‘Health and safety, the bane of my life,’ Lottie said, thinking of McMahon and her makeshift canteen.
‘Can’t be too careful where older people are concerned. They’re not as able-bodied as us.’
‘I agree.’ She wondered how her mother was doing today. Better, she hoped. ‘Do you have a Mrs McWard here?’
‘Queenie? Yes. Second floor. Do you want to see her?’
‘Yes. And I’d like to have a look around.’
‘Be my guest. I have a meeting in a few minutes, so I’ll give you a visitor’s pass then you’ll have access to all areas.’
‘That’d be brilliant.’
Once she had the pass, and Queenie’s room number, he walked her out of the office. A man approached them. His skin was grey, and his eyes were so dark they could only be filled with sadness.
‘Ah, Donal. I’m glad you made it in,’ Kane said. ‘I’ve been worried about you. Take a seat in my office and I’ll be with you in a second.’
The man bowed his head and shuffled into the warm office.
‘Poor Donal. He’s been a porter at the home since God was a boy. His wife died a few weeks ago and I need to have a word with him to see when he’s coming back to work.’
‘Don’t let me delay you.’
‘If there’s anything else I can do for you, let me know.’
Kane followed his employee into the office and Lottie headed off on her tour of the facility. She wondered idly if Rose would like it here. But as quickly as the thought entered her head, she dismissed it. Rose Fitzpatrick would die rather than move into a nursing home.
* * *
Gilly O’Donoghue handed over the reins to Dan, who was late arriving for his reception desk duty. She picked up her bag and headed for the door, glad that her shift was ended. She’d have to rush home to eat, shower and slap on make-up before the play. Just as she had her coat on, Boyd came rushing down the corridor.
‘Hey, Gilly, before you leave, can I have a word?’
‘In a bit of a rush this evening. What’s it about?’
‘I’m not entirely sure. Just a hunch that you might have seen something.’ He showed her the copied pages from the Rochfort Gardens sign-in book. ‘I notice you go running here.’
‘I do. When I’m not on duty. Why?’
‘I found your name on a list. Did you know Elizabeth Byrne?’
‘The girl who was murdered? No. Why?’
‘She ran at Rochfort Gardens every weekend. Just thought you might have seen her, or someone acting suspiciously around her.’
‘I saw her photograph on the incident board, but I didn’t recognise her. Do you want me to do some undercover work for you?’
‘We’re trying to contact everyone on the list, and then I think Lottie wants us to interview the remaining people on Saturday morning before their run, so your help would be appreciated with that.’
‘Not undercover then?’ She would have liked a little detective work. It might help with her aim to become a sergeant.
Boyd shook his head. ‘Though if you can remember anything that struck you as being out of the ordinary, let me know.’
‘Long shot, isn’t it?’
‘I’d take any shot that hit the target at this stage.’
As Boyd walked away, Gilly thought of Mollie, who also went running at weekends. She pressed the speed dial on her phone. Nothing. Not even a voice recording. Where was she? She thought of calling round on her way home. Glancing at the clock, she reckoned she was stuck for time as it was. She’d call after Kirby picked her up for their date.
* * *
She was staring at him again. Carriage C, last seat. He’d watched her get on with her nosy head glancing all around her. Who was she looking for? Surely not the prize he had won yesterday?
He debated sitting beside her. Making conversation. Just to see what he could find out from her. But then he decided life was too short to put himself through such misery. Instead, he focused his mind on visiting his prize later. He ran through the checklist in his brain. The laptop and phone had been disposed of. As had her clothes and bag. Scattered all over Dublin. No way of tracing anything back to her. Or, more importantly, to him.
Allowing a smile of contentment to widen on his face, he immediately dropped it. The little bitch with her piercing eyes was screwing nine-inch nails through him. You better not make a nuisance of yourself, he thought, or I know just the place for you, where no one will ever find you again.
She was annoying him so much, even the rhythm of the train picking up speed couldn’t dispel the disturbing feeling of unease hunching his shoulders into each other, bone on bone. He’d have to waste the journey thinking of ways to get rid of her, rather than ways to play with his new toy. You will be sorry, bitch, he vowed silently.
* * *
Even though the building was new, the distinct scent of age lingered. Lottie could smell it but couldn’t identify it. The rooms were bright and airy and most of the residents seemed contented with their lot.
She took the lift to the top floor and stood at the giant window. The evening was darkening, but she could still see directly into the cemetery from her vantage point.
She stared down to where Elizabeth’s body had been discovered. The hole was gaping, uncovered, still awaiting the interment of Mrs Green. An image of Father Joe flashed through her mind and her finger slid to the screen of her phone. She’d love to have a chat with him. But that would be a mistake. They’d both suffered too much pain from their respective families in the past, and she was bad enough now without resurrecting that again.
‘It’s not a pretty sight,’ a voice said from behind her.
She turned around on the ball of her foot. The man she’d seen a little earlier outside Kane’s office moved up beside her.
‘It’s a dark evening,’ Lottie ventured.
‘All those poor souls buried out there.’
‘I’m sorry about your wife. Were you married long?’
‘Too long.’ He put a heavy hand on Lottie’s shoulder blade before heading back the way he had come.
Pain shot along her spine and up to her neck. His hand had landed on the exact spot where she’d suffered the knife wound. But it was the icy tone of his voice that had caused her the most discomfort. A chill trickled down her back as she watched him walk away.
She shook herself. Too long in this job, she thought. Even an old man she didn’t know was giving her the shivers.
Forty
Matt Mullin’s family home was situated on the old Dublin road on the outskirts of Ragmullin. It was a large two-storey affair, with red brick showing signs of damp along the corners of the house and under the windowsills. A narrow avenue led to the front door. The land behind the house had been cleared of trees and was being excavated. Trucks and diggers appeared to be winding down their work for the day.
Lynch pressed the doorbell, half hoping Mrs Mullin wouldn’t be in. She was freezing and wanted to get home.
‘What’s going on there?’ Kirby asked.
‘Building a new school.’ She leaned on the doorbell again.
‘Great spot to dump a body.’
‘Will you shut up?’
‘That girl who disappeared ten years ago,’ Kirby said, taking a drag on his cigar before quenching it between thick fingers. ‘She could be buried somewhere like that. It was a forest at one time.’
‘And you think the builders will suddenly find her body?’
‘It’s possible.’
She noticed Kirby hiding the cigar butt in the inside pocket of his jacket as the door opened. A woman in her fifties, with an oblong face of fine bones, high forehead and piercing eyes, checked their ID cards.
‘You said on the phone that this is about my son.’ She twisted her blonde hair and let it fall over one shoulder. Lynch thought it was for effect rather than from anxiety.
‘Yes, it is. Can we come in?’
Mrs Mullin turned and headed down a wide hallway. Lynch took in the expensive decor.
‘Nice place.’
‘We purchased it five years ago. Came on the market after the banking crisis.’