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Whatever the answer, she knew Detective Sergeant Mooney was not going to be pleased with her.

After phoning Mooney, Lottie sat on the caravan step. Her gaze fell on the container the old man had been holding earlier. She poked a stick through the handle and shook it slightly. Empty. Her eyes travelled back to the body. Some bastard had poured the toxic drain cleaner over the old man. First there was the body in the bath burned with boiling water, and now this. More barbarity. She leaned her head against the door and tried to stem the rising panic taking a tight grip in her chest. Squeezing the breath out of her. She took small, insistent gasps of air. Allowed the silence to wash over her. Tried to infuse calm into her brain.

She’d thought the forest had settled into quietness since the birds had taken flight, but now she heard the sounds of nature: the rustling of leaves, the drip of sap, the shiver of a breeze. Then something else. Footsteps. Moving away.

‘What the hell?’ she whispered.

Leaning forward without otherwise moving, she tried to determine where the sound had come from. Once she had it pinpointed, she wondered if she should stay with the body, but then Mickey was going nowhere. Making her decision, she set off in the direction from which she’d heard the retreating footsteps.

Winding her way through the branches, she followed what seemed to be a well-worn path of dry earth and trampled leaves.

Who was she following? Where were they going? Was she being led into a trap? That nearly stopped her pursuit, but not quite.

The trees gave way and the convent walls loomed up ahead. She thought she saw a flash of colour, maybe blue. Had someone ducked in through the large rear door? Should she stop now? Or carry on and see what happened?

Her breath caught at the back of her throat as she paused, trying to decide what to do. She could be putting herself in danger, and thoughts of her three children and her little grandson, Louis, flashed before her eyes. They’d be grand ifanything happened to her, wouldn’t they? Boyd would make sure they were looked after. Her thoughts carried her inside the old building.

Oppressive darkness. Silence.

Then a bang.

A door swung shut somewhere above her head and the sound bounced off the walls. She took to the stone staircase and ran up it. Breathless, she found herself in a long corridor. Someone had tried to rip the mosaic tiles off the floor at one time, but seemed to have given up. She wasn’t giving up.

With no idea which direction to take, she turned left and made her way to a door at the end. Pressing her ear to it, she knew she’d chosen correctly.

The sound from inside puzzled her.

Crying.

Someone was crying?

Without fear for her safety, she turned the old brass knob and shoved the door inwards.

31

RAGMULLIN

Kirby knew he was on a hiding to nothing when Superintendent Farrell called him into her office. Her words flew high above his head.

No suspects.

No witnesses.

No clue.

What was he at? Was he even a detective?

Bring me results.

Her words resounded heavily through his brain as he made his way back to the incident room. He couldn’t dispute any of what she’d said.

‘I’m useless,’ he said to Martina.

‘No you’re not. You were landed in at the deep end. You just need to think what the boss would do.’

‘She’d chew my arse out for lack of results.’

‘Our prime suspect has fled the town,’ she said. ‘We have issued alerts for him and his car. McKeown is going through every bit of CCTV we can lay our hands on. All interested parties have been interviewed. What more can we do?’