The Lost Child (Detective Lottie Parker #3)(9)

‘Blunt-force trauma? With what?’ Corrigan asked, unfolding his arms and striding through the room towards Lottie. He jabbed a thick finger at the crime-scene photo. ‘Show me.’

‘We found a potential weapon outside the back door, sir.’ Lottie pointed to a grainy night-time photograph. ‘It’s being forensically examined.’

‘A baseball bat. This is Ragmullin, not feckin’ Chicago. Who owns the bat?’

‘We haven’t determined ownership. Yet. Sir.’ Digging her nails into her palms, she repeated a silent mantra. Keep the fuck calm.

‘You seem to have determined feck all.’

‘We’re working flat out, sir.’

‘Not flat out enough. I want Russell in a cell before the day is out. And I want his wife found. Can you determine that, Detective Inspector Parker?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then get to it, the feckin’ lot of you.’ With a smug sniff, he straightened his shoulders and marched out of the door.

‘What was all that about?’ Boyd asked.

‘A load of bollocks,’ Kirby said.

‘He’s the boss,’ Lynch said.

‘I’m the boss of this investigation,’ Lottie said, throwing her arms upwards in despair. ‘Will someone track down Mrs Ball’s friends and interview them? Kirby? And find out who owns that baseball bat.’

He nodded.

Her phone rang. Desk sergeant.

‘What’s up, Don?’ Lottie asked.

‘There’s a Bernie Kelly in interview room one. She’s been there this half-hour. Did you forget about her?’

‘Shit!’ Lottie gathered up her papers, phone between ear and shoulder. ‘I’ll be down in one minute.’

As she left the incident room, she said, ‘Lynch, head over to the Kellys’. I don’t want Emma Russell left alone. Boyd, come with me.’

Kirby said, ‘What will I do?’

‘Find Tessa’s friends and the owner of that baseball bat.’

‘Can I fly to Chicago?’





Eight





‘I’m so sorry for keeping you, Mrs Kelly.’ Lottie pulled out a chair and sat facing Bernie Kelly, who was sitting with her arms folded. She looked to be mid-forties, a thick layer of foundation obscuring her natural colour and eyebrows pencilled in. Her lips were pale. Lipstick forgotten or by design? Lottie didn’t know, but she knew an attack was imminent.

‘Do you think I’ve nothing to do and nowhere to be? Thirty-five minutes I’ve been sat here.’

Received, over and out. Her strawberry-blonde hair was matted to her scalp and her mac-type jacket was still dark from the rain.

‘Please accept my apologies, but we’re at the beginning of a murder investigation. It’s a bit chaotic. I’m sure you can understand.’ Smile in place, Lottie switched on the recording equipment.

‘What’s with all that stuff?’ Bernie nodded toward the machine. ‘I’m not a suspect, am I? Do I need a solicitor? I only came in because you asked.’

‘And I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule.’ See how that sits, Lottie thought. ‘Now, what can you tell me about Marian Russell?’

‘There’s not much to tell.’ Bernie shrugged her shoulders, a shadow of indifference falling over her green eyes.

Lottie eyed Boyd from the corner of her eye. Not one of those interviews, she hoped, where she had to extract a statement word by word.

‘What can you tell me?’

‘Like I said last night, I don’t think Marian has been too well.’

‘In what way?’

‘You know.’ Bernie pointed to her temple. ‘Up here.’

‘What makes you say that?’

Bernie sighed and lowered her eyes. ‘She became reclusive. Wouldn’t go out any more. At one time we used go to the pub for a drink on Friday and Saturday nights. The only place she goes now is work. When she’s not there, she stays at home. Won’t even answer the phone to me any more.’

‘What does Emma have to say about her mother?’

‘Emma is a bit harsh at times. I don’t think she gets that Marian could be depressed. She’s always been a daddy’s girl. She blames her mother for the trouble at home, not her father.’

‘What kind of trouble?’

‘I’m sure you can access the court files. Marian took Arthur to court and got him barred from the house.’

‘We will get the files, but it would help if you could tell me what you know.’

Bernie leaned over the desk conspiratorially. ‘Beat her black and blue. Saw the bruises with my own eyes.’

‘How did you see them?’

‘Emma came crying into my house one evening, saying her mammy had made her daddy mad and she thought he was going to kill her. That’s the only time I’ve heard her speak ill of her father.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Got my phone and ran to their house. The door was wide open. Marian was curled up in a ball beside the cooker and Arthur was marching around the kitchen with a poker in his hand.’

‘Had he hit her with the poker?’

‘I don’t know what he hit her with, but she was fierce frightened. I said to him, “Arthur Russell, you get out of this house. I’ve called the guards.” I hadn’t, but maybe I should have.’