clear Russell wanted her found. That was the only logical explanation for him revealing his knowledge of the girl’s existence.
‘When did she go missing?’
‘I’m not sure. It was last night when we noticed that both she and the boy were gone.’
‘What boy?’ Two could play his game.
‘She has a son. He’s gone also.’
‘You didn’t report it at the time?’
‘I’m telling you now.’ Russell smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.
‘Do you have a photo of them? I need it to publicise their disappearance,’ she said.
‘I thought you might do it without much publicity. I don’t want my facility getting a bad name.’
‘A photo would be handy.’
Russell flipped up his laptop, tapped the keys and a printer whirred out a page. He grabbed it and handed it over.
Lottie stared at the picture.
Mimoza with her son in her arms. The girl wore no hijab, and her black hair flowed around her thin face. The boy had his thumb in his mouth; his other hand clutched the frayed toy rabbit. Folding the page, Lottie put it in her bag before Russell could change his mind.
‘How do you have this?’ she asked.
‘It was taken when they arrived. Must have overlooked it when I checked before.’
‘I need to see her file,’ she said.
‘That’s confidential.’
‘I need to know everything about this girl if I’m to conduct a proper inquiry.’
‘There’s no need for a major investigation. Just snoop around on your own. A woman of your ability should be well able to find them.’
‘Mr Russell, I don’t need you dictating how I do my business.’
‘I beg to differ, Detective Inspector Parker.’ He sat back in his chair, a certain smugness hardening his face. ‘You see, there are things I know about your husband. Things I think you would rather I kept quiet about. So it is in both our interests that you do what I say.’ He smiled that smile again.
Lottie jumped up, leaned across the desk. ‘Don’t you dare threaten me. The absolute cheek of you to even—’