Rose Fitzpatrick looked healthier than she had in months. Hair washed and standing to attention. Clothes sharply ironed. A mask of yellow still lingered on her skin and her eyes held that sorrowful, dry look you often saw in people who had grieved so long they’d no tears left to shed. Still, it was as if last night’s fire had acted as a catalyst for Rose, causing her to take on the role of Lazarus and rise from the dead.
In that instant, Lottie realised how much she wanted her mother to take control of things. Not that she was going to let it get out of hand. But for now, she was glad of it. Maybe some day soon they might be able to deal with the complexities of their past.
‘Chloe and Sean? Are they okay?’ she asked.
‘Still asleep, poor pets. Awful thing to happen to anyone.’
‘Thanks,’ Lottie said.
‘For what?’
‘Taking us in.’
‘Don’t be acting the lady now, Lottie Parker. Taking you in? Isn’t that what a mother is for? Looking after her family.’
Somewhere in that statement there was a slight on Lottie’s ability to care for her own family, but she let it pass. Slurped the coffee, trying to kick-start her brain.
‘I need to go down to the house. Get some clothes.’ She sensed her mother’s stare. ‘What?’
‘There’s nothing left. You know that.’
‘I didn’t …’ She quickly swallowed a mouthful of coffee, to mask the sob gaining traction in her throat.
‘You need to think, Lottie, long and hard. You and my grandchildren are welcome to stay here. I know you won’t want to do that for very long, but in the meantime, can we at least be civil to each other? Do you think you can manage that?’
Lottie held her tongue. It wasn’t her that was always throwing out snide remarks. Or was it?
‘Okay. Thank you.’
Rose nodded and left the room, closing the door with a soft thud.
‘What am I going to do?’ Lottie cried at the four walls.
She needed air. Shit, she needed clothes.
And then her phone beeped with a message.
Eighty-Eight
Last night, once he’d got over his panic attack, Boyd had scoured the town. Grace was nowhere to be found. He’d rounded up Kirby, Lynch and Gilly to start phoning. Store Street garda station, Garda HQ. The rail company. Anyone and everyone. Someone must know where she was.
It was fruitless. He knew that. Look at Mollie Hunter. No sighting of her since Wednesday. And Grace had been on that train with her. So where was she?
When he’d heard about the fire at Lottie’s house, he’d rushed there to see what he could do to help, and had made sure she and the children were safely ensconced at her mother’s. Now SOCOs were sifting through the embers for clues to what had happened. Had Lottie and her family become the target of whoever had murdered Bridie McWard and her child? The only variable in that synopsis was that Paddy McWard had been detained in a cell all night.
Boyd paced the incident room. He needed to get into his car and do something. Go somewhere. But where?
Right now, he could do with some of Lottie’s gut instinct.
Right now, he could do with Lottie by his side, full stop.
Eighty-Nine
Standing at the corner by the caretaker’s office, Lottie looked down the hill at the small gathering. Father Joe was sprinkling holy water from a narrow hand-held brass bucket. She wanted to walk away from this intimate activity, from the tranquillity of the morning after the mayhem of the last twelve hours, but she’d been drawn here and now she couldn’t move her feet.
She shuffled her hands up the sleeves of her mother’s coat for warmth and bit her lip as the mourners passed by, arms linked, heads bowed. She felt awkward in Rose’s boots, trousers and shirt. All too big, hanging off her body, but beggars can’t be choosers, Rose had said. Gilly had come over with stuff she thought might fit Chloe and said she’d bring her to town later to buy clothes for Sean. A squad car with two officers was parked outside Rose’s house with orders to keep watch.
Father Joe stopped when he saw her. His face wore a tormented expression, like the look you’d see imprinted on the faces of people who’d suffered tragedy in their lives. That look. Lottie knew exactly what Father Joe Burke had suffered. The loss of a mother he never knew. A mother whom he’d been taken from against her will. And then her murder. Too much suffering for one man.
‘Hello again,’ she said.
He smiled, and she noticed that single act could still light up his face, though now it was full of sadness. The blonde hair that used to fall into his once-mischievous blue eyes was gone, replaced by a tightly shorn head. Was it a form of self-flagellation? Was he divesting himself of who he thought he was? She knew that feeling well.
He moved into her space, placed a hand lightly on her elbow, and she bit harder into her lip.
‘You got my text,’ he stated. ‘Are you okay? The children?’
She shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’
‘You need to talk to someone, Lottie. Will you come up to the house for a chat?’
‘I’ve things to sort,’ she said, feeling foolish for having come.
‘Let’s walk then.’
She felt his arm link hers and allowed herself to be led.
Halfway down the hill, she felt dizzy and they sat on a steel bench.
‘It’s all a bit mad,’ she said, watching Bernard Fahy filling in Mrs Green’s grave.
‘Isn’t it always?’
She laughed sadly. ‘You’ll be having a few more funerals in the coming days. I was with Queenie McWard just before she died.’
‘Very sad.’
The sun glinted off the copper roof of the old nursing home nestled behind the new building. ‘Do you ever visit the residents in the home?’
‘Sometimes. But I only came back just before Christmas.’
‘Thought you were gone for good.’
‘I had a change of heart. This is where I belong.’
‘I thought I did too. Belonged. Now I’m not so sure.’
‘You’re in shock, Lottie. It was an awful thing to happen.’
‘The fire?’
‘Yes. Are there other things?’
‘Plenty. I think I’ll be suspended from my job. One daughter hates me; the other’s flown to New York to stay with her son’s grandfather for a while. Sean is Sean, and my mother … That’s a story for another day.’
‘What about Boyd?’
‘What about him?’ And as she said the words, Lottie felt a longing in her heart. She wanted to speak with him. Knowing Boyd, he was giving her space. ‘I like Boyd.’
‘I think you need a comforting arm around you. And not just a priestly one.’
‘You are so good, Joe. I’m sorry for all the things that happened to you.’
‘Not your fault. I’m working my way through the pain.’
‘So am I. But now I might have no job.’ She found herself explaining to him how her investigations had led to her being in danger of suspension.
‘I’ve been following the news. Do you think the current cases are linked to Lynn O’Donnell?’
‘I’m beginning to think so.’
‘I was thinking that maybe Mollie Hunter is being held where Lynn was held for ten years,’ he said.
‘It’s possible. But we have no clue where that might be.’
‘Go back to when it all started. Today, ten years ago.’
Lottie shivered as a bird flapped its wings above her head to the sound of a train slowing down on the tracks as it headed for the station. ‘You always were good at detective work.’
He smiled.
The train blasted its horn and disappeared from view.
Ninety
After she left Father Joe at the cemetery, Lottie went into town and grabbed a coffee, then walked slowly up Main Street, ignoring the shop windows full of red hearts. She found herself at the train station without really knowing that was where she’d been headed.
She doubted Jimmy Maguire would be around on Sunday morning, and it was half an hour since she’d heard the Sligo train. But as she stood in the portico, just outside the ticket office, she saw his capped head approaching.
‘The lovely Detective Inspector Parker.’
‘I wanted to have a word with you.’
He directed her towards the ticket office. ‘There’s a vending machine inside if you’d like a hot drink.’
‘No thanks. I’ve just had a coffee.’
She sat on the wooden bench outside the door and felt the cold wind whistle around her ears. She nestled her chin into the wool of her mother’s coat as he joined her.