No Safe Place(Detective Lottie Parker #4)(97)

‘Turn it off,’ she cried. ‘I know where this is leading.’

‘What did you say to her?’ Boyd whispered. ‘Oh God, I hope it isn’t anything they can crucify you with.’

‘I can’t watch this.’ She bolted out of her chair, but paused at the door, waiting for the humiliation she was about to suffer on national television.

Cynthia’s voice boomed through the canteen. ‘DI Parker, can I have a comment about the discovery of Lynn O’Donnell’s body two days ago?’

‘No, you can’t.’

‘Why did it take so long to inform her family?’

‘None of your business.’

Lottie cringed. Shit, this was worse than she’d feared. She saw McMahon turn his head to face her. Was that a sly smirk snaking across his face?

‘I think it is the nation’s business, Inspector. Was she badly decomposed? Was that the reason for the delay?’

‘Why don’t you piss off back to Dublin.’

The image showed Lottie shoving her way past Rhodes. Then the shot returned to a bemused-looking, very damp Cynthia.

‘And that is DI Parker, who is heading up two murder investigations and the case of Mollie Hunter, who has been missing since Wednesday.’

Lottie groaned. ‘Jesus, if you’re going to hang me out to dry, at least get your fucking facts right.’

‘What facts?’ McMahon rose from his chair as Boyd muted the television.

‘Lynn wasn’t murdered, she died of natural causes.’

‘That, Inspector, is beside the point. Where was she for ten years? If she was being held captive somewhere, don’t you think that was a contributing factor to her death?’

‘Yeah, well, what do you know?’ She leaned back against the door frame and closed her eyes. The day couldn’t get any worse, could it?

‘My office.’ McMahon stormed past her, leaving a trail of sickly aftershave in his wake.

‘Will you come with me, Boyd?’ she said.

‘I think you’ve dug your own grave on this one, Lottie.’

‘Okay. A favour, though, before I throw myself under McMahon’s bus. I need you with me while I interview Paddy McWard.’





Eighty-Three





McWard said he didn’t want a solicitor. As Lottie slumped onto a chair, Boyd set up the recording equipment and read out the procedures.

‘Get on with it,’ McWard said.

‘Tell me about your Claddagh tattoo,’ Lottie said.

‘What?’

‘Show it to me.’

He shrugged and held out his arm.

‘When did you get that done?’

‘Maybe ten years ago. I can’t remember.’

‘Why that symbol?’

‘I liked it. Going to arrest me for it?’

‘You don’t wear any rings?’

‘I don’t.’

‘Not even a wedding ring?’

‘Not a crime. I broke it, if you want to know.’

‘Really?’

‘My hand swelled up after a fight. Had to get the ring cut off. Satisfied?’

‘Not really. Did you know Lynn O’Donnell?’

‘I told you already. I didn’t know her.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

He shrugged again.

It was time to play what she thought was her trump card. The photo of the ring Jane Dore had taken from Lynn O’Donnell’s intestine. Her own gut was telling her McWard was involved, but she had no concrete evidence to link him to anything at the moment. Placing the photocopy face down on the table, she waited. Then, slowly, keeping her eyes on his face, she turned it over.

No change in expression.

‘So?’ he said. ‘It’s a Claddagh ring. What’s it got to do with me?’

‘Would you like to know where we found it?’

‘Not particularly, but I guess you’re going to tell me. Pig.’

‘Did you just call me a pig?’

‘Oink.’

‘For God’s sake, stop being childish,’ Lottie said. Under the table, she felt Boyd kick her leg. She turned to look at him. A slight shake of his head, warning her to back off. Not on your life.

‘This ring was recovered two days ago from the body of a woman who was found dead.’

‘Like I said. Nothing to do with me.’

‘She went missing ten years ago tomorrow.’

Lottie braced herself for more insults. But instead there was a suffocating silence as McWard’s face drained of colour and turned ghost white.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he pulled the photograph towards him and stared. A sob strangled in his throat. ‘Lynn?’

Lottie glanced at Boyd. What? He did know her.

She gave a little cough. ‘Yes, we found the ring inside the body of Lynn O’Donnell.’

He pushed away the photo and folded his arms. ‘I know nothing about any Lynn.’

‘You’re not a great liar, Paddy. You’ve just said her name. You knew her. Admit it.’

His silence hung in the air like a delicate cobweb. Lottie felt like a fly about to pounce on a spider.

‘Paddy. Talk to me, for Christ’s sake.’