Page 42 of Hidden Daughters (Detective Lottie Parker #15)

At Galway Garda HQ, Lottie finished her statement, then sat back and looked at Mooney.

‘The woman could be Imelda Conroy. You have to find her,’ she said.

‘We are trying our best. We also need to find out what she was up to. She seems to have opened up this tin of slugs.’

‘Can of worms,’ Lottie corrected.

‘Whatever you want to call it, but in my opinion she let loose a trail of slimy slugs that has me going round in circles. I have two dead bodies, one I have yet to identify, a missing documentary-maker and a nameless escapee who may well be said documentary-maker. What else? Oh, right. No suspects.’

‘And a mysterious scalded or burned man from decades ago,’ she added.

‘That could be a figment of Bryan O’Shaughnessy’s imagination. Shit, I have a meeting with my superintendent in an hour.’

‘Rather you than me.’

‘And the local councillors are up in arms. Councillor Wilson is a thorn in my side. He’s on some sort of policing committee at the council. He wants this thing put to bed asap. Says it’s bad for tourism. More likely he wants to grandstand when the culprit is caught.’

‘Human life has been taken. These people should keep their mouths shut.’ Lottie despaired of human nature.

‘Agreed, but when have you ever known politicians to do that?’

She was slow to stifle a yawn as tiredness seeped out. ‘Can you get someone to bring me back to O’Shaughnessy’s? Seeing as you’ve impounded my car.’

‘You realise that I had to do that?’

‘Correct procedure, but don’t keep it too long. I don’t relish being isolated out there in the back of beyond with a killer stalking his way around the countryside.’

‘I’m sure O’Shaughnessy will allow you to borrow a tractor if you need to go to the shops.’

‘Not funny, Mooney.’

‘I don’t suppose it is.’ He scrubbed at his eyes, and she saw the tension etched there, along with his own tiredness and frustration. All revealed in the motion of a hand on his face.

‘One thing I will ask of you,’ he said.

‘Go on.’

‘See if you can get anything from O’Shaughnessy about that woman you lost from your car.’

‘I didn’t lose…’ She threw up her hands, but then relented. ‘Show me a photo of Imelda Conroy.’

‘This is from her website. Could be an old one.’

She squinted at the pretty young woman. ‘I’m not sure.

The woman I met was very dishevelled. It might be her, but then again it might not.

I’ll describe her to Bryan and see what he says.

Did you have any luck trying to find out about the nun called Assumpta whom Mickey Fox mentioned. I texted you about it.’

‘And when do you think I had time to do that?’

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s on my list. You can wait out front and I’ll get someone to bring you home.’

‘Home? I wish,’ she muttered, suddenly feeling lonely for her ramshackle house in Ragmullin. She wondered how they were getting on without her. No desperate phone calls so far. That was good, wasn’t it?

They are all looking for me. They’ll never find me.

I know that with a surety born of years of staying so far back that my true self is barely a shadow.

My dark alter ego does not walk around in plain sight.

That persona prefers the murky gloom. Lurking in dark corners of the mind.

Jumping out when it’s time. Taking my prize, my prey.

They thought they’d got the better of me all those years ago.

My outward scars have healed somewhat, but internally I have become strengthened and watchful, and patient.

They succeeded in emboldening me to await my time.

And now is my time. To strike. To get my revenge.

To take back what was mine. My true self.

As I think these thoughts, I subsume myself back into my manufactured role. The one everyone knows and recognises. It has taken years to cultivate and I’m not going to let anyone take it from me. I am too smart for that.