The Lost Child (Detective Lottie Parker #3)(69)

She wondered what state Mick O’Dowd’s farm was in this morning. And where had he disappeared to? Could he have killed Emma? Was she related to him?

She lifted the phone and called Jane Dore to ask about Emma’s post-mortem.

‘Later today, I hope. Marian Russell’s body is here also. She succumbed to septicemia as a result of her wounds. I’ll send over the prelims when I have them completed.’

Lottie hung up. Marian’s death would be officially classed as murder. Three victims from one family. Was it the same murderer? Could there be more than one psycho at work around the town? She hoped not.

Kirby shuffled in, his coat hanging over his arm, and grunted, ‘Good morning, boss. Some mess out there after the storm.’

‘Some mess in here too,’ Lottie said. ‘Get everyone into the incident room as soon as they come in. We need to get a handle on this.’

‘Handle on what?’

Lottie looked up. Detective Inspector David McMahon stood in the doorway, his mop of dark hair glistening with dampness.

‘Sir,’ she said, picking up a file and making a hasty exit. Why had she called him sir? He was the same rank as her. Get it together, Lottie, she scolded.

At the incident boards, she moved Emma Russell’s photo to the victims’ side, joining her mother and grandmother. She folded one hand around her waist, then rested her elbow on her wrist and contemplated the pictures. The burned man now had a name. Jerome Quinn.

‘He’s the odd one out,’ she said aloud.

‘Maybe he’s the link that holds it all together.’

She hadn’t heard McMahon enter the room. Now he stood beside her, tall and arrogant. The prick.

‘What evidence do you have to support your theory?’ she asked.

‘I could ask you the same question,’ he said.

Boyd, Kirby and Lynch joined them and sat down with a few other tired-looking detectives. This should be interesting, Lottie thought, as McMahon turned in unison with her to face the troops.

‘Will you introduce yourself?’ she asked.

Buttoning the jacket of his suit over a slim-fitting shirt, he took a step forward, leaving Lottie in his shadow.

‘Detective Inspector David McMahon. And don’t call me Big Mac or anything like that. I’ll answer to sir or David.’ He smiled, reminding Lottie of Cathal Moroney’s white veneer grin. He was still speaking as she uncrossed her arms and held them straight by her sides. Trying to appear as tall as him because she knew she would fail in making herself look as important.

‘I’m with the Garda National Drugs Unit. As your investigations into the murder of Tessa Ball have uncovered a substantial quantity of drugs, this investigation now falls under my remit.’

‘Hey, hold on a minute!’ Lottie jerked alive and grabbed his sleeve, quickly dropping her hand when he looked down his nose at her. ‘Sorry. But we retain the right to investigate alongside you. I believe there’s more to this than just a drug crime.’

McMahon turned slowly and pointed a finger at the picture of the burned man.

‘Jerome Quinn,’ he said. ‘Second in command to his half-brother Henry “Hammer” Quinn. Do you all appreciate who we are dealing with now?’

A murmur greeted his question. He continued. ‘We suspected he had a long-time girlfriend, but he’s unmarried. Plenty of bimbos sniffing around him.’

‘Bimbos! Ah, come on now, you know you can’t speak like that,’ Lottie said.

‘You know what I mean. Hangers-on, wanting a bit of the action. Free swag and all that.’

Lottie scowled.

McMahon said, ‘Jerome disappeared over fifteen months ago and went to ground.’

‘Underground in Ragmullin?’ Boyd said.

‘There’s a criminal element operating out of this town. Someone got greedy. The Russell family was slap bang in the middle of it.’

‘Their murders might have absolutely nothing to do with the drugs,’ Lottie said when none of her team were forthcoming.

McMahon unbuttoned his jacket, shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and strutted around the perimeter of the room. ‘Marian’s tongue was cut out. Her daughter was in a relationship with small-time crook Lorcan Brady. Was Marian about to squeal? Did someone try to stop her?’

‘Hold on a minute there.’ Boyd was up and out of his chair. ‘We only have it on hearsay that Emma Russell was involved with Lorcan Brady.’

‘Didn’t you find cash hidden in her room, Inspector?’ McMahon said, without looking at Boyd. ‘Didn’t you find a hoodie she may have been wearing?’

‘That’s true, but—’ Lottie began.

‘Wasn’t her body found a few miles down the road from where Brady and Quinn were assaulted and burned?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Didn’t you find unidentified plants hidden at the Russell home?’

Lottie nodded.

‘I rest my case.’

‘Bollocks,’ Kirby said, and jammed his e-cig into his mouth.

Lottie closed her eyes, waited for an arrogant tirade. Deathly silence reigned as she counted. She reached nineteen before McMahon spoke.

‘Have you a more reasonable hypothesis to offer, Detective Kirby?’

When Lottie opened her eyes, McMahon’s suit jacket was once again buttoned up and he was standing at the opposite end of the incident boards.