The Lost Child (Detective Lottie Parker #3)(96)

Lottie stuck the key in the door and turned it. They stepped onto the black and white diamond-shaped tiles and listened. No beep from the alarm. Not a sound. She crept into the kitchen, looked around quickly. No one. At the door to the utility room, she paused. No sound from the washing machine. She peered in. The door of the machine hung open. Empty.

‘Where did he put the clothes?’ she whispered.

Boyd was looking out at the back garden. ‘There’s a car in the garage. He must be here.’

As she turned to leave, Lottie spied a laundry basket on top of a counter. With protective gloves on her hands, she picked through the clothes. A man’s outer jacket, sweater, shirt, trousers and underwear. ‘Where did he leave his shoes? We’ll need to bag this lot once we’ve found him.’

Back in the hall, she wondered if maybe they should get a warrant. No. It’d be fine. At the top of the stairs, she saw the door with the keypad. Open. She raised an eyebrow at Boyd, questioning. But then she realised that Cian would have no need to lock his study during the day while his family was out.

With a nod of her head, she indicated for Boyd to follow her.

At the door, she kept her hand on her gun, unsure of how this was going to develop. With the tip of her boot, she edged the door inwards.

‘He’s not here,’ Boyd said, stating, as he usually did, the obvious.

‘All this equipment. It’s like something out of a Hollywood studio.’

‘You’re trespassing on my property.’

Lottie swung round, crashing into Boyd.

Standing on the landing, naked, was Cian O’Shea. And he looked feral.

‘Ah, the very man we’re looking for,’ Lottie said, winging it.

‘Get out of my house. Now.’

Visually assessing him, Lottie couldn’t see any obvious wounds on his body. She concentrated on the knife in his hand.

‘I think you should put down that weapon and get dressed, then we can have a chat.’

‘I said, get out!’

He moved into the study. Lottie stood unmoving. His eyes were predatory. Was this the same man who had been married to her friend for twenty years? She didn’t recognise him. His mouth drooped and his hair was wild.

As Cian advanced further, Boyd pounced. The knife fell to the floor, and before Lottie could react, Boyd had snapped handcuffs on the naked man. Cian crumbled and began to cry. ‘I didn’t mean to kill them. That wasn’t supposed to happen.’

‘Call SOCOs and get him out of here,’ Lottie said.

Boyd led the man to his bedroom, where he found a robe to hide his nakedness, before bringing him down the stairs, reading him his rights as he went. O’Shea had presented as a dangerous threat to two detectives, armed with a lethal weapon. They could probably hold him for twenty-four hours on that charge alone. He would likely retract the words he had just uttered. Lottie needed evidence to support Annabelle’s statement.

The study had multiple screens hanging on the wall. Wide screens. Flat screens. Two computer desktops and laptops. Wires were neatly pinned and secured along the walls. A set of headphones hung on a hook and the leather chair was situated in front of a desk full of technology.

With her finger still gloved, she hit the return button on one of the laptops. A screen burst into life.

‘Jesus Christ,’ she said, exhaling a long breath. What the hell was Cian O’Shea involved in?





Eighty-Five





Kirby and Lynch were going over the information they’d received from the land registry when Boyd’s computer pinged with an email.

‘Have a look at that, Lynch. Might be important.’

Lynch went over and tapped Boyd’s keyboard. Kirby joined her.

‘Health service records?’ he said.

‘The list of St Declan’s patients. This is a wild goose chase.’

‘Open it up,’ Kirby said.

‘You do it. I’m not a snoop.’

‘Ah, for Christ’s sake.’ Kirby jabbed a thick finger on the email, opening it up. ‘Screenshots of handwritten originals. I’ll print them off and let Boyd chase his own goose when he returns.’

He ambled back to his desk.

‘So,’ he said, ‘all this land was owned by Stan and Kitty Belfield in 1970.’

‘Who owned it before them?’

‘What matters is who owned it afterwards. I don’t know why or how, but by 1976, this portion here, consisting of two hundred and sixty acres, was in Tessa Ball’s name. This piece here, where Marian lived, twenty acres, was also in Ball’s name. The Belfields retained ownership of the manor house and the land banking down towards the lake. With me so far?’

Lynch nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Over the last couple of years, the two hundred and sixty acres of farmland, including the cottage, was transferred over to Mick O’Dowd. He was just a farm tenant before that. Why the transfer? And the land at Carnmore containing two houses was transferred to Marian Russell. Nothing remained in Tessa’s name except her apartment. She wasn’t dying or anything, was she?’

‘Nothing showed up at the post-mortem.’

‘So the question is, what prompted a wealthy former solicitor to divest herself of her wealth?’ Kirby said.

‘Does it even matter?’