Back then, five adults had lived in this small house. Three men and two women. What had it been like? Cramped and full of hormones. Had they sat around this very table to eat meals as a close, happy family? Or was the tension she felt now even worse back then. Strings pulled so taut that eventually one snapped?
Donal said, ‘My daughter could have had any man in the world. Lads were knocking down my front door wanting to bring her out. But no. Lynn was a career woman. She wanted to work her way up the ladder, to the very top. And she wasn’t going to be held back by some snot-nosed Ragmullin tosser.’
‘Someone from Dublin, maybe? A lad at her office?’
‘My girl’s life was dissected by you lot. The only thing left unknown by the end of the investigation was her whereabouts.’
Lottie gazed over Donal’s shoulder at his two sons. They were standing on opposite sides of the table, glaring.
‘And neither of you ever saw Elizabeth Byrne or Mollie Hunter out running?’
‘Can’t remember everyone we see,’ Cillian said.
‘Is that a no?’
‘It’s all you’re getting. I’ll see you out, Inspector.’
Seventy-Two
Back at the office, Lottie threw her jacket on the back of a chair. ‘I can’t figure out whether those three men are just losers in need of sympathy or they’re hiding something.’
Kirby raised his head. ‘What three men?’
‘The two O’Donnell brothers and their father.’
‘The family of the girl that’s been missing for years?’
‘Ten.’
‘Right.’ Kirby stood and licked his fingers before attempting to calm the bush that was his hair.
‘What’s up?’ Lottie folded her arms, thinking she could do with a ten-minute nap. The chances of that were zero.
‘I’ve a bad feeling about Paddy McWard.’
‘We’re not in the business of feelings, Kirby. Facts and evidence.’
‘You go by your gut, don’t you?’
She couldn’t argue with that. ‘Go on.’
‘We, Lynch and I, had been carrying out surveillance on the travelling community for the last few weeks.’ He hesitated.
‘Jesus, Kirby, spit it out.’ She hauled herself out of the chair and headed for her office, beckoning him to follow and shut the door. ‘What’s bothering you?’
‘I’ve gone back over our notes. I know we did most of our work in the housing estates, but we also covered the traveller site. He hasn’t been around any night. I don’t know where he goes. But my informant tells me no one else has a clue either.’
‘Someone knows.’
‘I get that. But he has a wife and young child …’
‘Had a wife and child.’ Lottie felt a shiver rattling her spine. ‘Do you think he killed them?’
‘No. Well I’m not sure, but I’m wondering if he was involved in something that went haywire, or he double-crossed someone and this was a revenge attack. A warning to him.’
‘Some bloody warning.’ She mulled it over. ‘Bring him in for questioning. He may or may not have killed his family, but he’s guilty of something or other.’
Kirby opened the door before closing it again. ‘Lynch is gone home again. Not feeling well. She said to tell you.’
‘That’s fine. Let me know when McWard is here. And I’m still waiting for someone to locate Matt Mullin!’
‘His photo is on social media and we’ve put out an alert for him.’ Kirby scooted out the door.
Once she was alone, Lottie tried to get a handle on McWard. Checking PULSE, she once again scrutinised the entries under his name. Disturbing the peace. A few petty misdemeanours. Then something caught her eye. Something she had missed when she’d checked yesterday. Surely it couldn’t mean anything. Then again …
She tugged the sleeves of her sweater and studied the screen. Maybe McWard had some questions to answer besides the obvious one of why his home had been burned to the ground and his family annihilated.
* * *
Boyd stopped her at the door.
‘I’ve been going through Elizabeth’s notebook.’
‘The one you took from her room?’
He nodded and pointed to a page. Lottie looked over his shoulder at the words written in multicoloured gel pens, surrounded with hearts and stars.
‘A bit childish for a twenty-five-year-old.’
‘The notebook was from years ago. When she was a lot younger. But … here, read it.’ He handed it over. ‘Look at the name.’ He sat back on the edge of his desk and folded his arms.
Scanning down the page, Lottie concluded it was a diary entry. ‘She must have been about fifteen when this was written. It’s just about school. And exams and stuff. I can’t see any name … Jesus, Boyd!’
‘Not Jesus, no.’
‘Bridie McWard. Was she in Elizabeth’s class in school? She told me she finished her Leaving Cert.’
‘So, was Elizabeth a friend or a foe?’
‘What’s up?’ Kirby asked.
‘I’ll read it out.’ Lottie squinted at the pink writing. ‘“Today Bridie McWard got an A for her history essay. I’m so pleased for her. Not.”’
‘Not what?’ Kirby asked, sticking an unlit cigar butt between his lips.
Lottie looked over the edge of the notebook at him and cocked her head to one side. ‘She either means she wasn’t pleased or she was going to write something else and never finished the sentence.’ She flipped over to the next page. It was full of colourful doodles. The following page had a poem. She read aloud, ‘“He is so near, yet so far, I cannot ever go there. It is taboo. I am forever lost to his undying love. And he can never be mine.”’
‘That’s a bit deep for a fifteen-year-old,’ Boyd said.
‘Unrequited love, or someone she fancied but was already taken?’
‘Could be anything, but it can’t possibly have anything to do with her murder. Can it?’
‘But there is a connection to Bridie McWard, who is also dead. Has Paddy arrived yet?’ she asked Kirby.
He lifted the phone. ‘I’ll check. And there’s still no sign of Matt Mullin or Mollie Hunter, boss.’
‘I’m going to have a quick look around Mollie’s flat,’ Lottie said. ‘When I come back, I want McWard in the interview room, waiting to be questioned. Boyd, you come with me.’
* * *
She’d got the key from Gilly, and now she stood in Mollie Hunter’s tiny kitchenette. Cereal had caked to a rock on the bottom of the breakfast bowl, and a spoon was similarly congealed.
‘Not much to see,’ Boyd shouted from the bedroom.
‘Why didn’t she share with someone?’ Lottie asked, even though she thought she’d only been thinking it. ‘I’m sure the rent around here is high.’
The building shook and a window rattled.
‘What the hell …?’
She pierced the wooden blind with her fingers. A train hissed along the tracks. She could see into the carriages as they sped by. It was possible the people on the train could see right back in at her.
Extracting her fingers, she let the wooden slats settle.
‘No diaries.’ Boyd’s voice echoed from the other room.
‘Young people nowadays don’t write in diaries. Everything is on their phones, Facebook and … That reminds me …’ She stood at the door and watched Boyd systematically going through the drawers of the dressing table.
‘Reminds you of what?’
‘Elizabeth and Mollie’s phones. Not a peep from them.’
‘Probably in the bottom of the canal.’ With gloved fingers, Boyd held up a plastic bag with a red thong inside. ‘What is this?’
Lottie shook her head and turned away. ‘Sometimes you disgust me, Boyd.’
‘No, I’m serious. I know it’s a thong. But it doesn’t match any other item of underwear in the drawer. Everything is practical and clean. This is not clean and it’s the only one. And it’s in a plastic bag! If she had underwear for special occasions, don’t you think she’d have more than one, even a matching set?’
Returning to the room, Lottie held out an evidence bag and Boyd dropped the bag with the thong into it.
‘Maybe it isn’t hers,’ she said.
‘If it isn’t hers, why is it here?’
‘We’ll ask her if we find her.’
‘When we find her.’
‘Okay, Mr Positivity. When we find her.’
Inside the front door, a line of hooks held jackets and coats. Lottie went through all the pockets and checked the soles of the shoes and boots.
‘Anything?’ Boyd asked, coming up behind her.