Page 22 of Hidden Daughters (Detective Lottie Parker #15)

The wind shifted. It was as if the three cottages commanded stillness. Everything stood inert, while at the same time everything moved. An uncanny phenomenon that Lottie experienced whenever she walked onto a crime scene.

Was this a crime scene? It must be, she thought, holding her hand to her stomach, where her gut emitted warning signals.

Surrounded by trees, the cottages were lined up side by side with a small front lawn bordered by pebbles and stones.

Wooden fences separated them. Each had a gate with a cobbled path leading to the door.

Two patrol cars and an ambulance were parked out on the narrow road beneath the trees.

A uniformed garda in shirtsleeves and a hi-vis vest complete with radio stood guard at the gate, clipboard in hand.

‘Sorry, you can’t go any further, madam,’ he said, his tone all official. ‘You’ll have to leave.’

Lottie wished she had her badge. Not that it would do her much good in Galway. She had a business card containing her details, though. No harm chancing her arm. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Lottie Parker. I was wondering if you could do with a hand here.’

‘Did they send you over?’ He examined her card, apparently interested now.

Lie or truth? Maybe just dodge the question. Whoever they were. ‘I want to see if I’m needed.’

‘Only person needed here is the state pathologist, and she’s been notified.’

Jane Dore, the state pathologist, was located in Tullamore, well over two hours away, without allowing for the gridlocked traffic that needed to be navigated to get out to Connemara.

‘I’m good friends with Jane,’ Lottie said. ‘Can I speak to the senior investigating officer?’

‘Who? Oh, you mean Matt? Detective Sergeant Mooney is inside.’

She made to skirt around the guard. ‘I’ll have a word with him so.’

The man sighed long and hard before thrusting the clipboard and a pen towards her. ‘Sign in first. I hope you don’t get me fired.’

She signed a scrawl and rushed down the path before he changed his mind.

At the door, she was handed a mask, booties and gloves, which she pulled on before entering.

She noted how rural the setting was. No chance of CCTV out here like you’d find in a town.

Then again, she knew how unreliable it was no matter where you lived.

The cottage also had no visible cameras or security system.

A man with a shock of red hair and a struggling beard showing beneath a mask commanded the centre of the small living space. An aura of cigarette smoke clung to his skin, otherwise the atmosphere appeared neutral. He was the only one in there.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ He pulled off his mask to reveal a seen-it-all-before face. ‘Did Delaney let you in?’

She wondered who had rocked his boat. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Parker.

’ Time for the truth. ‘I’m based in Ragmullin but visiting Connemara for the week.

’ He didn’t seem too impressed, just tugged at his beard with a gloved hand.

Bad practice, she thought, but said, ‘I have a vast amount of experience and might be able to help you.’ She had no idea what he was dealing with, but it had to be suspicious if the state pathologist had been called in.

‘Are you insinuating I have no experience?’

‘Not at all. Just saying I can offer assistance if it’s needed.’

‘I think I’ve heard of you.’ He inhaled deeply, then exhaled.

A nicotine breath hit her. She could almost see the anger leaving his body as he deflated into a shroud of defeat.

‘It’s not lawful to have you here, Inspector, but I could do with another pair of eyes on this.

Matt Mooney’s the name. Detective Sergeant. ’

Inexplicably, she felt sorry for him. He appeared to be out of his depth, weariness lodged in the curved lines around his eyes.

‘Where’s the body?’ She wanted to see it for herself.

‘Paramedics declared her dead and we haven’t touched anything since. The forensic team should be here soon.’

‘I can take a look, give you my observations.’

‘It’s not pretty.’

‘Murder rarely is.’

‘It could yet be ruled a suicide.’

She caught the doubt in his tone. ‘You don’t think so?’

‘No, I don’t. See for yourself.’

He led her to a door to one side of the fireplace. A bathroom. Her skin itched with apprehension as she stepped forward. She looked in without entering the room. ‘This is…’ She was lost for words. ‘It’s…’

The woman in the bath was dead, very dead. Her skin burned, perhaps scalded.

‘I know,’ Mooney said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it in my twenty years on the force.’

She raised an eyebrow. He didn’t look old enough to have served that long, but she sensed a career weariness about him.

‘It’s b-brutal,’ she stammered. ‘I can’t believe someone did this to another human being.’

She noticed an electric kettle on the floor, without its cord.

Too far away from the body in the bath. The woman did not scald herself.

Someone did this to her. How? Why? Who? Too many questions crowded her brain.

It was difficult to determine the woman’s age, such was the damage to her face and body.

‘Can I move a bit closer?’

‘I’d prefer to wait for SOCOs and the pathologist.’

‘Sure. You’re right. I need some air.’

She backed out. He followed. They stood on the outside step and took deep breaths.

‘I reckon she’s not been there too long,’ Lottie said, pulling off the mask and gloves and wiping her nose with her hand, as if that could get rid of the smell now lodged there. ‘But decomposition is setting in, so it’s hard to tell.’

‘Definitely less than twenty-four hours,’ Mooney said.

‘When was she last seen?’

‘We don’t know – we don’t know who she is or if she was here alone. My guys are contacting the owner of the cottages to get a name. This time of year people come and go. Short-term lets, weekend breaks, Airbnb and the like.’

‘The other cottages…’ She pointed to the two similar dwellings.

‘Unoccupied.’

‘It’s so remote.’ Stating the obvious. Maybe she should just leave. But the dichotomy of the tranquillity outside against the horror within the walls numbed her. She was intrigued. ‘Did you search the rest of the rooms?’

He turned and gave her a look that asked if she thought he was an idiot. ‘Of course I did.’

‘Sorry, just checking.’

‘It’s okay. There are some clothes in a rucksack. There’s also a laptop lead in the bedroom, but no sign of a laptop anywhere in the cottage. No phone either. Might be a burglary gone wrong.’

‘The way she was… tortured seems a bit extreme for a burglary.’

‘I know that. But even if she was targeted, nothing could warrant such barbarism.’

The clipboard garda came over to them. ‘Got a call from the owner. The woman who rented the cottage is Imelda Conroy. A documentary-maker. You can google her. She does freelance stuff for national radio and television. Lives in Dublin.’

‘What was she doing here, then?’ Mooney asked. The guard shrugged. Mooney continued. ‘Find out more for me, Delaney.’

‘Will do.’ Delaney scuttled off.

‘Did you find any equipment other than the laptop cable?’ Lottie asked.

‘Not yet, but there were some pages disturbed, all blank and might be from a new ream. And a chair overturned. Whoever did this took her stuff.’

‘You need to find out what she was working on. It may have been something the killer wanted, or didn’t want exposed.’

Mooney straightened his shoulders and narrowed his eyes at her. ‘It’s probably totally unrelated to her work. Thanks, Inspector. I can take it from here.’

She heard the annoyance in his tone. Feck. She’d insulted his intelligence.

‘I’d really like to help.’

‘Give your number to Delaney over there, and if I need your input, I’ll call you. Good day.’

He marched back inside the house.

Damn. With her curiosity piqued, she itched to be involved.

She debated following the surly detective.

No point. Instead, she breathed in the fresh air, smelled the countryside, listened to the waves in the distance and wondered why someone had brutally murdered Imelda Conroy.

Then another thought struck her. Imelda may have rented the cottage, but it might not be her lying dead in the bath.

She wanted to impart this scenario to Mooney but figured she’d belittled his professional character enough for one day. It wasn’t her case. She was on holiday, here for a wedding. She had to keep her nose firmly out of this.

As she walked back across the fields, she knew that would be impossible.