Even though it was an hour to midnight, the sky still held a steely blue hue. The full moon cast an eerie glow, highlighting the leaves on trees at the bottom of the garden.
After she had fled her mother’s house, Lottie had flung herself into her kitchen armchair and slipped into an uncomfortable sleep. She was awakened by her mother phoning to see if everything was all right.
‘Yes, I’m fine. I was looking through Adam’s stuff. Something Chloe wanted for a project.’
‘Why did you run out like that?’
‘I saw a mouse. Sorry. It just frightened me.’
‘There’s no mice in my house, Lottie. I’ve got those electronic sensors to keep them out. You sure you’re okay?’
‘Yes, Mother. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,’ Lottie said and hung up.
And now she was wide awake and prowling her kitchen like a lioness. She took a once-white T-shirt from a bundle of folded clothes in the utility room and, dragging off her sweaty one, slipped on the clean cotton. It was like cardboard, having been first soaked in the deluge and then dried to a crisp in the sun. But at least it was clean and smelled fresh.
She felt a growing urge to drown herself in alcohol but knew she couldn’t. Her children were in their bedrooms and she ran up the stairs to check on them. Milot was fast asleep in Katie’s room. Tomorrow she would have to sort things out for him. She didn’t even care what Superintendent Corrigan would say when he found out. Maybe she should ring him to see if he was feeling better. Not tonight. Too late. Tomorrow. Everything could wait until tomorrow. In her own bedroom she took her last half-Xanax from her locker drawer and swallowed it dry.
Back in the kitchen, her phone vibrated. She paid no heed to it. It stopped. Silence. She filled a glass of water from the tap and sat down in the armchair again, folding her legs beneath her. She placed the photograph face down on one knee and Mimoza’s envelope on the other. Taking out the badge, she felt its rough edges between her fingers then laid it on the arm of the chair. Only then did she turn over the photograph.
Adam in a strange living room, dressed in his overseas uniform. A pregnant woman and a girl stood either side of him. His arms were draped lightly over both their shoulders. Two small boys at his feet. Another little girl, maybe aged two or three, sitting among them. Adam wore a smile broader than she ever remembered.
She studied the photo more closely.
Who were they?
Why was Adam with them?
Who had taken the photo and why hadn’t she seen it before?
And the badge. How had Mimoza got it? Why had she brought it to Lottie?
Her mind thrummed with the mystery of it all. She noticed the faded orange numbers in the bottom right-hand corner of the photograph. A date.
Her phone buzzed again, and when she didn’t pick up, it vibrated with a message.
She took no notice of it. It was as if she were in a different sphere. She sat there until the moon dipped low in the sky and the sun began its morning journey upwards.
When her mother had peered around her door earlier, Chloe had pretended to be asleep.
All day long she’d lain in bed and fretted about Maeve and what might have happened to her. She knew the girl was in danger, that was if she was still alive. But how could she tell her mother? What could she tell her? Every scenario she encountered meant revealing the pain she herself was enduring, and she wasn’t ready to tell anyone about that. Not yet. She certainly couldn’t burden her mother with it.
But how could she raise the alarm about Maeve? She had no concrete evidence about what might have happened to her. Did she? Of course there was him. Was he really dangerous? He had frightened the life out of Chloe all right, but she couldn’t make up her mind if that made him evil or not.
Tapping her phone, she brought up Twitter, put #cutforlife into the search. No, she warned herself. Don’t look at it. Don’t engage with him. She thrust the phone beneath her pillow.
She turned over in bed and stared at the ceiling. She lay like that with her eyes open until the light of dawn burst through her window.
Boyd looked on as Jackie finished her bottle of wine and proceeded to raid his refrigerator of beer. He sipped a vodka and tonic, hoping to be alert to her seduction.
‘You’re here an hour, Jackie, and all I’ve heard is how soft the sand is, how hot the sun is and how fab the shops are in Malaga. Talk to me about McNally and why he’s come back to Ragmullin.’
She shooed him along the couch and sat down beside him. She’d long since thrown off her shoes and changed out of her tight jeans and into one of his shirts. She stretched her tanned legs across his.
‘Time enough for talk,’ she said, pouring beer into her wine glass.
‘I think you’ve had enough to drink.’
‘You’re still trying to be the boss of me,’ she sulked. ‘No change there.’
Boyd yawned. ‘I’m tired. I’ve work in the morning.’
‘On Saturday?’
‘It’s all hands on deck twenty-four/seven until we get the murderer. If you’re not going to talk, I’m going to bed.’
‘Great suggestion.’ She drained her glass and stuck her bare foot into his crotch.
Boyd jumped up. ‘I’ll get a blanket. You can sleep in my bed.’
‘Even better.’
‘No, I mean I’ll take the couch.’
When he returned with a spare duvet, Jackie was biting her lip, tears flowing down her cheeks. Raising his eyes to the ceiling, Boyd silently cursed and sat down beside her.
‘Why did you come back? Why do you need my help?’
She wiped her nose in the sleeve of his shirt and slurred, ‘It’s Jamie. He’s different. I’m scared.’
Boyd scoffed. ‘You ran off with him. You knew he was a low-life criminal. What’s changed?’
Sniffing, she said, ‘I’m not sure. He’s involved in something gross. He’s being a bollocks.’
‘Jesus, Jackie, McNally always was a bollocks and he was always into shady dealings. You said he was smuggling women. Can you tell me about it?’
‘I don’t know anything. He just said he was coming to Ragmullin to sort out something that had got out of hand. He mentioned a brothel run by someone called Anya. That’s all I know.’
Shit, Boyd thought. How was he going to nail McNally for this without implicating himself?
‘How do you want me to help you?’ he asked at last.
‘Can I stay here?’
‘For tonight only. I’ll see if I can find out anything concrete on McNally tomorrow. Where is he staying?’
‘We’ve a room at the Parkview Hotel, but he’s hardly been there since we arrived. I don’t know what he’s up to.’ Jackie threw her arms around Boyd’s neck. ‘You can protect me.’
Boyd recoiled from her drunken lunge. He took the glass from her hand, gently extricated himself and rested her down on the couch. By the time he pulled the duvet over her, she was asleep.
Grabbing the bottle of vodka from the counter, he went to his room, leaving the door open.