Page 70 of Hidden Daughters (Detective Lottie Parker #15)

‘I need your help.’ That was what the young woman had said to Ann, and for some reason she could not explain at the time, she had believed her. There was something pathetic and strangely beguiling about her, and she could see that she’d been physically hurt.

‘Why do you think I would help you?’ she’d asked, surprising herself at how calm her voice sounded despite being totally petrified.

‘Because you are in danger. We need to go someplace else. It’s not safe here.’

‘Of course it’s safe. This is my haven, my shop and studio. The only place I can find peace of mind.’

‘You have to believe me, Ann.’

‘How do you know my name?’

‘For one thing, it’s over your door outside.’

Of course it is, Ann thought. Still she hesitated.

The woman grabbed her sleeve, tugging her. ‘Please. Come with me. We have to leave now.’

Full of misgivings, Ann found herself locking the door and leading the woman to her car. Her hands still shook, but there was something else too. It was as if a surreal mist had descended. As if her childhood nightmare was nearing an end, and she welcomed it.

They drove all the way out to Clifden. It took well over an hour, and the woman slept fitfully, her head pressed against the side window. When she stopped the car, Ann suggested a pub to get food and a drink.

‘Do the people around here know you?’

Ann thought about that. They’d know her husband, so in turn it was realistic to assume her face would be familiar to some.

‘Maybe.’ She drove on down to a secluded cove, parked the car and removed her seat belt. ‘Tell me who you are.’

‘You don’t need to know that. It’s better actually that you don’t, because everyone I’ve been in contact with over the last few months is now dead or in danger. I fear it’s all my fault.’

‘That’s reassuring.’ Ann tried to be light-hearted when inside all she felt was turmoil.

‘No need for the sarcasm. I’m serious.’

‘So am I. I want to know who you are.’

‘Imelda Conroy.’

Ann had half expected that answer, so the shock was not immense, but it did make her shiver. ‘You started all this with your stupid radio documentary thing.’ Anger now replaced her fear.

‘I wanted to tell a story. I was trying to make a living. I didn’t mean for… all this murder.’

‘Huh? How can it be your fault, then?’

‘I opened up old wounds, wounds that cannot be repaired. They run too deep.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘I talked to people who would rather forget their trauma. In doing so, I believe a killer took matters into their own hands and began to wreak havoc.’

‘And you think I am one of those carrying around a trauma?’

‘Yes, I know it. I saw the convent records. Mickey Fox had them. The old bastard.’

Ann had heard he’d been murdered. ‘Did you kill him for them?’

‘Me? Good God, no. But someone got to him. I think he was burning the records at his caravan and then he was… attacked. I fled.’

‘But there were hundreds, if not thousands of women who were thrown in the convent and forgotten about. Do you really think they are all going to be killed?’

‘No, not all. Only those who were present the day a little girl was murdered.’

Ann held her breath, shocked that Imelda had learned of the tragedy. She didn’t want to reveal her personal knowledge of that terrible event. Not yet.

‘A lot of girls and babies died in there. Mainly from neglect and torture. Some of those deaths could be classed as manslaughter, if not murder. So who are you referring to?’

‘You know exactly who I’m talking about. A little girl the nuns renamed Gabriel.’

Ann inhaled so suddenly she thought she might pass out. ‘How do you know who was there that day?’

‘It was logged. Those who were working in the laundry room. Whoever visited the convent. All that.’

She had no memory of anyone keeping a note of events. ‘Who made the log?’

‘A young novice named Assumpta Feeney.’

‘That’s the name of the woman who was murdered in the cottage you were renting.’ The fear returned in waves. Had Imelda killed Assumpta?

‘I know what you’re thinking, but I did not kill her.’

‘You were renting the place and then you disappeared. Makes you look guilty as hell.’

Imelda slammed her fist on the dashboard. ‘No, no, no. You have to listen to me. Assumpta knew who locked the little girl in the machine.’

‘And who was it?’

‘A man called Robert Hayes.’

Ann felt the air release from her body. So Imelda knew.

She leaned back in the seat. Then she got out of the car, the atmosphere suddenly stifling in the confined space.

The sea looked so peaceful while she was churning around inside.

It was all too much. Too much in a short space of time.

She’d been transported back to the horror and she knew she had no choice but to face it.

Stand up to it. First of all, though, she needed to discover everything Imelda Conroy knew and what she was after.