Page 5 of Hidden Daughters (Detective Lottie Parker #15)
RAGMULLIN
With Detective Inspector Parker and Detective Sergeant Boyd away for the week, Detective Larry Kirby had assumed the lead in the office.
Maria Lynch had opted to extend her time off with unpaid leave following the birth of her most recent child, and he missed having her around.
They’d always had each other’s backs. Now he was at the mercy of Detective Sam McKeown.
At least Garda Martina Brennan was in his corner, as was Garda Lei, whose first name always escaped him.
The inspector had tasked him with making sense of the budget projections for the next six months, and Kirby found himself sinking into despair at the unfamiliar spreadsheets.
He’d rather be out catching and interviewing criminals, or finding a space to have an illicit puff on his cigar.
And with Superintendent Deborah Farrell on his case, he was hoping for an investigation to land in his lap so that he’d have an excuse to abandon bloody projections of income and expenditure.
He could hardly believe it when his prayers were answered.
Kirby walked with Garda Lei, who was tapping his notebook against his palm. ‘I had to let Maura Carroll go home. Poor woman is an innocent in all this.’
‘And how do you know that? For all we know, she could have been involved.’
‘Involved in what, though?’ Lei said, a plaintive tinge to his voice. ‘She was only going for a run before heading into work at the hospital.’
‘That’s what she told you? Did you check it out before you let her go?’
‘Well, no… but I?—’
‘No buts, Lei. Make sure this Carroll woman is who she says she is.’
‘Certainly. I can do that.’
Kirby stared at him.
Flustered, Lei continued. ‘Okay. Her story makes sense, and?—’
‘Story? Let’s hope it’s not a fictional tale then.’ Kirby watched the young guard slouch off, head sagging between his shoulders. He called him back. ‘And organise a search of the riverbank, all the way back into town, and upstream to the lake too.’
‘What am I looking for?’
‘Something that might give us a fucking clue.’ Kirby relented as he noticed the hurt on Lei’s face.
‘The body is naked. I don’t think she did this to herself, because why would she take off all her clothes?
The water isn’t too deep either. If we can conclude she was murdered, then the killer might have disposed of her clothing and belongings in or along the river.
’ He realised he was assuming the body was that of a woman.
He quickly assessed the surrounding area. ‘The buildings and shops need to be canvassed. There’s not too many, so that’s good. I’ll organise that.’
The traffic on the main road was backed up and the link road that ran by the small bridge was now closed.
The entire area around the bridge was cordoned off, out of bounds.
He gazed around. No CCTV cameras, unless the fruit and veg shop had one, but that was nothing more than a galvanised structure, and anyway it was a hundred metres away with no clear view of the river. Still, maybe they’d strike lucky.
He peered over the bridge as SOCOs carried out their preliminary work beneath the tent that had been erected below.
He needed to see what they were seeing, so he pulled on a protective suit, booties and gloves and, after psyching himself up, gingerly made his way downwards.
At least the weather had been kind. No rain, so he wasn’t slipping and sliding.
Crouching into the tent, Kirby got his first look.
The hair was dark, but he noticed grey roots.
He had no idea of the age of the victim.
Possibly a woman, but long hair didn’t tell him anything, and the body was face-down, partially submerged.
The narrow, bony shoulders pointed to the body being female.
No rings or bracelets. No tattoos that he could see.
‘Could the water have wrinkled the skin?’ He addressed Grainne Nixon, the SOCO team leader, who was working tweezers through the hair as another SOCO took photographs.
‘We will assess all possibilities. I’m doing preliminary work until the pathologist arrives, then we need to get her to the mortuary to discover what happened to her.’
‘So it is a her, then?’
‘Yes, she is female. Look at this. There’s evidence of burning or scalding on her back.’
‘Shit.’ He studied the blistered skin. ‘Can you move the body?’
‘Not until the state pathologist does her thing. And just for the record, I don’t think this was an accidental drowning, or a suicide.’
‘Because she’s naked?’
‘No. There is evidence of ligature marks on both wrists. She was bound, scalded and most likely killed elsewhere.’
‘Christ.’ Kirby scratched at his head, only for his gloved fingers to slip on the hood of his suit. ‘There doesn’t seem to have been any attempt to hide the body. Can you make out anything that might help me with identification?’
‘No, not yet. But there are abrasions and indentation marks between her shoulder blades.’
‘From rolling down the bank or being pushed down it?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘How long has she been dead?’ He knew better than to ask, but he did it anyhow.
Grainne raised an eyebrow above her face mask. ‘You know right well that you’ll have to wait for that answer.’
‘When will the pathologist arrive?’
Jane Dore, the state pathologist, was based in Tullamore. Normally it was a thirty-minute drive, but with the morning traffic now backed up on the main road, it could take an extra half an hour, if not more.
‘Jane is away at a conference, so it will be the assistant state pathologist. It will take them as long as it takes,’ Grainne said. ‘I’m sorry, Kirby, but like the rest of us, you’ll have to have patience.’
He made his way back up the bank. As he divested himself of his protective gear beside the garda technical bureau van, he tried to figure out what needed to be done next.
What would the boss do? Damn, why did she have to be away this week of all weeks?
His mood didn’t improve when he spotted Detective Sam McKeown striding purposefully towards him.
‘You found time to join us,’ Kirby said, unable to hide his derision.
It was a known fact that the two men did not get on. Hardly anyone got on with McKeown, except for Superintendent Deborah Farrell. Because of that, Kirby was well and truly stuck with the younger, shaven-headed detective.
‘Not that I have to explain anything to you,’ McKeown said, ‘but when I heard about the body, I decided to take a quick look at the recent missing persons lists and?—’
‘We don’t know anything about her yet. You’re jumping the gun.’
‘Not entirely. A woman has been reported as missing since Friday. Fifty-three years old. The family were not unduly worried as she’s done it before, apparently. Disappeared, then reappeared after a week without explanation.’
‘What makes you think that it’s her in the river?’
‘This time she didn’t take money or belongings. One of the reasons for the report being made, apparently. Her handbag was still in the house, her coat hanging on the back of a chair and?—’
‘It’s too warm for a bloody coat in this weather.’
‘If you’d stop interrupting and let me finish…’
‘The floor is yours.’ Kirby rummaged in his jacket pocket for a cigar, then tapped his shirt pocket, without finding one. He needed something to do with his hands or he might just hit McKeown.
‘The missing woman may or may not be the person found dead here, but I thought it was suspicious enough to snap her photograph for comparison purposes. It’s your funeral if it turns out to be her.’ McKeown turned to walk away.
Kirby grabbed his sleeve. ‘Show me the photo.’
‘Now you’re interested?’ McKeown sighed, extracted his phone from his trouser pocket and tapped it.
Kirby looked at the screen.
‘Edith Butler, known as Edie. As I said, fifty-three years old. Single – maybe widowed, separated or divorced, but that’s not clear. She’s been living in Ragmullin for the last twenty-odd years. She has two sons, aged eighteen and twenty-five. The elder, Noel, reported her missing.’
‘Where are these sons now?’
‘How would I know? I only just pulled the report five minutes ago on a hunch.’
‘Email it to me.’ Kirby handed back the phone and glanced towards the river. ‘Edie Butler,’ he murmured, ‘is that you down there? And if so, what happened to you?’