No Safe Place(Detective Lottie Parker #4)(72)

‘You’re hurting me.’ She tried to wriggle out of his grasp. He tightened his grip, his fingers digging into her skin, right through to the bone of her arm.

‘Hurting? I can hurt you a lot more. Would you like that?’

‘Stop!’ She snapped his fingers away from her skin one by one. She knew it was anger that drove her strength. He stood looking at her slack-jawed.

She said, ‘I’ve lived with the ghost of your sister haunting me every day since I met you. I thought by now you would have exorcised her spirit. But it gets worse. Every fucking year it gets worse. I’ve just about had enough of it. Do you get me?’

And then the tears started. She didn’t want to cry. She knew it would incense him further. Clenching her fists to keep from lashing out at him, from tearing her nails into his pathetic face, she turned away. Took out the train book and began ripping out the pages, one by one. She had no idea why she was doing it, taking a rise out of him, when he could explode at any minute.

His phone rang, and when he hung up, he said, ‘I’m going out.’

She watched him pulling on his shoes. ‘Where?’ He didn’t answer. Helplessly she said, ‘Take your coat.’

At the door, he spun round. ‘You sound more like my mother every day,’ he snarled.

The slam of the door woke Saoirse, and as Keelan rushed to her daughter’s room, she wondered if she now possessed the strength to leave Cillian O’Donnell once and for all.





Sixty-One





The house was unnaturally quiet when Lottie arrived home. Then she remembered that Katie and little Louis were in New York. She pushed the buggy out of the way and wheeled it into the sitting room, glad Katie had the light stroller with her.

‘Sean?’ she called up the stairs. ‘Will you fold up this buggy, please? And where is Chloe?’

Without waiting for a reply, she went to the kitchen and began pulling things from the refrigerator to prepare dinner.

‘Can we get takeaway?’ Chloe said, walking in behind her.

‘I’ve to cook something for your granny, so I may as well cook for us all.’ Lottie turned to find Chloe lounging against the kitchen door, pulling at her sleeves.

‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing. We’re on mid-term next week, and with Katie and Louis away I was wondering maybe we could go somewhere for a few days.’

‘I’m in the middle of a murder investigation. I can’t just up and leave.’

‘It’s always about you, isn’t it?’

‘Sorry, Chloe, I didn’t mean—’

‘Forget it.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She was talking to fresh air.

Sean shouted from the sitting room, ‘I haven’t a clue how this thing folds up. I’ll just push it in behind the couch.’

Her phone rang. ‘Yes, Mother?’

‘I roasted a chicken for myself. There’s some left over if you want it.’

‘No, it’s fine. We’re getting a takeaway.’

She hung up before her mother could lecture her about the importance of healthy eating for the development of teenagers’ brains. At least Rose seemed to be on the mend.

Chloe appeared at the door. ‘Will I ring for food, then?’

‘Yeah, do.’

But Lottie didn’t feel like takeaway. She felt like going out. Somewhere she could get a drink without Chloe finding out.

She rang Boyd.





Sixty-Two





The three men were sitting in the kitchen. The doorbell pierced the silence. Donal got up to answer it.

Cillian eyed his brother across the table. Finn dropped his head and Cillian smiled. He always did have the upper hand where his brother was concerned. His father returned with a woman behind him. Cropped curly hair and black-rimmed spectacles. She was about forty years old. Not much to look at, he thought.

‘This is Cynthia Rhodes. She’s from the telly,’ Donal said.

‘Hi, I’m pleased to meet you all.’ She shook hands and sat down uninvited.

With the four of them seated around the table, Cillian said, ‘Are you going to tell us what this is about?’

‘I don’t like dredging up sad memories, but I want to do a feature for the news on the tenth anniversary of Lynn’s disappearance. It might rekindle an interest in her case.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ Donal said.

‘Do you mind if I record this.’ She placed her phone on the table, with its recording app open.

‘I do mind,’ Cillian said, folding his arms. She took a notebook out of her bag. ‘And you can put that away too.’

‘Okay.’ She put her bag on the floor. ‘I’ve seen the posters around town. I thought you would like some more publicity.’

Finn spoke up. ‘Depends on what you mean by publicity.’

Donal said, ‘We miss Lynn so much. And my wife Maura … she died …’

Cillian sighed. He hoped his old man wasn’t going to start blubbering. He’d seen enough tears to last him forever.

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Cynthia said. ‘Maybe something will turn up if I do a particularly good feature? Like Crimecall.’