Page 61 of Hidden Daughters (Detective Lottie Parker #15)

Matt Mooney wondered how the likes of Detective Inspector Lottie Parker coped with murder.

He supposed he’d had a sheltered garda life to date; murder was rare enough, though suicide was more prevalent.

But who murdered innocent elderly ladies?

He hoped she was innocent, because he could not contemplate Brigid Kelly being anything other than that.

He’d seen her naked body in all its distress lying in the bath of water.

First he’d thought she’d merely drowned but then he’d spied the kettle and he knew that Brigid Kelly had been scalded to death.

Or perhaps, if God was good, she’d died of a heart attack before that torturous pain was inflicted.

He couldn’t help noticing the similarities to Assumpta Feeney’s body in the holiday cottage.

There was no doubt in his mind. It had to be the same killer.

But why? What the hell was the motive? He could not get his head around it.

Downstairs, he watched the priest, Father Lyons, being interviewed by a young garda. She was good with victims and families. He’d noticed the suitcase and shoes in the hall and the slippers on the priest’s feet. Just returned from somewhere, or getting ready to leave?

‘Father, I’m so sorry for your loss, but I have a few quick questions.’

The young garda closed her notebook and shook her head. She hadn’t gleaned much from the distraught man.

He took her chair at the table and faced the priest.

‘You found your housekeeper’s body, is that correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where were you before that?’

‘I was in Lourdes. Flew into Knock early this morning.’ Father Lyons explained in detail about the road accident and going astray with the diversions. Very good detail. Was it all necessary? Mooney wondered. Was he overcompensating?

‘Is that your suitcase in the hall?’

‘Aye, I dropped it there, changed into my slippers and called out for Brigid. She wasn’t down here where she usually is, so I went up the stairs and looked into her room and she wasn’t there either.

Then… I noticed the bathroom door slightly open and I pushed it in and…

’ He buried his face in his hands. ‘May the good Lord have mercy on her soul, the poor woman.’

Mooney thought the priest’s distress sounded genuine. ‘You might want to take something for the shock, Father. A dram of whiskey could do the trick. We will need to take your fingerprints and a DNA sample. Routine procedure.’

‘That’s no problem.’

‘My colleague will look after you.’

‘Thank you. I hope you find who did this to Brigid. She had been through so much in her life. This is so not fair.’

‘What do you mean? I’d have thought she’d have had a nice comfortable life here.’

‘Before that. She went through hell in the convent.’

Tiny hairs on his neck stood up. ‘Which convent was that?’

‘The Sisters of Forgiveness. The laundry place. Shut down a long time now, but poor Brigid was born there.’

Now the hairs on Mooney’s arms stood alert too. A definite link between Assumpta, Mickey Fox and Brigid. The convent. Christ Almighty, what was going on?

As he turned to leave, he noticed a card on the table. A small business card. He turned it over with his gloved finger. For fuck’s sake. What had she been doing here?

Mooney knocked on O’Shaughnessy’s back door and walked straight into the kitchen, surprising Lottie.

It seemed the back door was the main mode of entry in houses in the locale.

It reminded her of her mother’s house. Her phone call with Katie last night had comforted her that all was well with Rose.

But she needed to talk to Chloe, because her younger daughter never sugar-coated anything. Chloe told it like it was.

The remnants of cigarette smoke misted around Mooney. She appraised his dishevelled appearance, strained eyes and fidgeting hands. She feared he was once again about to take Bryan away, and she felt helpless to prevent that happening. She had nothing to offer in his defence.

‘This is a pleasant surprise,’ she said, her voice laced with irony.

Grace stepped forward. ‘You have no right entering this house like you belong here. Bryan has done nothing wrong. Nothing at all. He is a good man, and you…’ she paused to point an accusing finger at him, ‘you are trying to blacken his name by arresting him willy-nilly. I won’t have it.

’ She stamped her foot. ‘I won’t have it at all. ’

‘I apologise for my intrusion, Ms Boyd, but it’s Inspector Parker I want a word with, not Mr O’Shaughnessy.’

A bit worried by his formality, but at the same time relieved, Lottie stood and grabbed her cardigan from the back of the chair. ‘We can talk outside so we won’t disturb you, Grace.’

‘If it’s to do with my fiancé,’ Grace said, ‘I want to hear it.’

‘It’s nothing to do with him,’ Mooney said. Then in a lower tone, for Lottie’s ears only, ‘As far as I know.’

He stood to one side to allow her to move out ahead of him.

‘Do you want a cup of tea, Detective Sergeant? Coffee?’ Grace asked, mollified.

‘Maybe later, before I leave. Thank you all the same.’

Lottie walked across the back yard to the far wall. Grace was clever behind it all, she thought, offering Mooney tea or coffee so she could eavesdrop on the conversation.

‘Are we safe out here from curious eyes and listening ears?’ Mooney asked.

‘She can see us but not hear us.’ Sure enough, Grace was peering through the window over the sink. ‘What’s this about?’

‘We have another body. Discovered this morning.’

‘Oh no. Who?’

‘Someone you met recently. Maybe yesterday.’

‘You’re the only one I met yesterday…’ Then her heart dropped in her chest as she remembered. ‘Please no. Don’t tell me it’s Brigid Kelly. Please don’t…’

‘I’m sorry. She was murdered in her bath.’ He shook his head wearily. ‘Probably scalded. The kettle from the kitchen was on the bathroom floor.’

‘This is so terrible. Why, though?’ Lottie felt a deep sense of regret and sorrow over the death of the little housekeeper.

‘Why pick on her? She was such a nice woman. She was no threat to anyone. This is awful, Mooney. Can I visit the scene? See her body?’ Her words ran into each other as she tried to get her head around the senseless act.

