No Safe Place(Detective Lottie Parker #4)(71)

‘You can come too, boss, and you, Lynch.’ Kirby twirled an unlit cigar between his fingers.

‘Sorry, I’m not drinking,’ Lynch said, keeping her gaze studiously focused on her computer screen.

‘Never known you to turn down a drink from Kirby before; not that he offers too often,’ Boyd said.

‘I’m going home,’ Lottie said. ‘It’s been a long day and I’ve to be at Rochfort Gardens early in the morning to check out those runners. And you lot better be here bright and early.’

‘I might be a bit late,’ Lynch offered.

‘No worries.’ Lottie dragged her jacket over her shoulders and picked up her bag.

Boyd followed her out to the corridor. ‘Fancy a bite to eat?’

‘I’m starving, but I’ve a family to feed.’

‘Another time maybe?’

‘Whenever that may be.’ Lottie let the door close behind her.



* * *



When the train stopped at Ragmullin station, Grace walked meekly at his side through the throng on the platform. She noticed the uniformed gardaí patrolling up and down and thought of screaming out, but dismissed the notion. She wanted to see Mollie, didn’t she? Mark would be proud of her if he could see how brave she was being. Even though he still thought of her as his little sister, she was almost thirty. Time for her to stand on her own two feet.

He had her elbow in a vice. Every muscle in her body blared at the physical contact. She tried to shrug off his hand but he held firm.

At the rear of the station, he opened a car door. ‘Won’t be long now.’

‘What won’t be long?’ She stalled, uncertainty eroding her earlier bravado.

‘Until you see your friend.’

‘I thought you had to ring her first,’ Grace said.

‘I’m sure she won’t mind.’

She sat into the car. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Only a couple of miles along the road. Mollie’s nice and comfy and I’m sure you’ll both have a great chat.’

Grace clipped on her seat belt and stared out of the window at the street lights vanishing as he drove out of town. She bit her lip and tightened her fingers around the strap of her bag. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, her inner voice warned. Too late now.



* * *



Matt Mullin parked his car around the back of the house. He could see his mother in the kitchen preparing a dinner he didn’t want to eat. She mustn’t have heard him pull up; she didn’t look out the window.

It was no good. He couldn’t handle going inside. She’d question him about work. No, I haven’t got a new job, Mother. He switched the ignition back on and drove slowly around the house and down the avenue.

He missed Elizabeth. Why had things gone so wrong? It was all her fault. Why had she cut him off? Changed her number, closed down her social media accounts. He couldn’t find out what she was up to. But then, just before Christmas, she was back on Facebook. She was reaching out to him. She wanted him home. He’d been sure that was the reason for her going back online.

And then it had all fallen apart again.

He was such a fool. He gripped the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles were in danger of piercing the skin. And he was driving too fast. He slowed down. No point in attracting unwanted attention.

At the Dublin bridge he waited for the lights to change. He looked at the town nestled below him and the canal flowing beneath the bridge. Should he abandon his car and jump into the murky water?

The light flicked to green and he dismissed the thought.



* * *



Keelan had put Saoirse to bed early, read her a story and then tidied the kitchen before Cillian arrived home. The row started over nothing.

‘You spend more time fussing over Saoirse than me.’ Cillian kicked off his shoes and put his feet up on the coffee table.

‘And you spend more time giving out about your brother than looking out for him.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Have you not noticed how down he is lately?’

‘Down? And how would you know that?’

‘I saw him wandering around town. He seems … depressed.’

‘Our sister vanished off the face of the earth and it tore our family apart.’ He dropped his feet from the table and leaned over with his hands dangling between his legs.

‘I know that. I’ve lived through it with you for the last five years.’ Every year it was the same. The week before and the week after the fourteenth of February. And she knew the roses he presented her with annually were really in memory of the sister he had lost.

‘Yeah, but you don’t know what it did to me, to my family, at the time.’

She placed Saoirse’s train book, which Cillian had bought her, back on the shelf and turned to him. ‘That’s because you won’t speak to me about it. You just bottle it all up. Then every so often the cork explodes from the bottle and I have to suffer your temper.’

‘I said I was sorry about the plates. Did you buy a new set?’

‘I’m not talking about the damn plates. I’m talking about you and me. The way you treat me. It’s not right, Cillian. I think you need help.’

He shot up from the chair and grabbed her by the arm. ‘Don’t you dare say that. First you say my brother is depressed, then you lay all the blame on me.’