Lottie rushed through the taped cordon at Weir’s depot. The rain had ceased but its aftermath failed to lift the mugginess from the air.
Trying to keep her mind off the army badge burning a hole in the bottom of her bag, she looked at the white van with its door hanging off. It sat on top of two squashed cars and another appeared to totter precariously on top of it. Weir had assured them it was secure. She didn’t know whether to believe him or not.
‘What have we got here?’ she asked.
‘Small van. White. Ready for crushing,’ Boyd said.
‘You know what I mean. What am I looking at?’
‘Blood trace on the floor, near the rear door.’
‘Animal or human?’
‘Samples have been taken by SOCOs. God knows when we’ll get a result.’
‘I don’t care about God. When will I know?’ Lottie scanned the area. ‘Has everything been examined? Nothing else found? What have you been doing? Jesus.’ She paced around in small circles, then turned to face Boyd.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ he said. ‘Calm down.’
She shifted up close to him. ‘Do not tell me to calm down. Do you hear me?’
‘Loud and clear.’
Pacing again, she said, ‘Check Weir’s records. Find out who owned the van, who brought it here and when.’
The metal was giving off so much heat it was like electric charges, as if the sun was testing just how far it could go before melting everything.
Lottie sighed, rubbing her hand through her hair. ‘I’m having a bad day, Boyd.’
‘When do you ever have a good one? Rhetorical question.’
‘Anything else in the van?’
‘SOCOs did a sweep. Clean. Too clean, really. Not a whisper of dirt. It’s like it got a good valeting. Why do that if you’re scrapping it? But whoever cleaned it missed the speck of blood.’
‘Maybe it was planted.’
‘What? Why would someone do that?’
‘I’ve no idea, but the van needs further examination. Arrange it.’
She took a few photos with her phone camera and noticed the time.
‘Oh Jesus Christ.’
‘What now?’ Boyd asked.
‘Sean had a counselling session. I was to pick him up from school. It’s too late now.’
‘You need to slow down, Lottie.’
‘You need to stay here and see if anything else turns up.’
* * *
Back at the station, she scooted up the stairs to the incident room. Ignoring the phone conversations going on around her, she pinned up the photograph of Mimoza and Milot given to her by Dan Russell earlier.
Sitting on a wobbly-legged chair in front of the board, she thought about the army badge. Not now, she told herself. A torrent of tiredness washed up over her, and she felt she was about to fall.
‘I’ll have to go home,’ she said to Lynch, who waved a hand from behind a mound of paperwork. ‘See you for a few hours tomorrow. Is that okay?’ she added.
‘Really? Tomorrow’s Saturday,’ Lynch said, looking up.
‘I’m well aware of what day it is, but we’re in the middle of two murder investigations and—’
‘Okay, boss, no need for the lecture. I’ll be here.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.’
‘Go home. You’re wrecked.’
Picking up her bag, Lottie hoisted it over her shoulder. She had no idea how she could keep her work from impinging on her home life. Five days back, and already the hectic pace was catching up with her.
She was glad to be going home to her family. She wanted to hug her three children. Tightly.
With a sigh, she headed down the stairs, waved at the desk sergeant and went home.
Boyd stormed into the incident room. His mood didn’t improve when he couldn’t find Lottie.
Glancing at the board, he noticed a new photo pinned there. He moved closer to get a better look.
‘Jesus Christ!’ He stared and touched the photograph before pulling his hand away as if it was burned.
‘What’s up?’ Kirby sauntered up behind him.
Sweat collected on the palms of Boyd’s trembling hands. He stuffed them into his trouser pockets. Nodding at the photograph, he said, ‘Who are they?’
‘Don’t know. Only just got back.’
‘Boss put them up,’ Lynch said, raising her head, phone clutched between chin and shoulder.
‘Where is she?’ Boyd asked.
‘Where I should be,’ Lynch said, gathering up an armload of files. ‘At home.’
Boyd hurried back to their office, Kirby in tow.
‘Spit it out,’ Kirby said.
‘It’s her.’
‘Who’s her?’
‘The photo.’
‘It’s getting late and my brain is tired. What are you talking about?’
‘The girl in the brothel,’ Boyd said.
‘Shh. Will you be quiet? What girl in what brothel?’ Kirby whispered.
‘That den of iniquity you brought me to the other night. The girl in the photo is the one I saw there.’
‘That’s shite!’
‘It’s not shite. I told you I wasn’t with anyone. I remember waking up on the stairs. But I saw her before I left. I could never forget those eyes.’
‘You’re serious. Why has the boss got her photo up on the noticeboard?’
Boyd thought for a moment. What was Lottie on to? Who was this girl?
Kirby was breathing down his neck. ‘At least you got your wallet back.’
‘What? Yes.’ Boyd shouldered Kirby away from him and sat at his desk. He got out the wallet, opened it and slid out the piece of material he’d seen when he paid for his cigarettes. He spread it on the desk. Smudged writing. From what he could make out, it wasn’t in English.
‘What’s that?’ Kirby asked.
‘Don’t even ask. Go away.’
Kirby shrugged and strolled over to his own desk.
Boyd stared at the writing. Was the girl sending a message? How was he going to explain this to Lottie?
He placed the material into a small plastic evidence bag and slipped it inside his wallet. Leaning into his chair, hands interlocked behind his head, he closed his eyes. How was he going to talk his way out of this one?
Fifty-Two
Katie had attempted to cook dinner. Eggs, sausages and oven chips. Milot liked it anyway. Sean took his plate to his room and Chloe hadn’t appeared from her bedroom.
‘Later,’ she shouted from upstairs.
‘You’ll eat down here, miss. Downstairs. Now!’ Lottie shouted.
‘Did you contact anyone about Milot?’ Katie asked.
‘I left a message,’ she lied. ‘They’ll probably ring me tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow is Saturday.’
‘I know. I’ll try them again in the morning in any case.’
‘I hope you find his mum.’
‘Me too.’
Chloe refused to come down for dinner. Lottie was too tired to push it. But soon she would have to lay down the law and regain control. Soon.