The Lost Child (Detective Lottie Parker #3)(93)

‘Cathal and Lauren Moroney were murdered sometime between five and seven this morning,’ Boyd said, lighting two cigarettes.

‘Very careful murderer to get in and out unseen by neighbours.’ Lottie took one of the cigarettes.

Boyd consulted his notebook. ‘We have a report from a man who lives down the road. Says he heard a car around six. Looked out of his bedroom window. It was still quite dark so he can’t be sure of the colour, but it was definitely a saloon type.’

‘That’s a lot of good.’

‘Better than nothing.’

‘I can’t stop thinking of that poor little girl. What did she hear to make her terrified enough to hide?’

‘Maybe the killer shoved her into the wardrobe?’

‘I don’t think there was time for that.’ Lottie pulled hard on the cigarette, trying to shield it from the rain with her other hand. ‘I’d say Moroney was in the bedroom getting dressed. Heard his wife scream or something. Instinct kicked in. He hid his daughter and ran down the stairs to see what was happening.’

‘That sounds daft. His wife could’ve screamed if she’d burned herself on the cooker or such. Why would he immediately think something was seriously wrong?’

Lottie watched Boyd pacing in small circles, avoiding the puddles on the ground. Cigarette smoke hung low, suspended around him in the mist.

‘Moroney was investigating a drugs ring,’ she said, taking a final drag before stamping out the butt beneath her boot.

Boyd ceased his pacing. ‘And how do you know that?’

‘He told me.’

Boyd stood still.

‘What?’ she said. ‘Don’t be looking at me like that.’

‘Like what? Lottie, what were you up to with Moroney?’

‘I wasn’t up to anything.’

He grabbed her arm. She smelled the freshness of the rain rising from his clothes. Drops dripped from his hair to his cheeks and nose. Too close. She took a step back, shook her head and walked away.

‘You’d better tell me,’ he shouted after her.





Eighty-Three





McMahon was pacing the office, as pent up as Boyd had been earlier. Lottie slammed her bag on the floor beneath her desk.

‘I think your friend Henry “Hammer” Quinn might be behind the Moroneys’ murders,’ she said.

‘That’s not possible.’ He came to a stop beside her desk.

‘Why not? Moroney told me he was investigating a drugs ring. He must’ve had something worth killing him for.’

‘Well, it wasn’t Hammer, because I had him arrested late last night. Picked up from his home. He spent the night in Store Street garda station.’

‘Shite. It had to be one of his associates then,’ she said, biting her lip, wondering if she had it all wrong. Again.

‘Hammer was interviewed extensively. He admitted a few things but he swears he hasn’t seen or heard from Jerome in two years. Says he had nothing to do with the murders here in Ragmullin. Much as I hate to admit it, I tend to believe him.’

‘Jesus, that’s some turnaround. You’re the one pontificating that all this has to do with drugs.’ Lottie slapped her hand on the desk and a stack of files shuddered without falling. The whole investigation had started off with the murder of Tessa Ball. Was she the crucial link in everything?

‘I’m not saying it’s not to do with the drugs. Just that Hammer and his gang aren’t involved. I believe we need to find out who was supplying Lorcan Brady and Jerome Quinn with the heroin, and who they were supplying the cannabis to,’ he said.

‘And the fish food we found in Brady’s house,’ Lottie fumed. ‘Add that to your list while you’re at it.’

‘What about it?’

‘There was no fish tank.’

‘Ha! It’s used to cut the heroin. Makes it go further. Makes more money.’

‘I’ve heard it all now.’

‘Oh I doubt that.’

Lottie shuffled her chair into her desk, then took the first file from the bundle and opened it. The typed words swam before her eyes as she tried to divert her attention from McMahon going into her office.

Her phone rang.

‘Yes, Don,’ she said to the desk sergeant.

‘There’s an Annabelle O’Shea down here asking for you. I told her you were busy but she’s insistent.’

She’d never phoned Annabelle back. What could be so urgent? But her friend might be the welcome relief she needed. ‘Show her into the interview room if there’s nowhere else available and I’ll be down in two minutes.’

McMahon said, ‘I’m calling a team meeting. Five minutes in the incident room.’

‘I’m busy,’ Lottie said, and made her escape.



* * *



Might as well be on Mars, Lottie thought as she entered the airless interview room. The outside world ceased to exist once you seated yourself at the steel table, its legs screwed to the floor.

Her breath caught in her throat. ‘Annabelle! What happened to you?’

‘I need to speak with you, Lottie.’

Dragging a chair across, she sat beside her friend, who didn’t look at all like the confident doctor she’d known for most of her life.