‘The gravedigger? I interviewed him again and he’s in the clear.’
Lottie stopped in front of the incident board. ‘Who has the list of names of those who run at Rochfort Gardens?’
‘I have it.’ Boyd waved it.
‘Is Mollie Hunter on there?’
She tapped her foot, waiting as Boyd traced his finger down the list.
‘I think this signature is hers.’
‘Show me.’ Lottie took the page and squinted at it. ‘I thought I asked for someone to type this up. Jesus, I can’t read it. Whereabouts is her name?’
Boyd pointed to it.
‘You’re right.’ She glanced up at him. ‘Has any progress been made with contacting the people on the list?’
‘We haven’t addresses for all of them.’ Boyd dropped his gaze. ‘So it’s a bit difficult.’
‘I don’t want to hear about difficult. I want answers.’
‘We started on it, but now we have this new body and—’
‘Allocate the list to a uniform. Get Gilly O’Donoghue to do it. Which reminds me, Gilly wants to have a word with Grace to see what she remembers about meeting Mollie on the train.’
‘I’m not bringing my sister into this.’
‘Make some arrangement with her.’ Lottie let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Do I have to think for you now?’
‘Just as well you can’t.’ Boyd folded up the list and marched out of the room.
* * *
He was staring at her. Standing there leaning against the door of carriage C. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead, and her hands were slick and clammy. She took deep breaths, but in the end, she had to use her inhaler. Thank God she had that with her. At least when she got back to Mark’s place she could grab her pills and maybe sleep for a bit. That sounded like heaven. She put her inhaler back in her bag, and when she looked up, he was standing in front of her.
‘I think you should sit down,’ he said. ‘You don’t look very well.’
She hadn’t noticed him moving. Hadn’t noticed the train stopping at Maynooth. Hadn’t noticed there were now plenty of seats available.
‘I … I’m okay,’ she stammered.
‘Sit,’ he commanded.
She was sure he could see her heart hammering against her chest. Lowering herself onto the seat behind her, she perched on the edge, clutching her bag on her knee. The woman beside her was asleep, head resting against the window, earphones in, oblivious.
He sat down opposite her. Grace held her breath. He leaned over the narrow excuse for a table and said, ‘Don’t be afraid of me. I can help you.’
Her eyes widened and her mouth seized up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I saw you this morning. And yesterday. Looking for your friend.’
She didn’t have to ask what he meant. She knew.
‘Mollie,’ he said. ‘She’s in a spot of bother. I think she would be happy to see you, even though she told me not to tell anyone.’
As he continued to stare at her, Grace felt her chest tighten and scoured her bag for her inhaler once again. ‘Where is she?’
‘If you promise not to make a fuss, I’ll contact her and find out if she wants to see you.’
Mark wouldn’t be at the station to pick her up. What was she going to do? Go with the man and find Mollie, or scream blue murder? Maybe for once in her life she could be brave. She took a quick puff of air and let the thought take root in her anxiety-ridden brain. She would go with him and find Mollie.
‘Okay,’ she whispered.
Sixty
‘Are you not supposed to be at the train station?’ Lottie checked the time on her phone. ‘To pick up Grace?’
‘She’s heading home to Galway for the weekend.’
‘You’ll get a break so,’ she said. ‘Gosh, this day feels as long as a week. I need a coffee. Join me?’
She grabbed her mug and made her way to the makeshift kitchen. Katie should be in New York by now. Still no word. She’d give her an hour, then she was going to ring to make sure they were okay.
‘What the hell?’ she said. ‘Who stole my kitchen?’
The corner was bare, except for pipes with insulating tape around copper nozzles sticking out of the wall.
‘McMahon,’ Boyd said, stifling a snigger.
‘It’s not funny.’ Lottie turned on her heel and stormed back down the corridor.
‘Here, give me your mug,’ Boyd said. ‘I’ll get you some from the canteen.’
‘Don’t bother. I’m going home.’ She went to get her jacket.
Kirby piped up, ‘You know what you both need?’
‘I know you’re going to tell us,’ Boyd said, sitting down at his desk.
‘A couple of pints.’
‘I’m not going drinking with you, Kirby, not on your life.’
‘You can come too, boss, and you, Lynch.’ Kirby twirled an unlit cigar between his fingers.
‘Sorry, I’m not drinking,’ Lynch said, keeping her gaze studiously focused on her computer screen.
‘Never known you to turn down a drink from Kirby before; not that he offers too often,’ Boyd said.
‘I’m going home,’ Lottie said. ‘It’s been a long day and I’ve to be at Rochfort Gardens early in the morning to check out those runners. And you lot better be here bright and early.’
‘I might be a bit late,’ Lynch offered.
‘No worries.’ Lottie dragged her jacket over her shoulders and picked up her bag.
Boyd followed her out to the corridor. ‘Fancy a bite to eat?’
‘I’m starving, but I’ve a family to feed.’
‘Another time maybe?’
‘Whenever that may be.’ Lottie let the door close behind her.
* * *
When the train stopped at Ragmullin station, Grace walked meekly at his side through the throng on the platform. She noticed the uniformed gardaí patrolling up and down and thought of screaming out, but dismissed the notion. She wanted to see Mollie, didn’t she? Mark would be proud of her if he could see how brave she was being. Even though he still thought of her as his little sister, she was almost thirty. Time for her to stand on her own two feet.
He had her elbow in a vice. Every muscle in her body blared at the physical contact. She tried to shrug off his hand but he held firm.
At the rear of the station, he opened a car door. ‘Won’t be long now.’
‘What won’t be long?’ She stalled, uncertainty eroding her earlier bravado.
‘Until you see your friend.’
‘I thought you had to ring her first,’ Grace said.
‘I’m sure she won’t mind.’
She sat into the car. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Only a couple of miles along the road. Mollie’s nice and comfy and I’m sure you’ll both have a great chat.’
Grace clipped on her seat belt and stared out of the window at the street lights vanishing as he drove out of town. She bit her lip and tightened her fingers around the strap of her bag. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, her inner voice warned. Too late now.
* * *
Matt Mullin parked his car around the back of the house. He could see his mother in the kitchen preparing a dinner he didn’t want to eat. She mustn’t have heard him pull up; she didn’t look out the window.
It was no good. He couldn’t handle going inside. She’d question him about work. No, I haven’t got a new job, Mother. He switched the ignition back on and drove slowly around the house and down the avenue.
He missed Elizabeth. Why had things gone so wrong? It was all her fault. Why had she cut him off? Changed her number, closed down her social media accounts. He couldn’t find out what she was up to. But then, just before Christmas, she was back on Facebook. She was reaching out to him. She wanted him home. He’d been sure that was the reason for her going back online.
And then it had all fallen apart again.
He was such a fool. He gripped the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles were in danger of piercing the skin. And he was driving too fast. He slowed down. No point in attracting unwanted attention.
At the Dublin bridge he waited for the lights to change. He looked at the town nestled below him and the canal flowing beneath the bridge. Should he abandon his car and jump into the murky water?
The light flicked to green and he dismissed the thought.
* * *