‘He’s just trying to find the boss’s daughter.’
‘Maybe he killed three girls, having first extracted the kidneys from two of them.’
Lottie sighed. It didn’t make sense. Closing her eyes, she hoped Boyd would take the hint: conversation over.
‘How long are you going to be allowed to keep Milot?’
She opened her eyes. ‘Monday. Shit, that’s tomorrow. I wish I knew where Mimoza is.’
‘I think she’s been murdered,’ he said.
‘If she’s dead, where’s her body?’
‘We just haven’t found it yet.’
‘Well if she’s not dead, she’s in terrible danger. First thing tomorrow, I’m bringing in Russell and then I’m hauling in Andri Petrovci. This time he’s going to talk.’
‘Maybe we should follow up with his boss, too. This Jack Dermody.’
‘You do that, and check out all his friends and acquaintances. Someone got his phone number in order to send him to the pump house. He doesn’t strike me as a killer, though.’
‘And pray tell, who does?’
‘Boyd, close your eyes and go to sleep.’
The seat belt sign remained on for the full flight. Turbulence bucketed the plane through the sky and it was half an hour late landing at Dublin airport.
It was 7.30 p.m.
Lottie felt like she’d been up for a week.
Sixty-Nine
Chloe didn’t want to go out; Emily Coyne was begging her. On a Sunday night? With school tomorrow? Madness. But her mother was away in Spain or somewhere, so it might be okay.
After pulling tops, skirts and jeans from her wardrobe she looked at the heap of clothes on the floor. Too warm for long sleeves, she thought, but she had to cover the scars. Frustration welled up like a balloon in her chest. She sank to her knees and flung the clothes to the four corners of her room. On the bed, her phone vibrated with an insistent chirp.
‘Go away, Emily,’ Chloe shouted at it.
She stumbled to her feet. Maybe it was Maeve. She checked. It wasn’t Maeve.
Twitter alert: #cutforlife.
Her bottom lip trembled. She had wanted to delete the app. But she couldn’t do it.
Now she tapped it and read the tweet.
‘No,’ she cried. ‘No! Leave me alone.’
She threw herself onto the bed and howled.
Boyd dropped Lottie off at her house at 9 p.m. Sean opened the door.
‘Missed you,’ he said, hugging her tightly.
‘I was only away for the day.’ She hugged him back. ‘It’s nice to be missed, though. Everything all right?’
‘Yup.’
‘Hi, Mam,’ Katie shouted from the sitting room. The remnants of a pizza takeaway littered the floor. Milot smiled, a rim of ketchup on his lips.
‘Hello, little man.’ Lottie threw her bag on an armchair and ruffled his hair. She needed a shower but didn’t think she could move her legs up the stairs yet.
‘Where’s Chloe?
That was when she heard a scream from above.
Crashing into Chloe’s room, she shouted, ‘What’s wrong? What happened?’
‘Go away,’ Chloe sobbed into her pillow.
‘I’m going nowhere until you tell me why you’re screaming at the top of your voice.’ Lottie stood inside the door and surveyed the mounds of clothing scattered everywhere. ‘What’s happened here?’ She began picking up T-shirts, folding them over her arm. Initially she thought they were dirty, but they smelled fresh, unlike another underlying scent that she couldn’t place. Dirt? Dust? Blood? ‘I leave for one day and the roof caves in.’
Chloe cried, ‘For God’s sake, leave me alone. I thought you were away.’
‘You’d better tell me what’s going on, missy. Are you ill?’
Chloe thrust her head under her pillows. Placing the folded clothes on the bed, Lottie noticed the phone and fought an urge to pick it up and have a look.
‘If it’s your period, I can get you paracetamol. Is your head hurting?’ She sat on the bed, placing a hand on Chloe’s shoulder, but was shrugged off. A muffled sound came from beneath the pillows. Pulling them away, Lottie patted the girl’s damp hair. ‘Talk to me. Please.’
Chloe turned round and hauled herself into a sitting position, dragging the long sleeves of her jumper down over her fingers.
‘You’re sweating,’ Lottie said. ‘Take that off and put on something lighter.’
‘I can’t find anything to wear.’ Chloe kicked out, knocking the newly folded bundle to the floor.
Lottie ignored the childish act, conscious that there was something serious at play.
‘I love you so much and I’ll do anything to help you. But you have to talk to me,’ she pleaded.
Scrunching her eyes shut as if considering the consequences of her actions, Chloe picked up her phone, tapped the screen and handed it over.
‘What am I supposed to be looking at?’ Lottie furrowed her brow.
‘Twitter.’
‘I know that, but what do you want me to see?’
‘That hashtag? Cutforlife. Jeesus.’
Lottie looked down at the phone, and then back up at her daughter. ‘Oh my God, Chloe. You’re not cutting yourself, are you? Self-harming? What’s going on?’
‘It’s k-kind of like a f-forum,’ the girl said, choking down tears. ‘F-for people with d-difficulties in their life. I can have a rant on it or whatever.’
‘You’re on it?’ Lottie asked, horrified. She could think of a hundred and one different places to get help besides Twitter. She stared helplessly at the girl. At the smooth, youthful face, the big blue eyes, the image of her dad. She couldn’t bear to think that her daughter was going through serious mental trauma. ‘Chloe, what’s the matter?’
‘It’s Maeve. She regularly posted stuff on it. There’s been nothing from her since she d-disappeared. But two minutes ago, this p-popped up.’
Lottie looked at the last post under the hashtag: U r next Chloe @ADAM99. ‘Who is @ADAM99?’ she asked.
‘Me. I set it up in Dad’s name. Just to be anonymous, like. But someone seems to have sussed who I am. As far as I’m aware, only two people know about the @ADAM99 tag.’
‘Who knows?’
‘Maeve and this guy. I think he set up the hashtag.’
‘What guy?’ Lottie grabbed Chloe by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. ‘Who is he?’
‘Don’t go all detective on me.’
‘This is serious.’ What had her daughter got herself into?
Chloe hesitated. ‘I… I don’t think I can tell you.’
‘This is a blatant threat against you,’ Lottie said. ‘A threat to your safety, especially as we don’t know where Maeve is. Tell me who this guy is.’
‘He calls himself Lipjan on Twitter. I don’t know his real name…’
‘Go on,’ Lottie coaxed.
‘I thought he might know where Maeve was. I thought he might have been her boyfriend. I sent him a message and he told me to meet him.’
‘You didn’t…’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Oh Chloe. Who is he? Where does he live?’ Lottie fumbled for her own phone, ready to call in her team.
‘Will you listen?’
She put the phone down and grasped Chloe’s hand. ‘I’m listening.’
‘I don’t know his real name. He was nice online. But he was horrible in real life.’ Chloe scrunched her face in disgust.