The Lost Child (Detective Lottie Parker #3)(60)

‘What? How?’ She ran, splashing through puddles, wind buffeting her against the gable end, and fell over the crouched figure of Boyd.

‘Ouch,’ she cried.

Lying on her back on the slimy dung-splattered ground, she tried to get traction with her elbows; slipped again.

‘Lottie? Are you okay? Give me your hand.’

‘Where’s the damn torch?’ She dragged herself to her knees.

Boyd shone his beam around the yard and she saw the dog.

‘Oh my God? What happened?’

‘Poor bugger’s dead.’

Holding a hand to her mouth, she said, ‘He was a nasty dog, but he didn’t deserve this.’

‘Surely O’Dowd didn’t kill his own dog?’ Boyd asked, picking up her torch.

Reaching for Boyd’s hand, Lottie allowed him to haul her to her feet. The warmth of his fingers did little to dispel the chill cartwheeling along her skin.

‘This is not good,’ she said, shaking off his hold.

‘We should come back in daylight.’

A strong gust flung a tin can across the yard.

‘Just a minute. Let’s try the back door first. Give me the torch.’ She took it and led Boyd round to the rear of the house, where she knocked on the door.

‘This is pointless,’ Boyd said.

A pane of glass rattled in the door. ‘We’ll search it in the morning. Get a squad car to come and housesit.’

‘What for?’

‘In case O’Dowd comes back.’

‘But his car is here.’

‘He’s not, though, and his dog is dead. I need to check if the bike is still in the shed.’

Shivering from her fall, Lottie walked in the illuminated cone cast by the torch. The rain continued unabated. At the door of the shed, water dripped down into one of the blue plastic barrels. Inside, the tractor loomed like an iridescent monster. No sign of the quad. No sign of the…

‘Boyd. Quick. Come here.’

She sensed him moving to her shoulder. Felt his breath on her neck.

‘The bicycle is gone,’ he said.

‘You wouldn’t let me take it earlier. It was evidence that Emma was here.’ Her voice was even. The pill was working. Keeping her from screaming at him.

Boyd spoke in an even-tempered tone. ‘You know you couldn’t take it then. We needed a warrant.’

She turned. He was so close, she could see the pores of his skin in the light from the torch in his hand. All around, shadows swarmed at her, the galvanised roof rising and falling with the force of the tempest raging outside. Something howled in the distance and a massive crunch, then a bang, signalled a falling tree. Lottie flinched and moved towards Boyd. He wrapped his arm around her. Too close. But she wanted to feel his closeness. To feel safe. Leaning into him, she let her cheek touch his. Briefly. Breathed in his scent.

And then he spoke. Almost breaking the spell. Almost.

‘You’re tired. Soaking wet. It’s been a long day. You need to go home.’ He trailed his fingers through her sopping hair.

She said, ‘You’re right. As usual. Let’s go.’

But she didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

He lowered the torch as his mouth met hers. Their lips brushed silently, quickly, and something stirred within her. Something that had been dormant for so long, she hardly recognised it.

‘Oh Boyd. Don’t do this to me.’

‘You want me to stop?’

‘No.’

His hands slid around her back and her body was drawn tightly into his. She could sense it in him too. A longing. A craving. Call it whatever… she wanted it. Her muddy hand rose automatically, up around his neck, and she pulled him down to her lips.

Another loud crash separated them. The wind had succeeded in lifting the roof clear from the rafters, flinging it high into the black sky and out over the field. Rain gushed in.

‘The gods are in some temper,’ Boyd said, with a strained laugh. He shone the torch up into the heavens. ‘All O’Dowd’s equipment will be destroyed without the roof.’

‘Serves the bastard right.’ Lottie walked with measured steps around the side of the tractor, her body still tingling. ‘I see the drainpipe took off with the roof.’ She glanced at the plastic barrel as she passed.

A flash of lightning cracked the sky and emblazoned the yard. In a spark of clarity, she halted. The warmth that had coursed through her body a moment ago fled. Her blood froze midstream to a solid icicle.

Taking a step backwards, she whispered, ‘Boyd… In… in there. Look.’ She pointed to the barrel. ‘I… I saw something.’

‘Probably a drowned rat. Like us.’

He swung his torch around and the beam settled on the water in the barrel that once held O’Dowd’s Propcorn. Lottie followed the glow with her eyes, felt her legs go weak, cried out, lost her breath, gulped down the acidic bilge.

She dared to look again.

A swathe of hair rippled around two open eyes looking up at her from the depths of the watery grave.

It wasn’t a drowned rat.

Lottie screamed.





Fifty-Four





The man circled the car, rain pounding on his head.

He had a call to make. A very difficult call. He wasn’t at all sure of the reception his message would get. He tapped the number, rainwater drenching his iPhone screen. No signal. Good… or was it?