Page 51 of Hidden Daughters (Detective Lottie Parker #15)

Bryan O’Shaughnessy wasn’t afraid of being arrested for murder.

There was no way they could charge him because they had no evidence that he’d done anything wrong.

Or had they? He’d been upfront with them and admitted his fingerprints were on the piece of timber found at the old homestead.

He had a legitimate excuse because how was he to know that picking it up could land him back in the station to be grilled.

He had nothing to worry about. Everything had an explanation.

‘Mr O’Shaughnessy,’ Mooney said, and sat down opposite him, slapping a thin file on the table.

‘I’m waiting for my solicitor.’

‘That’s your prerogative. I’ll just get things started while we wait.’ He studied the buttons on a recording machine.

Bryan wondered if this was allowed, but he wasn’t informed enough to object.

‘Who is your solicitor?’ Mooney asked.

‘A firm called Ward and Gavin. Not sure who they’ll send.’ They’d rejigged his will late last year when he’d decided to marry Grace. That was the only reason their name was to the forefront of his mind when he had to make the call.

‘You’ll probably get Norah Ward. She’s like a bulldog.’ Mooney must have caught Bryan’s amazed look, because he tugged at his beard and added, ‘Not in looks, I mean. She’s a fighter. She’ll fight your corner. That’s all I mean.’

Bryan couldn’t help smiling. Good to have the detective rattled before they began.

The door opened and in walked a young, petite woman.

Hair scraped back from her face, dressed in a black skirt suit with a red power blouse beneath.

She slapped a new-looking brown leather tote bag on the table and extracted a yellow pad along with a silver-coated Cross pen.

Bryan almost groaned. She looked like she’d just finished secondary school.

‘I hope you haven’t been interrogating my client in my absence.’ Her voice was strong and sharp. Perhaps he needed to revise his opinion, which he’d based solely on her appearance.

‘I’d never contemplate doing such a thing,’ Mooney said. ‘Welcome, Norah.’

She threw him a look that told him she knew he had no more welcome for her than a storm at sea.

‘Proceed,’ she said.

While Mooney did the tape introductions, Bryan studied his solicitor. They hadn’t met before, had never spoken. How could she represent him?

‘Mr O’Shaughnessy has not been charged with any crime yet,’ Mooney said. ‘But I do have a few questions for him.’

‘Why arrest him, then?’ Norah asked.

‘He was already in for questioning yesterday, and rather than him becoming a flight risk, I arrested him this morning.’

‘Arrested him for what exactly?’

‘We suspect he was involved in the murder of Assumpta Feeney.’

‘What?’ Bryan said. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘The royal we ? What evidence do you have?’ Norah was more like a terrier than a bulldog, Bryan decided.

‘DNA,’ Mooney said.

‘How did you get my client’s DNA?’

‘He voluntarily provided it, along with his fingerprints, yesterday evening.’

She seemed to be working hard not to glare at Bryan. ‘What reason did you have for requesting that from my client, Detective Sergeant Mooney?’

‘Mr O’Shaughnessy told us he’d handled a plank of timber that had blood on it. It was found on his property. It may have been used in an assault.’

‘Is this the property where the Feeney woman was murdered?’

‘No, she was found dead at a holiday cottage a few miles away. The board was discovered at an old ruin of a house on Mr O’Shaughnessy’s land.’

‘Hmm.’ Norah tapped her chin with her shiny pen. ‘What is the relevance of that piece of timber to the murder at a different location?’

‘We have not established a connection yet. But it will be relevant. Can I ask my questions now, Ms Ward?’

‘I’m not stopping you.’

Mooney exhaled loudly, puffing out his cheeks.

He outlined the discovery of the body at the holiday cottage and how they had identified Assumpta Feeney.

‘Her DNA was on PULSE. She’d been involved in a minor demonstration in January where a guard was injured.

The lab was able to make the match. We are attempting to trace her relatives, if she has any.

She was aged fifty-five and lived in Galway.

’ He opened his file and flicked through a few pages before extracting one. He slid it over the table.

‘What’s this?’ Bryan asked.

‘A DNA profile.’

‘What has that got to do with me?’ He felt Norah tap his arm and turned to her.

