No Safe Place(Detective Lottie Parker #4)(42)

‘Kirby needs us at the traveller site.’

She stared at him, unseeing. Lowered her head to the computer.

‘Lottie? What’s up?’ He walked round the side of the desk. ‘You have that wild look in your eyes.’

‘What look?’

‘You know. After a night of drinking.’

‘I haven’t been drinking,’ she lied.

‘What has you spooked, then?’

Jerking back to life, she hit the corner tab, minimising her email. ‘Nothing.’

Boyd put his hands on the desk. ‘I thought you couldn’t stand lies, and here you are, lying to me.’

She stood up, knocked the chair out of the way with the back of her legs and sidestepped around him. ‘I said it’s nothing. None of your business. Butt out. Understood?’

‘Loud and clear.’ Boyd stood back, bumping against the wall.

Lottie kept walking. ‘What’s Kirby got himself into this time?’



* * *



‘Hello? Anyone there?’

Mollie listened. Wind? Or was it an air-conditioning unit? She wasn’t sure. But there were no cars or other sounds. Where was she?

It was dark in the room, but a dim light glowed at the edge of the hatch door, high above her head, casting an eerie shadow in a V down to the centre of the floor. She could see the floor was made of timber, well-worn laths. Knots were feathered along the wood. She looked at the strip of light again and decided it wasn’t daylight. It had to come from a light bulb somewhere up above the ceiling.

Her arms were still strapped to her sides, and she badly wanted to pee. Her mouth felt like the internal muscles had swelled, and her throat was constricted with gluey mucus. The hairs in her nostrils were clogged with the fusty, musty smell of the room. And to add to her discomfort, her stomach rumbled with hunger.

A psychotic thought skittered through her brain. What if he never came back? What if he wanted her to starve to death? No. He’d never have gone to this much trouble just to leave her to die. Would he? She knew absolutely nothing about him, and the more she thought about it, the less she wanted to know. She wanted to go home. Now. Before the insane freak returned.

Home. But there was no one there to miss her. She lived alone. Her mother was dead and her father lived in London. She only ever phoned him on Sundays. And today was … Thursday? Wasn’t it? She wasn’t at all sure. But it didn’t feel like much time had passed, unless it was the effects of the drug he’d used on her.

Surely her colleagues would wonder why she hadn’t phoned in to say she’d be absent. But perhaps not. You only needed a doctor’s certificate if you were going to be off for longer than two days. There was the weekend to come, so they wouldn’t start asking questions until Monday.

Gilly! Yes, Gilly would miss her. But how long would that take? They’d been supposed to go out for a drink, but would Gilly wonder at her not turning up? She had no idea one way or the other. All she could do was hope that someone reported her missing.

She tried to raise her head from the rock-like bed. She really needed to pee, but before she could even attempt to wriggle free, warm liquid had seeped down her legs, soaking the mattress.

And that was when she thought she heard a train.





Thirty-Four





The mid-morning sun, casting a blinding light, had tried its best to melt the hoar frost, but in shaded areas the ground was still hazardous. Boyd parked the car inside the gate and they made their way to where Kirby was lounging against the wall of one of the twelve concrete houses. Lynch stood in front of him, fair hair hanging loose beneath a grey beanie. Both of them were obviously trying to keep themselves awake. A small mobile home was parked in the compact yard.

Kirby moved to one side and filled the space between the house and the mobile home. His blue scarf was wrapped like a noose around his neck and his nose was Christmassy red. His bushy hair looked like he’d been hit with a bolt of lightning. A crowd of onlookers huddled on the other side of the site. Women and children in the centre of a circle of angry-looking men. Their hands were shoved warily in their pockets, but Lottie knew they could strike at any time.

She sniffed the frosty air. ‘Tell me about this before I walk into a minefield.’

‘It looks like a domestic,’ Lynch said. ‘But we have to be careful. You know how these situations can be different to how they first appear.’ One eyebrow rose in an arch.

Was there a question there somewhere? Sucking in a draught of cold air, Lottie realised Lynch’s words were a direct reference to a previous investigation. She decided to let it lie.

‘Who lives at this property?’ she asked.

‘Paddy and Bridie McWard,’ Kirby said. ‘They have a little boy, called …’ He turned the page of his notebook.

‘Tommy,’ Lottie said.

‘Bridie’s taken a terrible battering,’ Kirby said. ‘Go in and see for yourself.’

Inside the house, Bridie was sitting on a white leather sofa. She was holding the little boy in her arms, way too tightly, unshed tears flooding her eyes.

‘Jesus, Bridie, are you all right?’ Lottie said, shocked. ‘You need to see a doctor. The hospital or something.’

‘This is your fault,’ Bridie yelled.

Was it ever any other way? Lottie sat down and searched for answers in the young woman’s eyes. ‘Tell me what happened.’