‘No, you cannot. And I want to know why you visited her yesterday. I found your card on her kitchen table.’

‘Did I draw the killer to her door? Was I being followed, do you think?’

‘I don’t know what to think, but I do need to know why you were there.’

‘I wanted information about Robert Hayes. It was his old Galway address. Seems he used to be a priest. Your own people had already visited Brigid enquiring about him.’

‘Oh, I’d forgotten about him. Shite.’

‘Shite is right. Edie Butler, the Ragmullin victim, was scalded too, as far as I know. Her body dumped in a river. This is a mess, Mooney.’

‘A mess? A right fuck-up, I’d call it. I better see which guards spoke with the housekeeper and what they found out.’

‘They probably didn’t get much from her. She was a spiky person. A lovely woman behind it all, though. I was with her for ages. God, when did she die?’

‘We think sometime yesterday evening. We’ll know more after the post-mortem.’

‘I was likely one of the last people to see her.’

He leaned heavily on the dry-stone wall. ‘What did you talk about?’

She paused, thinking before she spoke. ‘I peeled potatoes and cooked a lamb chop for her. She was so grateful to have someone to talk to and to wait on her. I don’t think she had many friends or visitors. She mentioned that the parish priest was in Lourdes but due home. Have you contacted him?’

‘Father Lyons. Yes. He found her body.’

‘Oh. Do you think he could have…?’

‘No, we checked his story. He didn’t fly in until this morning.’ He paused, gathering his thoughts. ‘I need to know what she told you and I want to know more about Robert Hayes. He is now my number one suspect.’

‘And rightly so. I told you to talk to my colleague Kirby. Hayes is his suspect too. According to Brigid, he was a bastard – not her exact word, but you get the picture. He was chaplain at the convent, and Edie Butler was also there at one stage.’ She was more certain than ever that the motive for all the killings would be found rooted in the past. ‘The murders have to be linked, and we need to figure out who is next.’

‘My bet is Imelda Conroy. That’s if she’s not the murderer. But if I can’t locate her, then he might not be able to find her either.’

‘Were there security cameras at the priest’s house?’

‘No, but there are some cameras around the church. I’m having them checked.’ Mooney turned to look directly at her and she tried not to flinch. ‘I need to know where Bryan O’Shaughnessy was yesterday afternoon and evening and last night.’

‘He was in custody until you released him. He was here when I returned home and didn’t leave the house afterwards. Didn’t even go out to tend his sheep. Grace and Boyd did that with Tess. Tess is the dog, before you ask. You can scratch Bryan off your list.’

‘You know I have to ask the hard questions.’

‘Yes, but it wasn’t him.’ She pondered the dilemma Mooney was in. ‘He told me about the DNA match you have.’

‘It’s undergoing further analysis, but it seems he is in some way related to Imelda Conroy. Do you know what that relationship could be?’

‘I’m not sure, but it’s possible she could be his daughter. You see, he asked me to find a girl he knew at one time who was pregnant and ended up in the convent. But everything is hearsay until you get the final analysis on the DNA and find Imelda.’

‘One of my priorities.’

‘Your main priority has to be to find Robert Hayes. The murder in Ragmullin is too similar to what’s gone on here.’

‘The sick bastard.’

‘But you can’t be blinkered. You don’t know that he is the murderer; he’s just a person of interest at this stage. Don’t lose sight of the bigger picture.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘I’m not sure, but as my mother used to say, don’t put all your eggs in one basket.’

‘You think there’s someone else I should be looking at for these murders?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know, but Bryan was here so he did not kill Brigid Kelly. Has anyone else come to your attention in the course of your investigation?’

‘Not a one, though the possibility still exists that Imelda is on a killing rampage.’

‘But why?’ Lottie had met the girl in distress after Mickey Fox was killed. Could she be a killer? Anything was possible. ‘What’s her motive?’

‘If she was born in the convent, that laundry, she could be avenging her mother’s incarceration. Even her own birth. Shit, I don’t know.’

‘I’ll try to find out more about her,’ she said.

‘You will do no such thing. Leave this to me and my team. I only told you about Brigid’s death because I wanted to know what you’d been doing there. I’m warning you. Stay out of my investigation.’

‘You could do with some help.’

‘No, I don’t need any more help because my bloody super is after calling in hotshots from Dublin, and that’s all I fucking need. Apologies for the language.’

‘No need to apologise. I’d be raging too if that happened to me.’

Mooney’s body seemed to deflate, then inflate with anger again as quickly.

‘Talking of my super, he’s pawned fucking Councillor Wilson off on me.

That man is now living in my frigging ear.

When things seem bad, they’re usually a whole lot worse.

’ He shook his head and took a pack of cigarettes from his creased suit pocket.

‘I better go. I’ve to find that Hayes prick.

Oh, and I’ve had your car brought back.’

Lottie watched him light a cigarette, button his jacket, smooth down his beard and walk off around the side of the farmhouse.

She wanted to help him. Had offered her assistance.

He’d rejected it. But that wasn’t going to stop her.

No way. This had to do with the convent laundry.

Something had stirred a killer. She just needed to figure out what that was and she would be on the right path.

And she had a feeling it was all down to Imelda Conroy and her blasted documentary.

‘Lottie?’

Looking up, she saw Grace standing at the back door with a mug in her hand.

She made her way towards her. ‘Coming.’

‘I made the sergeant a coffee, but he seems to have left.’

‘I’ll take it, Grace.’ Lottie held out her hand.

‘Well I made it for him, so you can go in and make your own. And don’t forget I have my final dress fitting in an hour. You have to come with me.’

Shit, Lottie thought. Stuck in a dressmaker’s – that was all she needed.