‘You’ve come to the right man, then.’
‘I know some of our people were asking questions the other day about a young woman, Elizabeth Byrne. But we wanted to see if you’ve remembered anything since.’
‘Oh, the poor unfortunate who went missing and was found dead in a grave. Awful stuff. Shocking. No one is safe in this town any more. No one.’
‘We’re trying to keep people safe by finding whoever did this,’ Lottie said.
Jimmy looked up at her expectantly. She realised he hadn’t a clue who she was. She held out her hand in greeting, ‘Detective Inspector Lottie Parker.’
‘Jimmy Maguire, head guard. Not a guard like you, but I’ve worked here for the last forty-odd years. Should be retired by now, but I think they’ve forgotten about me. I’m part of the walls now.’ He tried a laugh but it dissolved into a groan.
‘Do you have a good knowledge of everyone coming and going through here?’
He pushed his peaked cap back off his forehead and looked up at her.
‘One time you could say that. Not now, with all the young ones commuting up and down to Dublin.’
She showed him photographs of Elizabeth. ‘This is the girl we’re interested in. And we got this one from your ticket office CCTV footage, Monday morning, buying her ticket. Do you recognise her? She took the six a.m. train daily. We believe she arrived back here on the 17.10 from Dublin on Monday evening. Is there any way to verify that?’
Shaking his head, squinting one eye shut, Jimmy said, ‘Can’t say I recognise her at all, poor soul. They all look the same to me at that age.’
‘Any other cameras in place?’ Lottie prompted.
‘Just in the ticket office and a few in the car park.’
‘We have that footage, but there was no sign of her.’ Lottie looked around the cold portico where they were standing. ‘None on the platform?’
‘There was talk at one time of installing more cameras, but then the conversation switched to shutting the place down altogether. It’d be an awful shame if they did that. A committee was set up to try and see if we can keep it open.’ He pushed out his chest and straightened his shoulders. ‘I’m the chairman.’
Lottie looked at Boyd; from his expression, he seemed to be thinking the same thing. With Jimmy as chairman, the nail might already be in the station’s coffin.
‘No need to be looking at me like that. I’m passionate about this place. Been standing here since 1848.’ Jimmy laughed. ‘The station, not me, though some days it feels like it. It’s a voluntary group that I set up. Numbers have dwindled away. Only about ten of us active now. More’s the pity. There’s safety in numbers. Better to have a crowd at your back when you’re fighting a battle.’
‘You’re dead right there,’ Lottie said, thinking of the battles she would more than likely have with McMahon while Corrigan was off.
‘There are cameras on some of the trains, if you’re interested.’
Lottie stepped forward. ‘Definitely. Can we access the footage from last Monday?’
‘Which train would that be?’
‘The six a.m. from Ragmullin to Connolly and all of the evening trains that travelled back here, especially the 17.10.’
‘I can tell you here and now, there are no cameras on the morning one. We use an older train for that run. Not much trouble at that hour. You’ll have to ring head office for the others.’
‘If you give me the details, I’ll do that,’ Lottie said. ‘Can we have a look around while we’re here?’
‘Be my guest.’ Jimmy tipped his cap, opened the gate, and guided them onto the platform. ‘I’m around if you need to ask me anything else. God have mercy on her soul, poor lass.’
A sharp breeze cut its way along the platform as Lottie and Boyd walked from one end to the other. There was an old signal box at the far end, and on their right lay the defunct Galway line.
‘What are those over there?’ She pointed to a series of dilapidated buildings.
‘We would have to ask Jimmy that,’ Boyd said.
‘They were once waiting rooms.’
Lottie jumped as the station guard walked up behind her. ‘You frightened me half to death,’ she said. Recovering quickly, she added, ‘What are they used for now?’
‘Nothing. Falling down, overrun with vermin. No one goes near them any more.’ He turned around. ‘If they close this station, everything will end up in the same state. Our heritage consigned to oblivion by the swish of a pen in some fancy Dublin office.’
‘I don’t think it will close,’ Boyd said.
Jimmy gave him a look as if to say: what would you know about it?
‘Well, if this young woman was taken from the train, what do you think that will do to my commuters?’
‘We have no evidence she was taken from the train,’ Lottie said. ‘Or do you know something you’re not telling us?’
‘I take offence at that remark, so if you won’t be minding, I’d like you to move on, because this area is out of bounds. Health and safety. You know the score.’
She took the hint, but not before giving Jimmy a good stare, which he duly returned.
‘Were you working here when Lynn O’Donnell disappeared?’ she asked.
‘What if I was?’
‘No need to get defensive. I’m reviewing her case.’ Lottie noticed Boyd’s eyes questioning her. Feck him. ‘Do you remember it?’
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘Ten years.’
‘That’s a long time.’
‘For someone who’s been here for forty?’ Lottie said. ‘Not that long at all.’
‘You need to check your files, because I can’t recall it.’ He turned to face the disused tracks.
‘I will. And I’ll be back.’
As she walked back along the platform, Lottie said, ‘He knows something.’
‘I suspect that as well,’ Boyd said.
‘We better keep him on our radar.’
‘I think he’s keeping us on his,’ Boyd said, nodding his head to the side.
Maguire was watching them from the old waiting room door. As they left, she could feel his eyes still on her, and she was sorry they’d decided to walk rather than driving. Even as she reached the bridge at the top of the hill, Lottie felt she was being watched.
* * *
The woman pulled her car into the line of traffic, keeping an eye on the two detectives walking up the hill. She toyed with the notion of returning to the train station to see what they’d found out, but she believed her time would be better utilised by keeping tabs on Lottie Parker.
Because she knew that wherever the detective inspector trod, she always left a murky footprint in her wake. She would make a mistake, that was certain.
And Cynthia Rhodes would be there to swoop in for the kill.
Thirty-Eight
Lottie squared her shoulders against the cold and walked with Boyd up Main Street. She stopped at a pole and tore off the piece of paper. ‘Someone’s been putting up flyers looking for information on Lynn O’Donnell.’
‘They appear every year,’ Boyd said. ‘Your current workload already includes a murder, so don’t go off on a tangent.’
‘There’s another one,’ she said. ‘I’m definitely going to read the cold case file.’
‘Lottie!’
‘Not on work time; my own time.’
‘You don’t have any “own” time, I know what you’re like. Just drop it.’
‘Boyd, would you ever piss off?’
She wouldn’t drop it. Not without having a peek at the file first. Superintendent Corrigan would want her to. Just in case there was the possibility of a link to the murder of Elizabeth Byrne.
She walked on ahead of Boyd, wondering why she was so touchy. Perhaps she hadn’t taken two pills after all. She was losing track.
* * *
The incident room was buzzing. The phones were hopping.
‘What’s going on?’ Lottie said.
Kirby had a phone cradled between his chin and shoulder. ‘McMahon made a statement to the media asking for the public’s help in tracing the last movements of Elizabeth Byrne.’
‘I thought this was my investigation,’ Lottie said, hands on hips.
‘Something might come of it,’ Boyd said.