Boyd piped up. ‘We don’t know for sure it was the killer’s van.’
‘I think it was. He’s playing mind games with us. Trying to show us he can do just about anything he wants. Like killing victim three and throwing her body into the old pump house as if she was a rotting fish.’ Lottie paced around the incident room. Everyone was silent. ‘Ignore the van for now. No point in wasting resources we don’t have.’
‘But—’ Kirby began.
‘No buts. It’s a diversion tactic. I’m sure of it. No more time wasted on the van for now.’
‘Right, boss.’ Kirby let out a grunt.
Lottie said, ‘Another thing I noticed. And this should be confirmed at the autopsy. I believe this latest victim was tortured. Her body has evidence of severe biting.’
‘But why?’ Lynch asked.
‘No idea. The first victim had one bite mark on her neck, but this latest victim has bites all over her face and neck. More frenzied. It adds a new dimension.’
‘We’ve enough fucking dimensions driving us all demented,’ Boyd exclaimed.
Letting her gaze land on Lynch, Lottie said, ‘We still haven’t found the actual crime scenes where the girls were shot. Any information on that score?’
‘No. Sorry.’ Lynch dipped her head.
Lottie said, ‘The moss under the murder victims’ nails. Where did it come from?’
‘It’s the only clue left on the bodies,’ Boyd said.
‘If the killer washed the wounds, he probably washed the bodies,’ Kirby said.
‘He undressed them to shoot them, then washed and re-dressed them,’ Lottie said. ‘That’s why Jane Dore couldn’t get anything from the bite marks.’ She considered this. ‘He shot them somewhere no one would hear. A boggy field? A wood?’
‘Has the moss been analysed?’ Boyd asked.
Lottie flicked through the forensic reports.
‘Found it.’ It had been emailed that morning. She read through two pages. ‘Jesus, why didn’t we get this earlier?’
‘What?’ asked Kirby.
‘There are traces of crypto… I can’t pronounce it.’ She spelled it out.
‘Cryptosporidium,’ Lynch said. ‘Hold on, I’ll google it.’
‘What did we do before Google?’ Boyd said.
‘A microscopic parasite that causes diarrhoea.’ Lynch said. ‘Blah, blah, blah. Wait a minute. The parasite can be spread in several different ways – drinking water and recreational water. Swimming pools, lakes and rivers.’
‘That narrows it down,’ Boyd said sarcastically.
‘It’s unlikely these girls were taken to a swimming pool to be shot, so that leaves us with lakes and rivers.’ Lottie glared at him.
‘Ragmullin is surrounded by lakes,’ he said.
She thought for a moment. ‘Lynch, go through every record we have of reports of unusual activities in or around all the lakes. Find out the dates of the shooting season and check with the county council to see if there’s been any outbreak of crypto…’
‘Cryptosporidium,’ Lynch prompted as she unfurled her ponytail. ‘What about all this?’ She waved at the mound of interview transcripts on her desk.
‘Leave it. This is urgent. Check back for about two weeks.’
Lynch tied her hair back and grabbed the phone.
‘It might be nothing,’ Boyd said.
‘Don’t go all pessimistic again,’ Lottie said.
‘Well, just don’t get your hopes up.’
She studied the photographs. ‘Three girls are dead. Murdered. And we don’t even know their names. Come on, lads. Cathal Moroney’s telling his viewers there’s a serial killer stalking Ragmullin. Butchering people for their organs.’
‘The internet is awash with new rumours,’ Kirby said, tapping his phone. ‘Twitter and—’
Lottie cut him off, ‘We need answers, not speculation. As soon as Jane Dore has the latest post-mortem completed, we go public with what we have. And I want the victims’ photographs everywhere. After Andri Petrovci, Dan Russell is our main suspect. We need something to bring him in. Get that warrant expedited, Boyd. Maybe the public will help—’
A ringtone cut through Lottie’s words, causing her to lose her train of thought. She stared daggers at the assembled team. Boyd made for the door, phone to his ear.
‘Detective Sergeant Boyd!’ Lottie yelled.
But he was gone.
Sixty-Four
She caught up with Boyd in their office as he finished his call.
‘This’d better be good,’ Lottie began, standing with her hands resting on her desk.
‘Jackie says Frank Phillips will talk to us. In person. Tomorrow.’
Lottie expelled pent-up anger with a burst of air through her nose. A few deep breaths before she could talk.
‘I’m not sure Phillips has anything to do with three murders in Ragmullin seeing as he is currently sunning his arse in Spain,’ she said.
‘His daughter is missing. He’s sent his head honcho McNally to look for her. He wouldn’t do that lightly.’ Boyd sat at his desk and pulled on a tie he found in his desk drawer.
‘Boyd, Frank Phillips’s head honcho, as you call him, has been in Ragmullin since last Wednesday week. Before Maeve went missing.’
Boyd paused with his hand mid-air before bringing it down to his chin. ‘I know that, but he was here to look into Frank’s business affairs.’
‘That’s what Jackie told you. Can you honestly believe her, Boyd?’
He didn’t answer.
She said, ‘We need to know his real reason for being in Ragmullin.’
‘So we should meet Frank Phillips anyway?’
‘Yes, I think so. It can’t do any harm. What flight is he getting? We’ll meet him at the airport.’ Lottie sat at her desk, pulled out a bottom drawer and rested her feet on it.
‘He’s not coming to Ireland because then we’d have to arrest him. We’ve to go see him.’ Boyd sat down on the corner of Lottie’s desk. ‘In Malaga.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘He might be able to throw some light on these murders. Why else would he talk to us? It can’t do any harm. Can it? Would you at least ask Corrigan?’
Ignoring the pleading in his voice, Lottie grabbed her bag. ‘I’ve a social worker to meet about Milot.’
Boyd followed her to the door and blocked her way. ‘Jackie is scared. There’s something big going on here, but she doesn’t know what it is. I think we have to go talk to Frank Phillips.’
‘Why can’t his wife talk to him? It’s their daughter.’
‘This has to do with more than Maeve.’
‘You ask Corrigan, then. If he approves it, we’ll go, otherwise it’s a no. For now, see if Petrovci’s medically fit and get Lynch or someone to interview him with you. And go back over everything. We’ve missed something important, Boyd. Find it. That will serve us better than flying to Malaga.’
Superintendent Corrigan appeared outside the open door.
‘No one’s flying to feckin’ Malaga. No one!’
* * *
When Lottie got home, Milot was sitting on the couch beside Katie watching Cartoon Network. He was dressed in a new T-shirt and trousers. Lottie questioned her daughter with a raised eyebrow.
‘I asked Chloe to go into town and get him something to wear,’ Katie said. ‘She wouldn’t budge. Sean went and got him these. Only eight euros.’