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There was an email from Mona, the Cuan receptionist, waiting in Lottie’s inbox, with the dates Aneta had worked there. She cross-referenced them with John Morgan’s dates and found that they’d overlapped for one week. She looked up Kirby’s notes on Shannon Kenny. Yes, she’d been there then too. Mona’s email had no mention of Laura Nolan.

She knew Gordon Collins had visited Cuan last February – the photo in the brochure, and the local paper McKeown had found online proved that – and the date coincided with Aneta’s time working there. Was there something about all this she should know? She couldn’t put her finger on what it could be.

To complete the link, she needed to confirm Laura’s actual dates in Cuan. Irene had intimated she was there when John was but why had Diana not answered Martina about it? She’d have to ask the woman herself.

After struggling into her coat, she drove over to Redwood Court. It was not yet nine a.m. She felt she’d worked a half day already. The curtains were drawn and the house looked forlorn. She hated having to wake the grieving mother, but she needed answers.

She’d rung the bell a few times before the next-door neighbour came out on her step. The older lady was wrapped up in a quilted jacket and woolly hat. She had Tesco bags under her arm as she locked the door. ‘No one there, love. Saw her and the young lad get into a taxi early this morning when I was bringing in the milk. Frozen solid in the carton it was.’

‘Oh, what time was that?’

‘Who might you be then?’

Lottie introduced herself.

The woman nodded, satisfied.

‘Must have been seven. I always get up before seven. A throwback to when I worked in Dublin and had to drive to the city every morning. That was before the commuter train. I miss the job, but you know?—’

‘Did they have anything with them? Bags? Suitcases, perhaps?’

‘I didn’t notice. They could have had them in the car before I came out. She didn’t wave or nothing. Never does anyhow. Just shoved the youngster in the back seat and got in beside him. She had the door shut before I could open my mouth.’

‘Thanks, Mrs…’

‘Ms Molloy. Never got married. Glad now. Who’d want an auld fella telling you what you can and can’t do? Not me.’

She marched proudly down the path in snow boots, which was a bit excessive, Lottie thought, considering the frost was already melting.

‘Did you happen to notice whose taxi it was?’

‘No, I didn’t, but I heard the driver say something about the train station.’

‘You’ve been a great help.’

‘I hope she’s okay. Such a shock about poor Laura. Not that they ever mixed with anyone around here.’ The woman reached the gate. ‘I should have dropped in, but what does one say in these situations? I kept putting it off.’

‘Did you know Laura?’ Lottie hoped her answer wouldn’t turn into a saga.

‘Know her? No one knew Laura Nolan. Closed book of a girl.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She never raised her head or her hand in hello. Like her mother. Always silent. Worked in Lidl. I prefer Tesco myself. Kept to themselves, they did. Then Laura had the baby. I saw her go out a few nights recently all dolled up. Her mother is a bit of a dolly bird herself. Never saw her with a hair out of place and?—’

‘Okay, thank you.’ Lottie felt she’d get nothing concrete from Ms Molloy. Just conjecture and gossip. All the same, she might come in handy at some stage. ‘Here’s my card in case you think of anything that can help us with Laura’s murder.’

She almost ran back to her car before the woman built up steam again.