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She seemed to mull this over. ‘Why wouldn’t he talk to me?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘It must be police business then.’ A line of worry creased her forehead. ‘Did he do something awful that I should know about?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘But you’re not sure? I’m marrying him, Mark, I have a right to know.’

‘Not certain it works that way, Gracie. Talk to him.’

‘Where I am concerned, it does work that way.’ She got up and returned to her cooking. ‘Now the mince is burned.’

Her shoulders were slumped, shoulder blades trembling.

And he couldn’t think of a thing to say to reassure her.

She knew she couldn’t trust that woman. She was a cop. Whether on duty or on holidays, they were cops twenty-four/seven. She would never trust them no matter how kind or caring they pretended to be. They were all the same. Wanted to squeeze you dry. Leaving you without a drop of self-esteem in your system. They hadn’t helped people like her and her family before, and they wouldn’t help now.

When she’d opened her eyes in the car and seen where she’d been brought, she almost had a heart attack. O’Shaughnessy’s place. Why the woman had brought her there, she had no idea, and she had no intention of hanging around to find out. Seeing Bryan O’Shaughnessy was not on her agenda. She felt that that bridge was well and truly burned. Just like poor old Mickey Fox.

She’d got out of the car unseen and unheard, and crept back down the road a little bit before climbing over a wall into a field. She’d crawled like a fugitive along the inside of the stonework.

The cottage ruins she’d come upon had no roof and little shelter from the elements, but it might allow her time to get her thoughts straight. The waves crashing in the distance, far below on the rocky seashore, didn’t scare her. She welcomed the sound. It calmed her. But she couldn’t become too relaxed. She had to make a plan. Seeing the aftermath of what had happened to Mickey scared her more than anything that had gone before. She was tough, but not so tough that she did not fear the evil she’d witnessed.

The wind made it feel cold, even though the sun was beaming. She wished she had more than her fleece jacket towarm her up. She’d have to make do. Make a plan. Huh, look where her plans had got her so far. Nowhere.

She was still in danger.

She’d been hunted into a corner, and here she was.

But she was a fighter. She would not give up. Not yet.

She tried to settle herself in the ruin. But she felt as if old ghosts were rising from the walls with the wind. And she shuddered violently.

36

Mooney didn’t bring Lottie straight to the station, and she was glad of the respite.

He parked up at the old convent and they walked to the clearing. A small forensics tent had been erected over Mickey Fox’s body.

‘Put these on.’ Mooney handed her gloves and booties.

‘You are aware that my DNA is all over this place?’

‘Do you always have to argue the point? Just do as I say.’

‘Why bring me here? What do you want me to look at?’

‘I want you to show me exactly what Fox was doing when you were here earlier, and where he was situated.’

‘I told you. He’d been burning something in that oil drum.’ She pointed to it.

‘Were there flames?’

‘I remember smoke. Then some sparks flying as he stoked it.’

‘Someone threw water all over it.’ He glared at her pointedly.