No Safe Place(Detective Lottie Parker #4)(93)

‘Did Elizabeth ever talk about a Mollie Hunter?’

‘No, I don’t recall that name. She only ever said she was going out to meet Carol O’Grady.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I can’t be sure about anything these days.’

‘What about Matt Mullin? We have reason to believe he hasn’t been in Munich since Christmas. Did he make any contact with Elizabeth?’

Anna stood. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ She was wearing the same clothes as the other day and looked like she had cried non-stop since then.

‘We haven’t time for tea. Talk to me, please, Anna.’

‘I’ve heard nothing from Matt.’ Anna sat back down. ‘I don’t know if he’d been in contact with Elizabeth. Did you find her phone?’

‘There’s no trace of it.’ Lottie sat down beside the distraught mother. ‘I know you’ve no time for Carol, but is there anything we need to be aware of?’

‘Like what?’

‘Something she may have got Elizabeth involved in?’

‘That tramp. Is it her fault my girl is dead?’

‘I’m not saying that at all.’ Lottie tilted her head to one side, directing Boyd to work his charm.

‘Mrs Byrne,’ he said, ‘Anna. We’re finding very little to lead us to Elizabeth’s killer. We think Carol might be a link. A tenuous one, but a link nonetheless. Can you think of anything that was out of the ordinary?’

‘Everything was out of the ordinary with that one.’

‘Please,’ Lottie pleaded.

Anna folded her arms, pulling at the sleeve of her cardigan with her fingers, nails bitten to the quick.

‘She was never round here, if that’s what you mean. But Elizabeth was always calling round to her. More so in recent weeks. Since Christmas. I’ve no idea what it was about. Elizabeth never said, but I suspect it was to do with a man. You know what young people are like at that age.’

‘I do,’ Lottie said.

‘Maybe Matt was back in town or something. I don’t know.’

‘Can we look through Elizabeth’s things again? If you don’t mind.’

‘Your forensic guys have been all over them, but go ahead. Don’t take anything without telling me first, though.’

Lottie was glad to escape the sorrow permeating the kitchen walls. Elizabeth’s bedroom looked the same as they’d left it.

‘What are you hoping to find?’ Boyd asked.

‘Something to indicate Matt Mullin was in contact with her.’

‘But we didn’t find anything first time, and neither did SOCOs.’

‘We didn’t know what we were looking for then.’

‘We don’t know what we’re …’ Boyd began. Lottie threw him a warning look. He continued, ‘I suppose I’ll know it when I see it.’

He brushed by her, and her skin tingled with the touch of his hand as he passed. The slightest connection, but she felt it. Her chest constricted with anxiety. A pill would help, but there was no way she could sneak one. She willed concentration into her brain. Clues to the fate of Mollie Hunter might be somewhere in this room. They had to be thorough.

‘Was there anything in her notebook to give us a hint?’ she asked.

‘Not unless she was writing in some sort of code.’

After searching the room carefully, Lottie ran her hand through the necklaces hanging on the plastic stand on the dresser. She paused, her fingers snagged in a silver chain.

‘Boyd, look at this.’ She held up the chain with a ring attached. ‘Was this here all the time?’

‘Must have been. Ask Anna.’

‘Ask me what?’ Anna stood at the doorway, clenching and unclenching her fists. Lottie didn’t know if it was from anger or a gesture of helplessness.

‘Is this Elizabeth’s?’ She held up the chain and ring, anticipation prickling her skin.

‘I’ve never seen it before.’ Anna took a step into the room. ‘Are you finished here?’

With a glance at Boyd, Lottie nodded. ‘I need to take this.’

‘I don’t think it belonged to Elizabeth, so you can have it.’

Sliding the jewellery into an evidence bag, Lottie smiled sadly and left the room.





Eighty





The day, if it was still the same day, seemed interminable. Boredom had replaced fear. And the bones, the baby bones, mocked her, lying there on the table as if they expected her to do something.

But what could she do? She was locked up. She had no means of escape. She still had no idea why he’d taken her. But she was sure she had been his target. Not opportune. No. He had sought her out and snatched her. Why?

She’d studied the paintings on the wall, trying to find a clue to who had painted them. To the person who had previously inhabited this prison. Or were the paintings a message? Maybe that was it. Kneeling on the end of the bed, she looked at them, really looked at them. And that was when she saw it. Painted in the tiniest of black letters, along the body of a crooked steam engine, it was there. Hidden in plain sight.

A name.

But it meant absolutely nothing to her.



* * *



At the office, Boyd plonked two mugs of coffee on Lottie’s desk, having first put down coasters.