Page 13 of Hidden Daughters (Detective Lottie Parker #15)

‘So what did you make of him?’ Martina asked Kirby as she put Edie’s handbag into an evidence bag and locked it in the boot.

Kirby leaned against the car, inhaling the freshly lit stub of a cigar. ‘He never shed a tear while we were there with him.’

‘Neither did Robert. Are all the men in Edie’s life cold and heartless?’

‘That’s a very hasty observation to make, but thing is, I agree with you in regard to Robert. There’s something we’re missing. As for Noel, he’s in a state of shock.’

Martina thought for a moment. ‘He’s a mechanic, isn’t he?

So why is he so bloody clean? I mean, I like clean, but he had been at work this morning before the news broke.

There wasn’t a speck of grease or oil on him.

Even his nails were spotless. The grooves around his nails and whorls of his fingers would have some trace, wouldn’t they? ’

‘I get it, but he probably had a shower before we arrived. He may just be very conscientious about his appearance.’

‘Or he was washing away all traces of murdering his mother.’

‘God Almighty, Brennan, you are leaping so far in the air on this your name should be Mondo Duplantis.’

‘Who?’

‘I was watching pole vaulting on television over the weekend. Some athletics thing. This Swedish lad broke the world record. Amazing stuff.’

‘I’m sure.’ Martina always wondered how Kirby’s mind worked, and she was no closer to reaching a conclusion with his latest statement. ‘Where to next?’

‘I’ll get Edie’s handbag to forensics and then make sure McKeown has organised the search of her home. I can let you out at Happy Hair, where Edie worked.’

‘Thanks,’ Martina grumbled, feeling he’d undermined her because she was female by having her go to the hair salon. But then she was only a uniformed guard and Kirby was the detective. She let it ride.

The Happy Hair salon was located at the top of Gaol Street, on the left-hand corner after the market square.

The outside walls were painted black and the lettering was metallic silver.

Inside it seemed to be a slow day. One stylist sat behind the desk.

There were no other staff or customers present.

‘How can I help you? Do you have an appointment, or do you need to make one?’ The young woman tapped the screen with a pen.

Martina was in her garda uniform with a hi-vis equipment vest over it. She took off her cap and automatically touched her hair. Did she look like someone who was in for a cut and colour? ‘I’m here about Edie Butler.’

‘Oh.’ The woman, make-up pristine, false eyelashes fluttering – they had to be false, Martina thought – got off her stool and stood. She was small, about five foot, in her twenties and dressed in a black work tunic over trousers. ‘Terrible news. Do you know what happened?’

Without answering the question, Martina took out her notebook. ‘I’ve a few questions. Can I have a minute?’

‘Not sure how I can help you, but fire ahead.’

‘Your name?’

‘Margaret Woods. Everyone calls me Marge, and don’t start the Simpsons jokes. I’ve heard them all.’ She giggled, a little hysterically. Nervous? Maybe.

‘When did you last see Edie Butler?’ Martina asked.

‘Edie? Friday. She only worked Wednesday to Friday and she was on the rota from ten until three. She had to finish off a colour and cut Friday afternoon, so I’d say it was about three thirty by the time she left. And that’s the last I saw of her.’

‘How did she seem?’

Marge appeared to hesitate.

‘What sort of form was she in?’ Martina clarified.

‘Huh, I don’t know what to say. It’s…’

‘Go on,’ Martina coaxed, ‘you can tell me.’

‘Was she murdered?’

‘We’re looking into the circumstances surrounding her death.’

Flicking her gel nails – maybe acrylic, definitely not natural – the stylist sighed. ‘Edie wasn’t the easiest person to get along with.’

‘How so?’

‘She was grumpy at times, sullen I think is the word. You’d have to remind her to smile at the clients. And she’d let herself go, too. Turning up for work with grey roots in dark hair wasn’t an ideal image for a hairstylist.’

‘I suppose not.’ Martina realised she could do with getting her own roots done, but no one had commented on her appearance. They wouldn’t dare. ‘Was Edie unhappy?’

‘Probably. She was a loner as far as I could tell. I felt a bit sad for her.’

‘I heard she had a boyfriend. Did she talk about him?’

Eyes widening, accentuated by a lorryload of kohl, Margaret said, ‘That’s the first I knew about it. Wait a minute. Some guy turned up here on Friday looking to speak to her. When he walked in, it was like she saw a ghost or something.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She got all flustered. Nearly dropped the scissors. Said she was taking five minutes. In the middle of a haircut? I said no way. She had to finish the cut first. She told the guy to wait outside.’

‘Did she join him?’

‘She finished the cut, then ran outside. She was back in a few minutes to do the blow-dry.’

‘Did you recognise him?

‘No, though I thought he looked a bit familiar. She didn’t tell me who he was, either.’

‘Were you not curious?’

‘Of course I was, but me and Edie never had that kind of relationship. Her private life was always off limits. I knew very little about her.’

‘How long had she worked here?’

‘Two years give or take.’ Marge turned up her nose.

Martina thought she would be grumpy too if she had to work here. ‘What did he look like?’

‘Who?’

‘This man who called to see Edie?’

Marge thought for a moment, chewing her lip. ‘Hard to say, really. I only got a glimpse of him. Why did I think he was familiar, though?’

‘You tell me?’

‘Give me a minute and it’ll come to me.’

‘Okay. Did her mood change after that?’

‘Not really. Same old Edie, always with a puss on her.’

Martina felt sorry for Edie, who didn’t seem to have had anyone fighting her corner. ‘So she didn’t talk about him or mention any personal information?’

‘Edie? Never.’

‘Did ye ever go for drinks after work?’

‘We did.’ Mock surprise, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

‘But Edie rarely joined us. We hardly ever asked her, to be honest. Who wants a killjoy at drinks? And she was a good bit older than us, like way older.’ Marge seemed to think she’d said something wrong and added, ‘Not that it made any difference, but still. It’d be like having your mammy out drinking with you.

’ She laughed. Martina thought it was plain sad.

‘Did she ever say that she felt afraid of anyone?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did she feel threatened?’

‘I’ve no idea. She may have done, but she didn’t say.’

‘Okay. Thanks, Marge. We will have to interview all the staff at some stage, but if you think of anything at all, please phone the station.’

‘Will do. The boss will be back from her holiday on Wednesday. God, it’s hard to believe that Edie is gone. It’s awful.’

Martina headed for the door, mulling over everything the young woman had told her. She imagined the staff now had a new topic to gossip about with their clients.

‘Hey. Hold on.’

‘Yes?’ She stalled with her hand on the door as Marge came up to her. A waft of hair products and cheap perfume preceded her.

‘I know why the guy looked familiar. I think he’s the chef in Danny’s.’