She whispered, ‘No comment. That’s your answer to everything.’

‘Good question, Mr O’Shaughnessy,’ Mooney said, ignoring the fact that he’d heard the solicitor’s instruction. ‘I thought you might be able to tell me what it has to do with you.’

Bryan shrugged.

Mooney sighed. ‘Okay. I’ll tell you what it is.’ He indicated the page. ‘We found this DNA profile at the holiday cottage. It’s a match for you.’

‘Sure didn’t I help renovate that place a few years ago.’

‘No comment,’ Norah hissed between her teeth.

The smile on Mooney’s face told Bryan he’d made a mistake.

‘You told me yesterday when we had our chat that you’d never set foot in it.’

‘You misunderstood me. I was talking about recently.’

‘Will you stay quiet? Please?’ Norah said, like an irritated schoolteacher.

‘Ah sure, let the man speak,’ Mooney drawled. ‘We might get to the bottom of this “misunderstanding” quicker.’

‘My client has explained he was in that cottage at some stage.’

‘Okay, let’s say I accept that. Now look at this.’ He slid a second page across the table. ‘This is another DNA profile taken at the scene.’

‘Go on,’ Norah said, and bit the inside of her lip. Bryan was beginning to think she was sorry she’d been landed with him.

‘It belongs to a woman called Imelda Conroy. The documentary-maker who was in Galway doing some sort of thing about the laundries.’

‘And?’

‘And she rented the holiday cottage.’

‘What has this got to do with my client?’

Pushing the two sheets of paper side by side, Mooney then laid a third on top. ‘Our preliminary analysis shows that Imelda Conroy and Bryan O’Shaughnessy may be related.’

Bryan felt his jaw drop and forgot all about his solicitor’s instructions to keep his mouth shut.

‘What the hell are you saying? That’s totally untrue. I don’t know the woman. I don’t know either woman.’ He felt such a surge of anger that he couldn’t stop himself lunging across the table at Mooney. ‘You’re a fucking bollox. You’re making this up. Trying to frame me.’

He sat back down at Norah’s insistence. Luckily Mooney had leaned back and no contact was made, but Bryan caught sight of the flashing red light up high on the wall in the corner. He was on camera. Shit.

‘DNA does not lie,’ Mooney said, calm as you like.

‘What sort of relative are you talking about here?’ Norah asked, and Bryan noticed some of her stern composure slipping away.

‘Could be father and daughter. Brother and sister. The lab is carrying out further analysis as we speak. So, Mr O’Shaughnessy, tell me this. Where is Imelda Conroy?’

‘How would I know?’ His mind was a riot of questions. One kept leaping to the forefront. Could Imelda be his and Mary Elizabeth’s child? ‘What age is this Imelda?’

Mooney ignored the question. ‘We extracted DNA from the blood on the piece of timber, the one you handled. It’s a match for Ms Conroy.’

‘How did you determine her DNA?’ Norah asked.

‘I don’t have to answer that, but I will.’ Mooney folded his arms. ‘We initially got DNA from a laptop cable and a phone charger at the cottage. Then we extracted some from clothing left in a rucksack with her name on it. Mr O’Shaughnessy, where is Imelda Conroy?’

Bryan was speechless. He felt a nudge on his elbow from his solicitor. He turned to look at her and read her lips.

‘No comment.’

‘Have you enough to arrest my client?’ she asked.

‘I would like a confession.’

‘You’re not getting one.’

‘Then I want time to build a case. I can hold Mr O’Shaughnessy for twenty-four hours. I can also ask my superintendent to extend that time. Okay?’

‘No, it’s not okay,’ Bryan blurted. ‘I only met Imelda Conroy the one time, when she wanted to interview me about the laundries.’

‘And why would she want to interview you?’

Time to take his solicitor’s advice. ‘No comment.’

‘Right then, Ms Ward, your client will be taken to a cell. You can have ten minutes to talk to him before then.’ Mooney spoke for the tape and switched off the machine.

The red light went out in the corner above his head and he left the room.

‘Start talking,’ Norah Ward said.

Bryan felt his mouth go dry, and all the words he might have wanted to utter disappeared.