No Safe Place(Detective Lottie Parker #4)(55)

‘Oh, that’s priceless, so it is.’ He flung the iPad to the coffee table. It teetered on the edge, slipped to the ground with a crash. ‘Now see what you made me do!’

He jumped up and snatched the tablet from the floor, ran his finger over the crack on the screen and slammed it back down. He reached the kitchen in two strides.

Keelan backed up against the counter. ‘That … that was your own fault. Don’t go blaming me.’

‘Oh, so everything is my fault now.’ He took a plate from the stack on the counter and threw it on the ground. ‘I can tell you, that was my fault. And this.’ He threw down another one. Waited for effect and flung another.

‘Cillian. Stop. You’re scaring Saoirse.’

The red mist that had descended lifted as he noticed his daughter poking her head around the doorway.

‘Why did you do that, Daddy?’

She sounded just like Keelan. Accusing. Without a thought for what he was doing, he swept the remaining crockery off the counter, then marched through the splinters and grabbed his jacket. He’d leave before he created any real damage. Mortal damage. No, he wouldn’t be the cause of that ever again.



* * *



Paddy couldn’t console her. No matter what he did, she shivered and cried.

‘Bridie, you need to get stitches. The wound is still bleeding.’ He sat beside her on their white couch. ‘Here, let me hold Tommy. You go on to bed. I’ll feed him and put him down.’

She clutched the boy tighter to her chest, her tears dampening his hair. ‘No. You can fuck off. You snuck out in the night and left us here all alone. Some arsehole comes in and beats the shite out of me, and what do you do? Nothing. That’s all you’re good for, Paddy McWard. Nothing. So fuck off.’

He stood up. What was a man to do? He couldn’t bear to see her crying.

‘Keep the door locked. I have my key,’ he said, and left Bridie alone again in their tiny, immaculate house.





Forty-Five





Cafferty’s Bar was lively for a Thursday night. Beer taps with frosted lights teased the punters. Multiple television sets were showing the dying minutes of a football match.

Kirby ordered a pint and a glass of wine. Gilly sat in the nook furthest from the football activity.

‘Bit loud, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘Adds to the atmosphere,’ he said.

‘Depends on what atmosphere you’re expecting.’

The barman arrived with the drinks and Kirby handed over a tenner. ‘Keep the change.’

‘Play was good. Thanks for bringing me,’ Gilly said. ‘I thought you might be working tonight.’

‘New super called it all off. Tend to agree with him, too. We were getting nowhere. I prefer working on the murder investigation.’

‘Boyd was asking me about that this evening. You know I go running at weekends out at Rochfort Gardens? Elizabeth Byrne did too. He asked if I knew her or saw anyone acting suspiciously.’

‘And did you?’

‘No. The only ones acting suspiciously are the old farts sucking in their bellies trying to look thirty years younger.’ She blushed, hoping Kirby didn’t think she meant him. ‘That’s where I first met Mollie.’

Kirby stalled his pint halfway to his mouth. ‘The same Mollie you think has disappeared off the face of the earth?’

‘One and the same.’

‘That’s interesting.’

‘At last.’

‘I’m only saying it’s interesting. I’m not making a drama out of it.’

‘But she always lets me know if she has to cancel a run or anything. It’s a bit out of character, that’s all.’

‘Give her another ring.’

‘I’ve tried countless times. Her phone’s dead now.’

‘Did you check if her passport is in her apartment?’

‘No, but I think it’s unlikely she went off on a holiday. Then again, her father lives in London.’

‘There you are. Mystery solved.’

‘I’ll chase it up tomorrow.’

‘Great. Now, let’s chill and talk about the play.’

‘Maybe we should tell Boyd.’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘What about now?’

‘You’re not going to relax, are you?’

‘Nope.’

Kirby lifted his pint. ‘Drink up so.’



* * *



Boyd returned to his apartment, tired from the hurling training and still wondering why Father Joe was ringing Lottie. He was heading for the shower when he remembered Grace. She was sitting on the couch watching television.

‘How are you, little sis?’ he shouted from the bedroom. Where had he put the clean towels?

The sound of the television disappeared. He looked up. Grace was standing at the door, staring at him. Accusingly?

‘I really want you to listen to me, Mark. I’m worried about the girl I met on the train yesterday morning. You know me. I get a feeling that tells me when something isn’t right. Like with you. I sense your loneliness.’

‘So?’ He pulled out a towel.

‘You and I both know you’re a lonely middle-aged man.’