The Lost Child (Detective Lottie Parker #3)(43)

‘I won’t say another word without my solicitor.’

‘Thank you, Mr Russell.’

‘Can I go now?’

‘I’m sorry. We’ll call your solicitor, and now that we have this new evidence, you will be arrested in connection with the murder of Tessa Ball. So unless you start telling us something useful, you’ll be here for a while.’

Arthur eyed the two detectives as they switched off the recording device. Sealing the discs and whatever else they had to do. He drained his tea. Ran his finger around the bottom of the cup and licked off the remaining sugar.

As he was being led from the interview room to await his solicitor, he glanced at the plastic evidence bag containing the jacket. Arthur Russell knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight. And it had nothing at all to do with the sugar in his tea.





Thirty-Seven





Annabelle O’Shea took a deep breath and shook off the feeling of foreboding as she opened the front door. Her hand throbbed and her legs were so sore she felt like she’d walked miles.

She poked her head around the sitting room door. Her seventeen-year-old twins, Pearse and Bronagh, were watching a US basketball game on the television. Not a sign of a school book. Two bags of popcorn lay open on the coffee table. She hoped they tidied them up before Cian came downstairs.

‘Hi, Mom,’ Bronagh said, waving her hand in the air without turning round.

‘You’re home late,’ Pearse said, standing up.

Annabelle hugged her son and he began tidying up the coffee table. She mussed up her daughter’s long hair. ‘Why don’t you both go to your rooms and make a start on homework?’

The twins gathered up their school bags, switched off the television and disappeared up the stairs. She made her way to the kitchen.

It was sparkling clean. Cian had gone into overdrive. She sighed. He did that after each outburst. All contrite. Thinking he could make things better by cleaning the house. The scent of citrus clung to everything, making her eyes water.

For a moment she wished he was dead. No, she shouldn’t be thinking that. She thought of Lottie Parker, struggling through widowhood, trying to raise three teenagers and a grandchild and deal with a battleaxe mother who only helped out when the mood took her. I’m the lucky one, Annabelle told herself.

Dropping her handbag and the plastic bag of groceries she’d carried from the car onto the table, she pulled out a chair and sat down. Waiting for Cian to come down the stairs demanding his dinner. His domesticity hadn’t extended to cooking. She felt like ordering a takeaway. Chinese. Maybe Indian. That would be nice. If Cian was penitent enough after yesterday, he might agree. But his outbursts were becoming more frequent and his remorse less genuine. Since he’d found out about her affair with Tom Rickard, he had morphed into something that appeared more animal than human. Had his anger and violence always been simmering beneath the surface? Had she been too caught up in her own world to notice?

He appeared in the doorway. No smile. Hands clenching and unclenching. She braced herself for the onslaught, praying it would only be verbal. He wouldn’t dare touch her with the children in the house.

‘You’re late.’ His voice a whispered snarl.

‘The surgery was busy today. This rain has everyone sniffling with colds. Not that I can give them anything for a cold. Doesn’t stop them appearing at my door, though.’ She held his gaze. Dark unwavering eyes stared back at her. She knew she was babbling on. ‘Did you have a productive day?’ she added.

‘What do you think?’ He shut the door behind him.

Annabelle closed her eyes, tiredness seeping through her bones, pain throbbing in her burned hand.

‘Look at me,’ he said.

She felt his fingers jerk her chin upwards, and her eyes flew open.

‘Cian. Stop. You’re hurting me.’ She tried to unlock his hand from her face. He squeezed harder. ‘You’ll leave bruises,’ she muttered through pursed lips.

‘I want you to relate your day to me. Minute by minute. Leave nothing out. I’ll know if you’re lying.’

Ever since he’d found out about her affair, he’d kept tabs on her like she was a felon and he a detective. With little choice, she related her day’s activity. Leaving out Lottie’s visit. No need for Cian to know about that.

The slap across the back of her head caught her unawares.

‘Liar,’ he said, his lips close to her ear.

‘I’m telling the truth. I’ll get my diary up on my laptop. You can check.’

‘I know your diary. It’s linked to mine.’

Annabelle tried to breathe normally. He was too close. She should have known a computer geek like her husband would have access to all her data. But Lottie hadn’t been registered in her diary. She’d just shown up. There was no way Cian could have known about her.

She said, ‘So then you know who was in and out all day.’

‘Lottie Parker. Why didn’t you mention her?’

He released her chin.

Annabelle stilled her hand from reaching to soothe her aching flesh. ‘I need to put dinner on, unless you’d like a takeaway?’

‘Don’t attempt to change the subject. I asked you a question.’

How could he know about Lottie? Had he been following her?