No Safe Place(Detective Lottie Parker #4)(18)

When he had left, with Kirby in tow, Lottie sat in the humid silence of the room and rested her head in her hands. Thoughts swam in and out of focus. She could do with a Xanax. Half of one, even. She reached into her bag and searched among the till receipts, unopened bills, keys and loose change. Found a blister pack with one pill. Maybe she shouldn’t take it. She needed to be alert and focused. Especially with Cynthia Rhodes on her case.

A tap on the door and Boyd entered.

‘You okay?’ he said.

‘Do you really want me to answer that?’ She palmed the pill. ‘Any word from Lynch on Matt Mullin’s whereabouts?’

‘Not yet. What next?’

‘I need to access the O’Donnell cold case file and speak with Elizabeth’s friend. What was her name? The one Anna didn’t seem to like.’

Boyd consulted his notebook. ‘Carol O’Grady.’

‘Address?’

‘Will I look it up?’

‘That would be a help.’

‘The longer this day gets, the shorter your fuse.’

‘Boyd, get the address.’

When she was alone, the bang of the door echoing like a gong in her ears, she swallowed the pill and left to find water to wash the chalky taste from her mouth.





Fourteen





Lottie looked at the house beside which Boyd had parked. St Fintan’s Road backed onto the old army barracks. Most of the houses were still owned by the local authority. After her encounter with the reporter and then the cemetery caretaker, she’d held an impromptu meeting with Lynch and Kirby in the incident room. She wanted Matt Mullin found. She wanted every piece of information on Elizabeth Byrne, and she wanted Bridie McWard formally interviewed. She wanted results, goddammit.

Boyd glanced at the page in his hand and read, ‘Carol O’Grady. Aged twenty-four. She has two younger brothers and lives with her mother and father.’ He’d printed off her photograph from her Facebook page. There’d been information about one brother on their PULSE database.

‘Let’s see what she has to say about Elizabeth,’ Lottie said.

Leaving the car, they walked up the short path to the red door of number 36. It was the end house in a terrace of five and looked well maintained, with sparkling clean windows.

The bell appeared broken, so Lottie knocked hard on the glass panel.

The door was opened by a young man. He was the image of the girl in the photograph. Terry, the eighteen-year-old brother they’d read about on PULSE.

‘Is Carol at home?’ Lottie asked.

‘Who wants to know?’

She took out her ID, flashed it in front of his face and watched the complacency fade.

‘My apologies,’ he said, his tone streaked with sarcasm, ‘I didn’t know you were the pigs … I mean, the guards. Carol should be at work today but she’s off sick. Will I get her for you?’

‘Do that and we’ll wait inside.’ Lottie placed one foot inside the door, in case he slammed it shut.

‘I … I’m not sure,’ he stammered. ‘My mates are here. We’re studying. Exams. Leaving Cert. You know.’

‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’

‘Study break.’

‘We won’t disturb you at all. Just get Carol for us.’

As he flew up the stairs, Lottie reckoned the open door was an invitation to enter. With Boyd behind her, she walked through the small hallway and into the kitchen. There was a scattering of bodies and a scraping of something off the table as she entered.

‘No need to leave,’ she said.

The three lads halted their progress at the back door, and without turning his head, one of them said, ‘We were going anyway.’

‘Don’t forget this.’ Boyd held up a microscopic bag of weed.

‘Shit,’ said one of the lads.

‘Go on, get out,’ Boyd said. ‘I’ll keep it safe for you.’

They kept going.

Lottie smiled. ‘That’s not enough to lift them two inches off the ground, never mind get them high.’

‘Hey, that’s mine.’ Terry had come into the kitchen. He swiped at Boyd’s hand but missed the bag.

‘Where’s Carol?’ Lottie asked.

‘She’ll be down in a minute. Go on into the good room. Just through there.’ He pointed to a glass connecting door.

In the living room, Lottie stood in front of the unlit fireplace. Boyd followed, and sat down on one of the floral-covered armchairs.

‘Where’s your mum and dad?’ he asked.

‘At work,’ Terry said. ‘But they’ll be home after six, if you want to come back then.’

‘Where do they work?’ Lottie said.

‘Where’s your younger brother?’ Boyd said.

‘You ask a lot of questions.’ Terry threw his hands in the air.

‘It’s our job,’ Lottie said.

The door opened and a young woman entered, wearing a dressing gown. Small and pale. Her hair dyed blonde at the ends. Lottie thought how Chloe had wanted to get her hair styled that way. Balayage, or something weird. It cost nearly one hundred euros, so that put a halt to her gallop.

Lottie produced her ID. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Parker, and this is my colleague Detective Sergeant Boyd.’