The Lost Child (Detective Lottie Parker #3)(108)

‘Mum?’ Natasha’s voice echoed from the top of the stairs. She flicked a switch to her left and the cellar filled with light.

The girl took one careful step forward. Another step.

‘I think we’re done here,’ she said.

A third step.

Four more to go, Lottie thought. Enough time to grab the can from behind her back and aim?

‘What are you talking about?’ Bernie said.

A fourth step.

‘I’m tired, Mum. Enough.’

A fifth step.

‘Go back, Natasha. You don’t need to see this.’ Bernie turned towards her daughter.

A sixth step.

‘You’re right. I don’t want to see anything you do any more.’

Bottom step. Lottie’s hand tightened on the can. Rising to her knees, she flung it with full force at Bernie. Too low. Caught her on the leg.

‘You bitch,’ Bernie yelled, springing forward, the knife tight in her hand.

Lottie held on to the hose, and as Bernie reached her, she whipped it across the woman’s ankles, trying to topple her. No effect. With a shriek, Bernie lunged, thrusting the knife downwards. Lottie ducked, threw her body sideways. Too late.

A scream pierced the damp air. Had it come from her own throat? She wasn’t sure, but the pain searing through her upper back caused her heart to palpitate in rapid uncontrollable beats. Blood rushed from her brain; gushed from her body. She heard her heartbeat slowing. Stars twinkled in the dark. Red, white… No, not yet, she thought. I have to see my children. I have to tell them I love them. I love them… love…

Falling prostrate on the stone floor, she glimpsed Natasha jumping on Bernie’s shoulders. She had picked up the can that Lottie had thrown, and now she brought it down on the back of her mother’s head.

The cellar was filled with screams.

Sirens in the distance.

Car doors slamming. Footsteps running. Shouts.

Boyd?

I’m dying, she thought. You’re all too late. Too late, Boyd…

The world dimmed and went dark.





Ninety-Seven





Boyd crashed through the door and flew down the stairs with Kirby and Lynch behind him. He made straight for Lottie, with just a sideways glance at Natasha Kelly sitting on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, her mother lying at her feet.

‘Lottie?’ he whispered, turning her over on her side. He lowered his ear to her mouth. A faint breath. ‘Thank God.’

Tearing off his shirt, he used it to stem the flow of blood. Then he held her in his arms and waited for the paramedics to arrive. He watched Lynch handcuff Natasha and Kirby check Bernie for a pulse. The woman’s eyes snapped open. Kirby jumped back for an instant before he dragged her hands behind her back and handcuffed her.

‘She’s under the stairs,’ Natasha cried. ‘I think she’s still alive.’

‘Shut your mouth,’ Bernie groaned.

‘Who?’ Kirby asked.

‘Kitty,’ Natasha said. ‘Mum told me to shove her in there and lock the door. She stuffed seeds into her mouth. She wanted her to suffocate.’

Kirby started up the narrow staircase, but stood aside to allow two paramedics to descend.

‘They’re here now,’ Boyd whispered in Lottie’s ear. ‘You’re going to be fine.’ He thought he heard her murmur as he reluctantly allowed the paramedics to take over. He looked on helplessly as one of them applied an oxygen mask and another checked Lottie’s vital signs.

‘Is she going to be okay?’ he asked, rubbing his hands vigorously together, oblivious to Lottie’s blood staining them.

‘Appears to be substantial blood loss,’ one said. ‘Heart rate is slow. BP too low. We need to get her out of here now.’

‘What are you waiting for?’ Boyd shouted. Lottie couldn’t die. He needed her. Her kids needed her. He ran to help with a gurney.

Within a few minutes they had Lottie strapped on, a drip inserted and a monitor attached. Then they were gone.

Boyd looked around, biting his lip, trying to still his racing heart. Let her survive.

He helped Lynch bring the two women up the steps.

‘I need a doctor,’ Bernie said.

‘You need a fucking shrink,’ Boyd said.

Kirby met them at the top of the stairs. ‘I’ve called another ambulance. Kitty Belfield is barely alive. I don’t think she’s going to make it.’

‘May she rot in hell,’ Bernie spat.

‘I think she will have plenty of company,’ Boyd said, and shoved her through the door.





Ninety-Eight





Superintendent Corrigan was pacing the incident room when Boyd returned.

‘Any news?’ he asked.

‘She’s in surgery. Doctors will know more in a few hours. I dropped her mother and her kids at the hospital. They’re very upset.’

‘Understandable. This is a right feckin’ mess,’ Corrigan said. ‘Glad you got there in time.’

‘Just about,’ Boyd said.

‘Why don’t you go home and pick up a shirt?’

Boyd looked down at himself. ‘I think I’ve one in my locker.’

‘Did you find anything at Farranstown house?’