The Lost Child (Detective Lottie Parker #3)(110)

‘She’ll be happy to hear that, sir,’ Boyd said, but his mind was curdling with the thought of how Lottie would to react to the contents of the folder on his desk.





Ninety-Nine





It was evening before Boyd was allowed into the ICU to visit Lottie. Rose had taken the children home. He stood in the doorway, clutching the folder, studying the various machines with their staggered lines and blipping numbers. Not that long ago, he himself had lain in such a state after he too had been stabbed. Pulling up a chair, he sat by her bedside and watched her slowly breathe.

‘You were lucky,’ he said. ‘Though you won’t be able to throw a shot putt for a while.’

Her eyelids flickered and opened slightly.

‘Welcome back,’ he said.

He thought he caught her smile from behind the multitude of tubes.

He kept talking. ‘I’ve read Paddy Moroney’s file.’ Was that a twitch of an eyebrow? Here he was, imagining things. ‘It’s comprehensive. You need to read it when you get better. I’m telling you this now because you’re going to have to be brave. And those kids of yours are pretty shocked, so you need to hurry up and get your strength back.’

A high-pitched beep screeched from one of the monitors, emptying the room of its easy silence.

‘What the hell?’

A nurse ran in. ‘It’s okay. Nothing to worry about. Mrs Parker needs rest. She’s endured a terrible ordeal. Why don’t you come back tomorrow?’

‘I will,’ Boyd said. ‘Are you certain that’s nothing to be concerned about?’ He pointed to the machine as the nurse successfully muted it.

‘She’ll be fine. She’s in very good hands here.’

He felt like he was back in school, being scolded by a teacher for doing something naughty, something someone else had done.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Lottie.’ He squeezed her hand, and for a fraction of a second he felt her squeeze back.





One Hundred





Alexis smiled up at the NYPD’s newly appointed captain. At last he was getting the recognition he deserved. The chief of police and the New York City mayor stood by his side. This was the most rewarding moment of her life. She was so proud of him. As proud as a mother should be.

He came towards her, the mayor by his side.

‘Mr Mayor, I’m pleased to meet you,’ Alexis said, shaking his outstretched hand.

‘Likewise, Ms Belfield. You are a very influential woman, doing great things for the city, I hear. I know your son will do the same.’

‘I’m sure he will, Mr Mayor.’

As the crowds began to leave the ceremony, Alexis linked her arm through Captain Leo Belfield’s. Her son. Carrie’s son.

She had chosen him over the girl, Bernie. When he was only a toddler, she knew she could make him great. Not once had she felt remorse for taking her half-sister’s son. Not once had she felt remorse for leaving his twin sister behind. Not once had she felt remorse for making sure Carrie would die behind cold, mad walls. Not once had she felt remorse for forcing her mother and father to forfeit their land so that she could escape with Leo. Not once had she felt remorse for compelling Tessa to ensure Sergeant Fitzpatrick kept his mouth shut. And not once had she felt remorse for contracting that computer guy from Ragmullin to recover any files that might lead to the investigation being reopened.

Not once.

She had done her family a service. And now Bernie, the twin she had abandoned to the asylum with her mother, had unwittingly removed the players who could potentially make trouble for her and her son. The fact that Bernie had been involved with a drugs gang had complicated matters beautifully for the Irish police.

Not quite all the players were gone, though. She winced at the thought. There was still one of Carrie’s offspring out there, besides Leo, of course, and Alexis knew she might still have more work to do to ensure that that one remained in ignorance. For now she was content that nothing could be traced back to her, no matter what stories O’Shea might tell. She was head of a computer company, after all. She knew how to eliminate all traces.

She heaved a sigh of relief. Dug her fingers into the thread of her son’s uniform sleeve. Gazing up at his new captain’s shield, she made a silent vow.

No one would ever take that away from him.

No one would ever take him away from her.

Absolutely no one.





The Nineties





The Child





Today I’m getting out of here. You’d think I’d feel elated, wouldn’t you? But if I was to tell you the truth, I feel kind of sad. That’s mad. Ha! Funny ha ha.

She died in here. My mother. Carrie. I don’t know when. But I’ve seen her grave, marked with a simple rusting iron cross, among the multitude of similar crosses in the asylum cemetery. It’s the fifth one in, near the wall. Johnny-Joe’s is fifteen plots ahead of her. She died some years before him, then. There are no dates on the crosses, just numbers. King, 1551. It would have been a nice symmetry if the number had been 666. But I don’t care about that any more.

I fold my meagre clothes into a cotton holdall and walk out of the ward with its shitty piss smell and its screaming occupants. In an absurd kind of way, I’m going to miss them all.