Page 52 of Hidden Daughters (Detective Lottie Parker #15)

They left Lottie sitting in the fancy Garda HQ reception area for twenty minutes before Mooney came out to her.

‘I need a decent coffee,’ he said. ‘And air. Let’s walk.’

They headed in silence to the hotel they’d been at before. He ordered coffee for them both, and they sat at a table by the large window. It would have been overlooking part of Galway Bay if the sweep of buildings across the road hadn’t been there.

‘Don’t ask me anything about Bryan O’Shaughnessy,’ he said. ‘I’ll be giving you the same bloody answer he’s been giving me for the last half-hour.’

‘It was a “no comment” interview then?’

‘Here and there. What did you want to see me about?’

She waited for her coffee to cool, took a sip and set the cup back on the saucer. ‘There was a murder in Ragmullin earlier this week.’

‘Yes, I know. Awful business.’

‘A man who knew the victim is now AWOL. Robert Hayes. He’s a chef in a local Ragmullin eatery. The thing is, it’s believed he was originally from Galway.’

‘A lot of people are originally from Galway.’

‘I’m trying to help you here.’ She wouldn’t rise to his sarcasm.

‘And how can this help me, pray tell?’

‘You’re an arsehole, Mooney. You know what, forget it.’ She stood.

‘Sit down and drink your coffee. I apologise. I’m stressed and getting nowhere.’

‘Bryan isn’t a viable suspect, is he?’

‘Nice try.’

‘Can’t blame me for that.’ She sat back down.

‘Tell me more about this Ragmullin chef.’ He sipped his coffee. Froth lingered on his moustache.

‘As I said, he’s from Galway…’ She paused, trying to think what Kirby had told her. ‘Or maybe he just worked here at one stage. I thought he might be worth looking into.’

‘Any more details that I should be aware of?’

‘I can ask Detective Kirby to talk to you. You might also need to compare the MO of the Ragmullin murder with those in Connemara.’

Mooney slurped his coffee, wiped his bearded chin and leaned back in the chair. ‘Okay, but I’m up to my lugs, so I can’t spare anyone to look for this Galway chef.’

‘Just ask around. Someone might remember him.’

‘I know there’s been an alert issued for him, and I’d have heard if anyone remembered him.’

‘But you and your team have been up to ninety with the murders here. It might have slipped under the radar. Robert Hayes might have too.’

‘Okay, okay. I’ll talk to your detective. What’s he called again?

‘Larry Kirby. Thanks. About Bryan…’

‘Don’t go there.’

‘I figure you must be keeping him a bit longer. I hope he’s secured a good solicitor.’

‘He got a fucking bulldog.’

Lottie laughed. She knew exactly what Mooney meant. She was glad for Bryan and fully expected him to be released without charge before long.

After Norah Ward left him to go fight his corner with the custody sergeant, Bryan leaned his head against the cold wall of his cell.

He wondered how he’d get out of this mess.

He had to hope his solicitor would help.

Why hadn’t he remembered the crucial bit of information the first time?

Of course he’d been in the holiday cottage.

A few years ago. That’s why he’d forgotten.

Helping a friend to paint a room and move in a few sticks of furniture.

Was his helpful nature about to be his undoing?

He thought of Grace and felt an immediate gush of sorrow for her.

He didn’t know how she would cope with all this.

She was a good soul, a kind and gentle person.

This – whatever it turned out to be – would have a detrimental effect on their relationship.

He had to convince her that he was an innocent bystander.

Then there was his past. He was not an innocent in all that.

Lottie was right. He should have looked for his sister, and for Mary Elizabeth, all those years ago.

A bit late in the day to try to right a wrong now. Look where it had got him.

He noted his stark surroundings while trying to avoid the thought of Imelda Conroy burning in his brain.

This was not a good place to be for a man used to wide-open fields and the angry ocean crashing on the rocks.

His sheep. God, they’d need to be fed. Would Grace remember?

And then his poor dog, Tess, would be pining for him.

He’d have to tell his solicitor to remind Grace about the sheep.

Thoughts of the solicitor brought him back to Mooney and the cavalier way he’d thrown the page with the DNA results on the table.

He really had to think about Imelda Conroy.

She was related to him. DNA didn’t lie, did it?

His mind was in turmoil. Could she actually be his daughter?

The child of the girl he’d asked Lottie Parker to trace?

He recalled when Imelda had arrived on his doorstep.

Afterwards he was glad that Grace had been at a fitting for her wedding dress that day.

Or perhaps if she’d been there, he might not be in this mess.

Would she have been more probing with Imelda’s questions than he had been?

Or would she have sent the woman off with her tail between her legs and that would have been the end of it?

He thought he knew Grace well, but apparently not well enough, because he had no idea what she’d have done.

Imelda had not given him any hint that they could be related.

None of her questions were along that line.

She’d talked mainly about Knockraw. He’d had no suspicions that she might have had an ulterior motive for speaking with him.

With his loyal dog at his feet, he’d sat on the back wall with the young woman and answered her questions.

That’s what he’d tell Mooney when asked.

Enough of this ‘no comment’ shite.

He’d talk, but whether he’d be believed or not was debatable.

Whether he told the truth or not, that was also debatable.