The Lost Child (Detective Lottie Parker #3)(18)

‘The letters I found under the bed. Do you have copies of them?’

‘In the incident room. Be back in a minute.’ Boyd rushed out of the office and Lottie took a deep breath.

She didn’t like arguing with him, but did he not realise how hurtful he’d been? Glancing at the time, she realised that home and bed were a distant prospect. She needed a pill. Something to calm her brain; stop her hands from shaking. She thought of her friend, Dr Annabelle O’Shea, whom she had fallen out with ten months ago. They’d met a couple of times since, in the street. Passed themselves, as her mother was apt to say. Maybe now was the time to rekindle the bond.

‘Here they are,’ Boyd said, jolting her out of her daydream.

Picking up the photocopies, Lottie flicked through them. She noticed they were not dated. And there were no envelopes.

‘They’re all unsigned.’

‘I spotted that.’

‘Who’d send a letter without signing it?’

‘Anonymous letters can be a warning or a complaint. Why don’t you read them and see what they’re about?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to do.’

‘I give up.’ Boyd turned and marched out of the office.

The pages in her hands were crushed. Lottie flattened them out and realised she’d crumpled them herself. She started to read the first one. It appeared to be a love letter. Short and sweet.

Boyd appeared back at the door. ‘Arthur Russell has arrived. Prepared to give a voluntary statement. You want to interview him?’

She put the letters into a folder and slipped it into her drawer.

‘Has he a solicitor with him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Shit.’



* * *



As usual, the air in the interview room was stifling. Arthur Russell had showered and dressed in clean clothes. Lottie could smell fabric softener and wondered if his landlady did his laundry for him as well as cooking.

‘Your mother-in-law, Tessa Ball, is dead,’ she said, after conducting the formalities.

He nodded, unsurprised. ‘So I’ve heard. Good riddance is all I can say. She was bad news from the first day I met Marian.’

Russell seemed comfortable in the intimidating room. Must be his solicitor’s presence, Lottie thought.

‘You didn’t much care for your mother-in-law?’

‘Hated her. Doesn’t mean I killed her.’

She glanced over at Boyd. He shrugged. She focused her attention back on Russell.

‘Can you account for your whereabouts last night? Six thirty p.m. until eleven.’

‘Told you this morning, when you interrupted my music.’

‘For the tape, please tell us again.’

‘I didn’t kill the old biddy.’

‘No one said you did. We’re just gathering evidence.’

‘What evidence? I told you, I did nothing.’

Russell rubbed his head with one hand and tugged his beard with the other. Worry lines deepened around his eyes. The reality of his situation was sinking in, Lottie thought. Good.

‘Your wife—’ she began.

‘Back up there a minute,’ Russell said, raising a hand. ‘What evidence?’

He thumped the table and jumped up, crashing his chair back against the wall. His solicitor put a hand on his arm. Russell shrugged it off. Lottie tapped her index finger on the table until he sighed and sat back down, glaring like a cornered bull.

She said, ‘Your wife is in hospital. Know anything about that?’

Russell slammed his fist on the table again. ‘No, I don’t. What’s wrong with her? Grief?’

‘Mr Russell, please.’

‘Maybe she killed the old woman.’ He leaned back and folded his arms over his chest, a smug smile spreading across his face.

‘Do you own a baseball bat, Mr Russell?’ Lottie asked quickly. She was truly fed up with his antics.

His eyes darted around the room. The solicitor nodded his white head for him to answer.

‘Yeah. I do.’ Uncertainty flickered in his eyes. ‘Not a crime, is it?’

‘Not when it’s used for a sport, no. Though there’s not much scope for playing baseball in Ragmullin, is there?’

‘I bought it for Emma. About five years ago, when I was on a trip to the States. It’s been in the shed at home… her home, ever since. I haven’t touched it in years. Doubt she has either.’

‘Interesting.’ Lottie wondered if Emma could have wielded the bat at her grandmother’s head. She doubted the slight girl had the strength needed to cause such a serious injury, but she’d check with Jane.

Russell’s eyes were full of suspicion. ‘Why am I here? I never laid a finger on Tessa.’

‘What about your wife? You ever lay a finger on her?’

Sucking on his bottom lip, bristles catching between his teeth, Russell was silent.

‘Mr Russell? Are you refusing to answer?’

‘She barred me from the house. Got a restraining order. Is that why you’re asking me if I hit her?’

‘Did you appeal it?’

‘I sure did. That woman’s mental. Doing drugs and stuff. If you want to know the truth, it was her started out beating me. But no one believed me.’