Lottie said, ‘What is wrong with you? Take him to the station, Lynch.’
The scene around her was like a negative. Everything inverted and obscure. With another streak of lightning cracking the black sky like shattered crockery, she wondered, had she been looking at this the wrong way round the whole time?
Sixty-Two
In a blaze of blue flashing lights and screaming sirens, Detectives Lynch and Kirby took Andri Petrovci and Jack Dermody to the station to escape the rain and impatient reporters. Lottie ordered the two men’s phones to be logged, then examined by the technical team. She wasn’t sure what Petrovci had done, if anything, but having observed him becoming unhinged, she decided he needed to be in the safety of the station and checked over by a doctor before any further questioning.
She joined Jim McGlynn as he arrived on site. The rain had eased a little but the smell of thunder still lurked behind menacing clouds. Her clothes clung to her body, but she was oblivious to the dampness.
‘Let’s have a look at what you’ve cooked up for me today,’ McGlynn said.
Lottie followed him to the tent. He was suited up but she felt it was too little, too late. Everything had been contaminated, and anything that hadn’t been was now washed away in the biblical deluge.
Boyd held the flap open and the two of them peered in as McGlynn began his work. His gloved hands measured and touched. He noted and muttered. Photographed. Eventually he flipped the dead girl gently onto her side.
Lottie stared at the girl’s back. Beneath the thin cotton of her dress she could see the outline of a deep hole below her ribs.
McGlynn said, ‘You have another one. State pathologist will be here shortly.’
‘Shot and dressed,’ Boyd said.
‘Shot and dressed,’ Lottie agreed, holding back her hand from smoothing down the crumpled dress.
* * *
Once the pump house had been searched, SOCOs began sweeping the old dirt floor for evidence. Lottie was convinced they wouldn’t find a thing pointing them to the killer. Leaning against the outside wall, she thought of bumming a cigarette from Boyd. A shout from inside stopped her.
‘Found something!’
She hurried back inside. A SOCO stood in front of a rusted piece of machinery. He looked like a ghost in his paper-thin white crime suit. In his gloved hand was something that Lottie instantly recognised.
Slowly she took a step towards him. He shook his head and opened an evidence bag, into which he dropped a soft, tatty toy rabbit. Just like the one Milot had. It was covered with blood.
* * *
Lottie rushed out of the pump house. She had to get back to the station.
‘Inspector! Inspector, what’s going on?’ Cathal Moroney shouted from the outer cordon. He was standing in front of a scrum of journalists. Media vans, satellite dishes sticking up from their roofs, lined the road behind them.
She couldn’t ignore him – she had to walk past him to get to the waiting patrol car.
‘No comment.’ Keeping her head low, she continued up the canal bank toward the car. He clipped along at her heels, an eager posse of journalists behind him.
‘Are the organs cut out of this victim also?’ he shouted.
Where had he heard that from? He was persistent, she had to give him that. She kept on walking. He kept on talking.
‘Is there a butcher stalking Ragmullin at the moment? Is it a serial killer?’
Lottie had had enough. She squared up to the journalist.
‘The only one stalking anyone in Ragmullin at the moment is you, Mister Moroney. And if you continue shouting unsubstantiated statements like you’ve just done, I’ll have you arrested for impeding my investigation. Got it?’
He stood with his mouth open, but quickly recovered. ‘So you’re not denying there’s a serial killer, then?’
‘I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. Now get out of my way.’
She’d heard enough for one morning.
Sixty-Three
Standing with Boyd in the station’s makeshift kitchen, Lottie sipped a lukewarm coffee.
‘Why did the killer put her in the pump house?’ she said.
‘He couldn’t bury her in one of the existing excavation sites because we have them guarded,’ Boyd said.
‘We only put uniforms on the sites today.’
‘I’d like to know how he picks where to dump the bodies.’
‘And are we ever going to find out who these victims are?’ Lottie asked. ‘What about Milot’s toy? What was it doing there?’
‘You said you recognised today’s dead girl from the morning Mimoza came to your house. Could she have delivered Milot to you?’
‘I’m beginning to think so. She must have thought he was in danger. Maybe she forgot to bring his toy. But then why would the killer leave it with her?’
He shrugged.
‘Boyd, I think the killer desperately wants to find Milot. I think it’s Dan Russell. He seems very anxious about the boy. Perhaps he planted the toy with the body. Baiting us. He thinks we will lead him to the child.’
‘You really think it could be Russell?’
‘Possibly. This victim was tortured.’ Lottie cradled her mug, grimacing. ‘You saw the bite marks… they were vicious. We need to go back over all the evidence. There’s something there to lead us in the right direction.’
‘At this stage, I don’t know what direction we are going in.’
‘Be positive,’ Lottie said. ‘We’ll review everything.’ She put her mug into the basin.
Boyd picked it up and splashed in water from the kettle to rinse it out.
‘Lottie, I saw Jackie earlier today…’ he began.
‘You don’t have to explain anything to me.’
She stared at him for a moment. With his saturated shirt clinging to his body, his short hair sleek from the rain and his black eye shining in the unnatural light, she thought he was the most handsome man she had met since Adam. Adam! Dear God, what had he been involved in? Had their life together been a complete lie? A gasp escaped her throat and she struggled to keep her tears in check before Boyd misread her.
‘We need to talk,’ he said.
‘Yes, we do. Change of clothes and incident room in five minutes. Team meeting.’
She marched down the corridor without a backward glance. She knew he was watching her every step, waiting for her to come back to him.
Fuck you, Boyd. She kept on going.
* * *
Her team, all seated and eager, looked like Labradors ready to escape the leash. She would give them something to get their teeth into. The T-shirt she had changed into was the last one in her locker. Too tight and too short. Her jeans would have to do. She’d get another pair when or if she returned home. Her shoes were ruined, so she’d pulled on her boots.
Lynch reported first. ‘Duty doctor has given Mr Petrovci a sedative. He’s resting in a cell. I’ve put a guard outside. Just in case.’