Lottie recalled the flyer she’d found in town. She had it rolled up in her pocket. Taking it out, she flattened it and showed it to the old woman.
‘Aye, that’s her that went missing all them years ago. Never found. But the banshee found her.’
I’d better read the cold case file, Lottie thought.
Forty-Two
Boyd sat with the engine idling, watching the commuters exit the station. Why had no one noticed Elizabeth Byrne on Monday evening? Where had she been from the time she got off the train until her screams were heard at 3.15 the next morning? She didn’t go home. She didn’t go to her friend Carol’s house. So where? The only obvious conclusion he could reach was that she was taken after she got off the train on her walk home, and held by her abductor until he killed her.
He waved to Grace. She hurried to the car. When she had her seat belt secured and her bag on her lap, she turned to him.
‘Mark, I want you to find my friend. She’s missing.’
‘She’s not your friend and she’s not missing.’
‘You’re not much of a detective, are you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You won’t take me seriously.’
‘Grace, you don’t even know the girl’s name. You know nothing about her. And we have no reports of anyone missing. Let’s go. We need to eat. You must be starving.’
‘I was. Now I’m not.’
‘I’m going to cook something nice. You might change your mind.’
‘Mollie,’ Grace said.
‘What?’
‘Her name is Mollie.’
* * *
Mollie still had no idea where she was or what day it was, and now she almost felt like she didn’t know who she was.
The darkness was propelling her swiftly into madness. No shadows. No sounds apart from her own breathing. Even the strip of light seemed to have vanished. Her brain conjured up her worst fears. Fear of the unknown. Fear of what might be around her. Fear of what was going to happen to her. She tried to dredge up stuff she’d learned on a mindfulness course she’d attended at work. Live in the moment. That was what it professed. A load of bullshit. She certainly did not want to live in this moment. No way. Not a second longer.
With a drought in her eyes, she had no tears to shed. A sweeping gush of anger washed over her. Why had he taken her? What was it about her that had made her a target? Was this her own fault?
Her father had that knack. Making her feel guilty about everything and anything. Spilled milk, mucky boots, her mother’s bad moods. Yes, they were all Mollie’s fault. One of the reasons she’d refused to move to London was to escape the condemnation that followed every single thing she did. And when her mother died, yes, that was her fault too. If you’d been here, Mollie, she’d still be alive. How did you expect me to care for her on my own? It’s all your fault.
Guilty as charged.
But no. She was not going to fall for those mind games. She had to get out of here. And the only way she was going to do that was if she was strong and kept her mind alert. She would have to play the bastard at his own game. Shifting uncomfortably on the bed, she wondered what that game might be.
She had to figure it out before it was too late. Because she knew that there was no one to miss her out there. No one at all.
Forty-Three
‘This house is like an ice box,’ Lottie said, as she banged the front door behind her. ‘Sean? Chloe? Katie?’
She dropped the Lynn O’Donnell file on the table and went to check the boiler in the utility room. The switch was on, but there was no heat. Had it run out of oil? Opening the back door, she glanced out at the darkness. She turned on the exterior light.
Sean slouched into the kitchen. ‘What’s all the shouting about?’
‘Will you put on a pair of shoes and check the oil tank?’
She watched as he climbed up on the concrete wall surrounding the tank and plunged in the measuring rod. He brought it back and she examined it.
‘Quarter full,’ she said. ‘So why is the boiler not working?’
‘Turn it off and back on again,’ Sean said. ‘That’s what I do with my computer.’
She tried it. The boiler blasted into life.
Sean smiled. ‘Works every time.’
Emptying the washing machine, she piled the laundry into the dryer. Back in the kitchen, she searched the refrigerator for something to cook.
‘Mam?’ Katie’s voice echoed down the stairs. ‘Can you give me a hand with this case?’
‘In a minute. Just figuring out dinner.’ Taking a tray of mince from the fridge, she found a packet of pasta and began to cook.
‘I’ll have to eat later,’ Sean said. ‘Boyd is taking me training.’
‘Shit, I forgot about that. I’ll be up in a minute, Katie.’
Glancing at the file on the table, Lottie knew it had been a mistake to bring it home. She’d try to grab an hour to go through it at some stage.
The doorbell chimed and Sean belted down the stairs to reach it first. Boyd stepped into the hall. ‘Well, bud, are you ready?’
‘Give me two minutes. Mam’s in the kitchen.’
Lottie turned from the stove. ‘I’m glad you’re taking him.’
‘It’s no problem. I see you brought work home with you.’ She paused, wooden spoon in hand, as he flicked open the file cover. ‘I thought you had enough work without this.’
‘I want to have a read of it.’ Why was she explaining herself to him? ‘I went to the nursing home and met Queenie McWard. Don’t laugh, but she claims she heard a banshee the night this Lynn O’Donnell went missing. Won’t do any harm to have a look at the file.’ She knew she was babbling. Shut up, Parker.
‘I know you, Lottie, and I don’t think you should get stuck into something that will suck the life out of you.’
‘I won’t.’
He grunted.
‘I’ve to drive Katie to the airport in the morning. I’ll be in the office by nine.’ She turned to the cooker and stirred the mince vigorously, defences raised. ‘Make excuses for me if McMahon asks.’
Her phone vibrated on the table. Boyd picked it up. Snatching it from him, she saw the caller ID and switched it off.
‘I saw that,’ he said. ‘What’s he ringing you for?’
‘How would I know? I didn’t answer it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Boyd, would you ever—’
‘Ready when you are.’ Sean arrived with his gear bag on his back and a hurley stick in his hand.
‘See you later,’ Lottie said, as the door closed.
‘Mam!’ Katie shouted. ‘Chloe is melting my head.’
‘Coming.’ Lottie gave a final stir, lowered the heat and made her way up the stairs.
Why had Father Joe been ringing her? Should she ring back? No, he would call again if it was something urgent. Probably only wondering when he could inter Mrs Green. She had quite enough problems without Father Joe.
* * *
Canal Drive was dark and gloomy as Kirby joined Gilly at the top of the steps to Mollie’s apartment. She pressed hard on the bell. No answer. She got out her keys.
‘We’re going to miss the start of the play,’ Kirby said.
‘It’ll just take a minute.’ She turned the key and entered the flat. ‘Mollie? It’s only me.’
‘Come on, this is invasion of privacy.’ Kirby edged back down the steps.
‘She gave me a key!’
‘We have five minutes to get to the Arts Centre or they won’t let us in once the play has started.’
‘Will you shut up about the stupid play?’
‘You’re the one that wanted to see it.’
‘Come here. Look at this,’ Gilly said.
He followed her into the tiny kitchen. ‘Doesn’t like washing up after herself.’
‘Everything’s exactly as it was last night. She hasn’t been here since yesterday morning.’
‘She works in Dublin, you say?’
‘Yes. And I’m going to ring her office tomorrow morning to find out what the hell is up.’
‘Do that. Now, can we leave?’
Before she followed him out, Gilly tried Mollie’s phone once more. It was dead.
‘This is not like Mollie at all.’
She was talking to fresh air.
* * *
Lottie left Katie arguing with Chloe over the ownership of a pair of jeans. Turning the key in the door of Rose’s house she said, ‘Mother, I brought you dinner.’