‘You want to know about the fire?’ he said.
‘And anything else you can fill me in on.’ She took out a pack of mints and offered him one. He shook his head and waited. ‘Look, David, I’m digging as much and as quickly as I can. But so far no one will say anything about her.’
‘Try Detective Maria Lynch. I get the feeling they’re not the best of friends.’
‘Right. The fire? Tell me.’
‘Not much to tell. Two dead. Mother and her baby. House gutted. All the signs of an arson attack. Have you got anything juicy for me to sink my teeth into?’
‘Nothing so far. I told you I’m doing a piece on the missing O’Donnell girl.’
‘So you did. An appeal for information?’
‘More like a biopic of the effects on Lynn’s family. I get the feeling her disappearance ripped them apart.’
‘And you intend to rip them wider still?’
‘No. This is a human interest piece.’ She smiled slyly. ‘I’m not all bad, you know.’
‘Oh, I think you are.’
He pushed himself away from his BMW, wetted a finger and rubbed away a piece of dirt from the door. Then he walked towards his apartment. Lottie Parker had made a fool of him last October. He was still smarting from the rebuff he’d suffered and he wanted revenge. He wanted her face in a mire, with his shoe on the back of her neck, holding her down.
‘Hey, David?’ Cynthia called. ‘I need something soon. I’m back in Dublin on Monday.’
‘Quid pro quo.’
‘Not asking me in for a coffee?’ she said.
‘I’ve already had some.’
He disappeared into the apartment wondering if Cynthia Rhodes was worth his trouble.
Sixty-Nine
On Lottie’s return from Rochfort Gardens, she found Jane Dore seated in her office.
‘Jane! Why are you here?’
‘I’ve just left the scene of that awful fire.’
Slumping onto her chair, Lottie said, ‘You found a body?’
‘Two. What’s left of them.’
‘Oh God, this is too much.’ Lottie pulled at her hair. ‘Any hope of identification?’
‘DNA, possibly. An adult female and a child.’
‘Bridie McWard and her baby.’ Trailing her hands up and down her arms, Lottie tried to rub away the feeling of hopelessness.
‘Their remains are on the way to the Dead House. I’ll know more later.’ Jane leaned over the desk, her petite hands joined together. ‘What’s going on in Ragmullin, Lottie?’
Catching the pathologist’s eye, Lottie shook her head. ‘I wish I knew. Any evidence of foul play?’
‘The fire was started maliciously.’
Lottie flicked through a file on her desk. ‘It was reported by a neighbour almost immediately. How could it burn so quickly?’
‘McGlynn can fill you in on the details, but it was a fabricated house. Went up like tissue paper.’
‘They hadn’t a chance.’
‘Did you know the victims?’
‘I met Bridie a couple of times. I think she heard Elizabeth Byrne’s screams the night she was murdered. And she was assaulted in her home the other night.’
Pushing her spectacles up on her nose, Jane said, ‘I have some more information on Elizabeth’s murder. I emailed it to you early this morning. You may not have accessed it yet. The clothes found in the skip have trace evidence of water.’
‘Yes, I knew that.’
‘It’s a match for water found in Ladystown lake.’
‘Where we found the unidentified body. Why was Elizabeth there? How did she get out there?’
‘Maybe it was just her clothes. The killer may have dunked the clothes to get rid of evidence of fibres or cells.’
‘Christ, this gets weirder by the minute. Had Elizabeth’s body any evidence of being in the water?’
‘No. And regarding toxicology, I found trace samples of chloroform. Just minute amounts, but it was there.’
‘I’m going to string up the bastard when I find him.’ Lottie shot up from her chair, pacing the small office before sitting on the edge of the desk. ‘And the body at the lake?’
‘As you may have noticed, the fingernails were bitten down to the quick. But I found traces of paint embedded in places.’
‘Paint? What type of paint?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve sent samples for analysis.’ Jane stood up. ‘Did you find a match for her in missing persons?’
‘We checked back a couple of weeks. There’s no one. Only Mollie Hunter, and she was around up to Wednesday as far as we can determine. Plus she doesn’t fit the age profile.’
‘Did you cross-reference on the national database? Run the DNA?’
Lottie shot her a look. ‘Of course.’ But had they? She needed to double-check.
‘A thirty-five-year-old woman, a mother, deceased at least a week and no one has missed her? I don’t buy that, Lottie, and I don’t think you should either.’
‘But you said she died of natural causes.’
‘Her heart stopped beating, that’s the only natural thing about it. She was malnourished. No food in her system. No drugs. No clothes. No hair. Washed in bleach. Evidence of plastic sacks in the vicinity of the body. No shoes either. No indication that she walked to that location and lay down to die. Who brought her there? That’s one of the questions you need to be asking.’
‘And who was she?’
Jane stood at the door.
‘You need to find out, Lottie. Before someone else ends up dead or missing from Ragmullin.’
* * *
While she was still assessing what Jane had told her, her phone rang. Unidentified mobile number. She answered. It was McMahon.
‘Sir?’
‘Keep me up to date on all your investigations. You can get me on this number.’
‘I will.’ Not, she added silently.
‘Might be no harm having a chat with the O’Donnell family. I’ve heard that Cynthia Rhodes is doing a feature on them. She’s already spoken to them, if I’m correct. Bring yourself up to speed.’
‘But sir, I’ve too much—’
‘Do it, Parker.’
‘And fuck you too,’ she said, when she was sure the call was disconnected.
She had enough reason to speak with the O’Donnells without trying to find out what the journalist was up to.
She flicked through the old file for the phone number.
‘Boyd! Get your coat on.’
Seventy
After the detectives had left, Carol felt even worse. The nausea continued unabated, and she called her manager and went home.
She switched on her electric blanket and curled into bed, glad that her mother and father were in town doing the weekly grocery shopping. Wrapping her arms around her stomach, she tried to suppress her queasiness. How long would this last? Three months? Longer? She couldn’t handle much more.
She’d have to tell him. Soon. Before it was too late. She missed having Lizzie to talk to. If she was here, she would know what to do. That thought offered her no comfort. Her friend was dead. A quiver of fear tensed her muscles. She hadn’t told the guards that she also knew Mollie Hunter. Not a friend really, but Mollie had happened to be there that night. The night he had … Anyway, Mollie had helped and now she was missing.
Was this all because of her? Surely it couldn’t be.
But as she lay miserably in her bed, Carol couldn’t help feeling that it had everything to do with her.
* * *
Wind battered the walls of wherever she was being kept. Grace tried to take short, even breaths, but they came out as strangled gasps. Her eyes were gummy and a rash irritated her skin. It felt like someone had pulled a heavy sack over her head and abandoned her.
Trying to drag herself upright was impossible. She lay there, dampness seeping into her pores, ropes cutting into her flesh and her heart thumping in her ears.
It was useless to fight it. Her situation was hopeless. Mark thought she was in Galway and her mother thought she was with Mark. She was at the mercy of the man who’d brought her here.
A wave of nausea crept up her throat and she struggled not to vomit. She knew that if she did, she would choke to death.
Seventy-One