‘Money sets you free.’ Phillips motioned for Manuel to set the white china cups on the wooden table painted in the tricolour. Carved Celtic crosses for legs.
‘Surely you’re a prisoner in your own castle?’ Lottie said.
‘I have all I want.’ His tone rose an octave. ‘Right here.’
He’s angry now, she thought. ‘Except you don’t have your daughter.’ How far could she push him?
‘It’s your job to find her. Which you haven’t been too successful at so far.’
‘Maybe that’s because you sent your minion McNally to interfere in our work.’
‘How can you interfere in something that’s not being done? Unless you’ve come to tell me you’ve found Maeve. Have you?’
Lottie shook her head. ‘We think your business ventures are linked to Maeve’s disappearance.’
‘So she hasn’t run away with her invisible boyfriend, like you had us believe?’
‘We haven’t found any boyfriend. Yet.’ With the sea outside and the green inside playing games on the walls, Lottie felt almost seasick. ‘May I use your bathroom?’
‘If that’s a ploy to snoop around my home, you’re out of luck. There’s nothing to find here. I’m—’
‘No, it’s not that. I suddenly feel a little queasy.’
Phillips clicked his fingers and Manuel materialised.
‘Show her to the guest bathroom.’
Standing up, Lottie grabbed Boyd’s shoulder for support.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
‘I’ll be fine in a minute.’
Phillips had been right. She did want to snoop. Following Manuel around a pillar and down a wide corridor, greener than the room she’d just left, she hoped the bathroom was painted white or pink. Otherwise she would definitely spill her guts.
It was canary yellow.
* * *
After a quick scout around, without going into any of the rooms, Lottie returned to the living area. Tea had been poured but lay untouched.
‘I was just saying to Sergeant Boyd here, you have to put things in perspective.’ Frank Phillips was standing at the window, his arm resting on what looked like a gold-plated telescope. He trailed his short fingers through his long hair, now tied back in a ponytail. Shades of grey pricked above pointed ears and at his temple. Otherwise it was a shimmering black. And she was sure he’d had a face lift or possibly Botox. Not a crease or a line anywhere on his leathery face.
‘See that gull there,’ he said, pointing to a fat bird on the sill, plucking at the scales of a fish. ‘Now look up into the sky at the planes taking off from the airport.’
Lottie squinted into the sunlight. Boyd leaned forward in his chair.
‘That tiny dot of white snaking across the blue. See it?’
She nodded. What type of game was he playing?
Phillips put his eye to the telescope. ‘That is a 737 Boeing. Ryanair. A dozen or more flights from all over Europe daily in and out of Malaga. Full of people. And yet the plane looks smaller than that seagull there.’
‘What’s your point?’ Boyd voiced Lottie’s thoughts.
Drawing away from the telescope, Phillips said, ‘Sometimes what’s in front of our eyes is so close, we can’t see the full picture.’
‘I’ve lost you there,’ Lottie said.
‘The seagull looks huge standing close. Just like a plane with a load of people waiting on the tarmac. But when it flies way up in the sky it’s just a dot. One of many way up there.’ Phillips tapped the window. The bird dropped the fish and flew away with loud squawks. Phillips laughed.
‘I suspect you’re dealing with something big in Ragmullin. But believe me when I say you have no idea how massive it really is.’
‘Has this got something to do with the murders?’ Lottie asked, glancing at Boyd to see if he was following Phillips. ‘We’ve found three murder victims in the last week. Do you know anything about them?’ She was bored with his talk of seagulls and planes.
‘I heard about them and I think you don’t know what’s really going on.’
‘Explain,’ Boyd said, blowing out his cheeks in exasperation.
‘Can you confirm I’d be free from prosecution and get witness protection? That I could go home and look for my daughter?’
Lottie exchanged another glance with Boyd. She said, ‘It might take a while. Tell us what you know and I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Not good enough.’
‘We’ve come all this way for information that might help us save Maeve. I’m disappointed in you.’
‘Save her from what? Inspector, if I told you all I suspect, I would be dead in a matter of days, then I’d be no use to Maeve at all. I need to get home and look for her myself. You don’t understand the complexities.’
‘Enlighten us,’ Lottie said.
‘I can only point you in a certain direction.’
‘Point away.’ Lottie tried to hide her exasperation.
‘Walk along the docks.’ He swept his short arm towards the port. ‘It’s in front of your eyes. That’s all I can say. I’ve decided I’m getting out of my current business, and believe me it won’t be in a coffin. Construction. That’s how I’m going to make my money from now on.’
Lottie looked at him directly. ‘I need more.’
‘I have people scouring every rat-hole looking for Maeve. He’s taken her. He’s going to come for me too. I can’t leave my home without a bodyguard.’
‘He? Who are you talking about?’
Philips snorted. ‘A man called Fatjon. He’s been involved in human trafficking for the sex trade for years. I believe he could be involved in the murders.’
‘Does he work for you?’
‘Not any more.’
‘Why do you think he’s involved?’
‘I only suspect it, Inspector. I need to be careful what I say unless you can guarantee me immunity.’
‘You know that takes time and paperwork. Tell me what you can.’ There was no way he was going anywhere without a set of handcuffs, Lottie silently vowed.
Phillips looked out of the window at the great expanse of sea. His voice was low and gravelly as he spoke.
‘A couple of my… the girls brought into Ireland, earmarked for the sex trade, have disappeared. Without a trace. I’m losing money. Fatjon was the middleman.’
Lottie let out a sigh of frustration. Phillips was leaving out more than he was telling her. She decided to plough ahead.
‘Two of the bodies we found had organs removed. Is this Fatjon involved in that?’
Phillips opened his mouth to speak, but paused. Taking a deep breath, he said, ‘I don’t know. Organ removal? Really? Perhaps it’s a doctor, or a wannabe doctor.’
‘And this Fatjon, he’s not a doctor, is he?’
Philips laughed wryly. ‘I doubt it.’
‘What does he look like? Where does he live?’
‘I don’t know where he lives. He is a very tall man; muscular, a brute. And he has extremely crooked teeth.’
Lottie looked at Boyd. He shook his head. They hadn’t come across anyone like that so far in their investigations.
She tried again. ‘What about Dan Russell? He used to be a commandant in the army. Do you know him?’
‘Scum of the earth.’
‘I thought he was doing well with his company managing the direct provision centre.’
Phillips snorted. ‘He’s paying for his sins. Look beneath the surface of the man. Have you investigated him?’