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

‘If she didn’t go inside, then one of ours spilled his guts,’ Boyd said.

‘No need to be so explicit. I can see it.’ Lottie went to run her fingers through her hair but the gloves snagged. ‘Where’s the daughter now?’

‘Emma? With a neighbour.’

‘Poor girl. Having to see this.’

‘But she didn’t see—’

‘The report says she looked through the back door window, Boyd. Saw enough to never have a decent night’s sleep for the rest of her life.’

‘How do you sleep? I mean, with all you witness in the job. I know I pound it out on my bike, but how do you cope?’

‘Now’s not the time for this conversation.’ Lottie didn’t like Boyd’s probing questions. He knew enough about her already.

Stepping into the kitchen, she realised they were compromising a scene already contaminated by the first responders. ‘Are the scene-of-crime officers on the way?’

‘Five minutes or so,’ Boyd said.

‘While we’re waiting, let’s try and figure out what happened here.’

‘The husband broke in—’

‘Jesus, Boyd! Will you stop? We don’t know it was the husband.’

‘Of course it’s him.’

‘Okay, for a second, say I agree. The big question is why. What drove him to it? He’s been barred from the family home for twelve months and now he goes mad. Why tonight?’ Lottie sucked on her lip, thinking. Something wasn’t right with the scene before her. But she couldn’t put her finger on it. Not yet, anyway. ‘Has Arthur Russell been located?’

‘No sign of him. Checkpoints are in place. Traffic units have the car registration. Our records show he’s banned from driving, but the car isn’t here so we can assume he took it. We’ll find him,’ Boyd said.

‘If your hypothesis is correct, then who owns the car in the drive?’

‘Registration is being checked as we speak.’

Hearing a commotion behind her, Lottie turned. Jim McGlynn, SOCO team leader, was beside her in two strides, his large forensic case weighing him down on one side.

‘Are you two retiring any time soon?’ he asked.

Lottie squeezed against the wall, allowing him to pass. ‘No, why?’

‘Death seems to follow you around. Stay outside until I say you can come in.’

Gritting her teeth, Lottie forced the words she wanted to say to stay in her mouth, and waited as McGlynn’s team laid down foot-sized steel pallets so they wouldn’t add anything else to the crime scene. She eyed Boyd rubbing his hand down his mouth and along his jaw. Burning to say something. Putting her finger to her lips, she shushed him.

‘Who does he think he is?’ Boyd whispered in her ear.

‘Our best friend at the moment,’ Lottie said.

They stood in silence and watched the forensic team work the scene for evidence. After twenty-five minutes, Jane Dore, the state pathologist, arrived, and McGlynn eventually turned the body over.

It was then that Lottie realised what was wrong. The body could not be that of Marian Russell. It was a much older woman.

‘Who the hell is that?’ Boyd asked.





Three





‘Blunt-force trauma to the back of the skull.’ Jane Dore tore off her forensic suit and stuffed it into the paper bag held out for her by her assistant. At five foot nothing, the state pathologist made up in expertise what she lacked in height. ‘Find the weapon and I can match it to the wound.’

‘Any idea what the weapon might be?’ Lottie asked.

‘Something hard and rounded.’

‘Anything else you can tell us?’ Lottie tried not to plead. ‘We still have to identify her.’

‘Well, I’ve no idea who the victim is. I’ll schedule the post-mortem for eight in the morning. Maybe the body can tell us something. Come along and see for yourself.’

‘I will. Thanks.’ Lottie watched the pathologist walk out into the rain, her driver holding a wide umbrella over her head.

‘There’s a ladies’ raincoat hanging on the stair post. It’s damp,’ she said to Boyd as he stood outside the front door. He lit two cigarettes and handed her one.

‘So?’ he said.

She took a drag. She didn’t smoke. Not really. Only when Boyd gave her one. A double vodka would go down nicely, she thought. She had tried to give up alcohol, numerous times, but in the last few months she’d found herself slipping back into old habits. She took a double pull on the cigarette and coughed out the smoke.

‘Whoever she is, she called to visit and maybe disturbed a burglar. That must be her coat in there,’ Lottie said.

‘Brute of a night for social calls,’ Boyd said.

‘There’s no handbag. Nothing to tell us who she is.’

‘Someone will know her.’

‘Where’s Marian Russell? According to her daughter’s report, she was here when Emma left to go to her friend’s house.’

‘Where does the friend live?’

‘Next house down.’

‘That’s about a mile away,’ Boyd said.

‘More like five hundred metres,’ Lottie corrected him.