The Lost Child (Detective Lottie Parker #3)(41)

‘I found these at the house when I went to pick up clothes for Emma.’

Boyd came and perched on the edge of her desk. He picked up the receipt. ‘Danny’s Bar. The evening of the attack at the Russell house. Two pints of Heineken. 19.04 p.m. Verified by PIN. Visa debit. That’s where Arthur Russell works.’

‘The bar manager might be able to check their records to see if it was him.’

‘It’s a long shot, but we can try. Arthur might’ve had a drink before heading home.’

‘If it was him, then the coat places him at the scene of the crime. Check with the bank too to see if the transaction is his.’

Boyd glanced at the rolled-up notes. ‘And this money. Tell me.’

‘Bundled up in a trainer at the bottom of Emma’s wardrobe.’ Lottie pulled on the requisite latex gloves and took the bobbin from the notes. She flattened them on a plastic folder and counted. ‘Nine hundred and fifty euros.’

‘Running-away fund?’

‘Well, if she has run away, she’s gone without her fund. Drug money?’

‘If she’s mixed up with Lorcan Brady, it’s a possibility.’

‘He has a record?’

‘Yup.’ Boyd went back to his desk and brought up the PULSE database. ‘Caught in possession. Not enough to say it was for supply. Suspended sentence. Last March.’

‘Any known associates?’

‘No. He pleaded guilty to possession. Nothing before or since. Keeping his nose clean.’

‘Not clean enough. Did we find out who the registered owner of the car at Brady’s house is, seeing as it was his car at the burned-out cottage?’

‘Kirby got the details.’

‘Where is he, by the way?’ Lottie went to investigate Kirby’s desk. She picked up a computer printout. ‘Registered to Lorcan Brady. So, the lad has two cars in his name. Must be making more than what he gets on welfare.’

‘Fingers in too many pies, I’d say,’ Boyd said.

‘No fingers to put anywhere now,’ Lottie said. ‘Jane said the body at the cottage was stabbed to death. Didn’t die from the fire. Adds another dimension.’

‘Has to be drugs-related.’

‘Seems like it. But murdering someone for a small shed of cannabis? I don’t think so.’

‘The drugs unit lads will be down here so,’ Boyd said.

‘Corrigan will be a mile up our arses.’

‘And theirs.’

‘I need to think about all this. Incident team meeting first thing in the morning. We have to find out exactly what this ungodly mess is all about.’ She stood up and got her jacket. ‘I’m going home.’

‘I’ll do further searches. See what I can find out.’

‘Check with the drugs unit. Lorcan Brady might be on their radar.’

‘And Arthur Russell? Will I bring him in for questioning again?’

‘Yes. The coat and the receipt are new evidence. See what he has to say for himself.’

‘I’ll get Kirby to sit in with me. Enjoy the rest of your evening,’ Boyd said, without looking up.

She didn’t answer, just left him there with the murmur of the radiators cooling down for the night.





Thirty-Five





It was dark and the church bells were chiming seven when Lottie stepped outside. Almost blown away, she gripped the railing to steady herself before heading round to the yard for her car.

‘There you are.’

Lottie groaned. ‘You again.’

Cathal Moroney fell into step beside her, trying to keep hold of a massive golf umbrella.

‘Off the record,’ he yelled against the wind. ‘Please.’

‘You can say please, thank you, kiss my arse all you like, but I’m not making any statement on anything.’ She clamped her mouth shut and searched her bag for her keys.

‘It’s drugs-related, isn’t it?’

‘No comment.’

‘I heard Lorcan Brady is involved.’

‘Where did you hear that?’ Shit.

‘I knew it!’ he said triumphantly as a gust of wind took hold of his umbrella.

Lottie turned and stuck a finger in his chest. ‘You know nothing until you get an official comment. Got it?’

‘I want to speak to you about it. You see, I’m doing my own investigation into drugs in rural towns and I think—’

‘You can stop right there, Moroney.’ At last her fingers closed on the keys in the bottom of her bag. She held them aloft and pointed to the gate with them. ‘This is private property, and if you don’t want me to arrest you, I’d advise you to leave. Right now.’

‘You’re making a big mistake, Inspector.’ Moroney grabbed his umbrella with both hands. ‘When you realise that, come talk to me. I have a lot of information you might be interested in. Historical stuff. Think about it.’

Lottie bent down to open her car. Maybe she should talk to the journalist. See what he had. If anything. But when she turned around, he was running out the gate after his umbrella.

Not meant to be, she thought. But as she drove home, the car swaying through the deserted streets, she wondered if she’d been foolish not to listen to him. As her mother was used to saying, ‘Time will tell.’