‘It’s going to take some time before McGlynn and his SOCOs get working on Monk Island,’ Lottie said.
She watched the blue lights of the ambulance swirl through the mist. Maeve Phillips was on her way to hospital. Lottie knew the girl would survive her physical injuries but wasn’t sure if her mental scars would ever heal. A second ambulance carried George O’Hara, with two armed detectives for company. Mimoza’s body remained on the island. Alone.
Boyd lit two cigarettes. He handed one to Lottie and leaned against the bonnet of the car.
Inhaling deeply, she said, ‘We need to get back to base and see what this is about Petrovci. And I need to know if there’s any sign of Chloe and Milot.’
‘Smoke your fag first.’
‘But—’
‘No buts.’ He pulled her close. ‘Thirty seconds’ rest. My orders.’
Leaning her head on his chest, Lottie fought the intense fatigue rushing through her.
Boyd’s phone buzzed.
‘It’s Jackie. I forgot she’d been trying to contact me.’
‘Better answer her.’ Throwing down her cigarette, Lottie ground it with the heel of her boot.
Boyd turned away. ‘Jackie, you were looking for me. What’s up?’
Sitting into the car, Lottie started up the engine. She didn’t want to hear whatever Boyd was saying. She had to find her daughter.
* * *
Back at the station, she flew up the stairs. It was almost midnight. She felt like she’d throw up if there wasn’t word of Chloe soon. Boyd was parking the car. Silence had ensued during the drive back to town. Jackie had been cut off and he had no idea what she wanted.
‘Where the feck did you go?’ Corrigan stormed down the corridor. ‘Didn’t I give you a direct order to stay here?’
She didn’t have time for this. She rushed past him into the incident room without saying anything. It was as quiet as the Dead House. Corrigan followed her.
‘Oh God,’ Lottie said. Looking up at the incident board, her eyes had landed on the photograph of Mimoza holding Milot in her arms. A little boy without a mother. What would happen to him now?
‘What are you looking at, Parker?’
Lottie indicated the board. ‘Sir, we have everyone pinned up here except George O’Hara, our killer. He never even crossed our radar.’
‘Clever fox, then.’
She phoned Kirby. ‘Carry out a thorough background check on George O’Hara. I want to know everything about him. Like five minutes ago.’
Feeling a surge of adrenalin, she turned back to Corrigan. ‘I think he had others working with him. He needed someone to get the girls for him.’ Pointing first to Dan Russell’s photograph, then Petrovci’s. ‘These two. One or both of them has Chloe and Milot.’
‘Petrovci is in a cell,’ Corrigan said.
‘I need to see him, sir. Right away. He might know where Chloe is.’
She waited, counting in her head. She got to five before he moved to one side. She was out the door before he could change his mind.
‘Detective Inspector Parker! By the book. You hear me. By the book.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Lottie shouted back with her fingers crossed.
* * *
The three-inch-thick steel door clanged shut behind Lottie.
Petrovci made to get up from his stone bed.
‘Stay where you are.’ She propped herself against the wall, crossed her feet. No chairs.
‘I sorry. I do nothing.’ He swung his legs to the side and sat up straight.
Flipping through the pages that Kirby had given her on her way to the cells, Lottie said, without looking up, ‘The guy who rang your boss Jack Dermody telling him to go to the pump house where you found the third body, his number came up on your call list. Explain.’
‘I not know what you mean.’
‘We believe his name is George O’Hara. Familiar?’
Petrovci shook his head. ‘I not know him.’
She folded the pages and stuffed them into the back pocket of her jeans. ‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘I not know.’
‘Your friend George O’Hara is in hospital. Shot.’
He raised an eyebrow and rubbed a hand over his shaved head. ‘I not know anyone by that name.’
‘Oh come on. We found two phones on him. There was a call to you on Saturday night from one of them. Why did he contact you?’
Petrovci looked puzzled, remained mute.
Lottie said, ‘I’ll explain it for you. You’re working with this man, George O Hara. Reeling in girls from Kosovo, Africa and God knows where for him to operate on and dump in the sex trade. Were you grooming them?’
‘I not know… grooming.’
With two steps Lottie was on him, dragging him upright by the elbow. He jerked his hand free easily and moved to the wall.
‘You angry. Why?’ he asked.
‘I haven’t time for this. My daughter is missing. I believe you know where she is. So out with it.’ She slapped her hand against the wall beside his head.
He didn’t flinch. ‘Daughter?’ He turned to her.
‘For fuck’s sake. This is impossible.’ Lottie sat on the bed. ‘Please. You have nothing to lose now. You’re going to prison for helping this murderer. However the two of you did it, I’ll find out. But you can help yourself. A shorter sentence. I’ll see what I can do. Please, tell me where she is.’
‘I kill no one. I not take your daughter.’
With an exasperated sigh, Lottie knew she was getting nothing out of him. She stood up and gave the signal for the door to be opened.
‘Such a waste of life. But at least Maeve survived. She will tell me everything.’
‘Maeve? I confused.’
‘You recognised her photograph.’
He shook his head. ‘I not know name.’
‘You don’t know much of anything.’
‘Who… Maeve?’
She knew she shouldn’t play along, but she took out her phone and scrolled. Turning the photo towards him, she said, ‘This is Maeve.’
He stared at it for a moment then raised his eyes to meet hers.
‘I remember you show me. She look like a girl I know once. It scare me. I fear for her. I think she one of them. In ground.’
‘I haven’t time for your lies.’ Lottie snapped away the phone.
He put out a hand and held on to her arm. Thick fingers, ingrained with dirt from his work, pressed into her skin. ‘I no lie. I never lie. I not kill girls. I come to Ragmullin. I work and I look for my girl. Every day. But I not find her.’
Shrugging off his grip, Lottie said, ‘What girl? Why did you leave your apartment? You took your stuff.’ She needed to get away from him. To get out and search for Chloe and Milot.
‘I a boy in war.’ He pulled up his T-shirt. ‘War do this to me.’
Lottie gasped. A neat scar stretched from his abdomen up over his hip and round his back. Similar to the scars borne by the first two victims. ‘Who? Who did that to you?’
‘Many years ago. In the war. It not matter now. Hurt my brain. My head.’ He knocked at his skull with his fist. Three times. Hard. ‘So many things happen. I not remember. You understand. What you call… blackout. I not remember.’