Page 72 of Hidden Daughters (Detective Lottie Parker #15)

Sitting in her beautiful hotel room, almost going insane staring at the four brightly painted walls, Lottie phoned Kirby and asked him to join her. When he arrived, he had a bottle of wine in one hand and a corkscrew in the other.

‘I know you’re off the sauce,’ he said with an apologetic smile, ‘but I need a drink, so I booked a room for the night. It was either the wine or brandy from the bar, and no way was I paying for a bottle of brandy.’ He busied himself with the cork.

She fetched two glasses from the bathroom. ‘I’ll have a small one.’

‘Stop right there. I won’t be responsible for you falling off the wagon.’

‘I have no intention of getting drunk. I just need a drop to drown my sorrows.’

‘If you insist.’ He poured the wine into the tumblers, filling his to the top and tipping little more than a dribble into hers.

‘You’re a bastard, Kirby.’

‘I’ve been called that countless times.’ Grinning, he sat by the desk situated under the wall-mounted television and took a long, thirsty gulp before refilling his glass. ‘A bit warm, but it’s thirteen per cent alcohol, so I won’t say no to it.’

She figured he should have got himself two bottles, or perhaps forked out for the brandy. She pushed her own glass away untouched and sat on the bed, stretching out her jeans-clad legs before crossing them at the ankles and resting her hands behind her head.

‘This case is a bit of a mess,’ she said.

‘What case? You’re on holidays. You don’t have a case. Well, maybe your suitcase there on the floor.’

‘Funny ha-ha,’ she said glibly. ‘I feel like I’m in hell, not on a holiday. Tell me what Mooney has. He isn’t sharing much with me.’

‘He hasn’t got a lot, from what I can gather. I was provided with a synopsis of his investigations, but the evidence seems to be sparse.’

‘Let us assume the killer is a he for argument’s sake. He is slick and must be working to a plan.’

‘What plan would that be?’

‘If I knew that, I’d be able to get ahead of him. We have to figure it out before he kills again. Because I’m certain he won’t stop until he gets them all.’

‘Gets who?’ Kirby looked askance, scratching his head of curls.

‘Whoever is next on his list. My theory is that he got his hands on the nuns’ records, or else he has a photographic memory. He spent years locating all his victims, maybe even keeping an eye on them, but when Imelda Conroy started her documentary, he knew he had to act.’

‘She could be the killer.’

‘She could be, but… I don’t know, Kirby.’ She looked around the room. ‘I wish we had an incident board.’

‘I can go buy a set of Sharpies if you want,’ he said, following her gaze around the white-painted walls.

‘God, no. I just mean it makes it easier to follow when things are visible.’

‘It’d be easier if you were legitimately working the investigations.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘Okay, I will,’ he said. ‘Ann Wilson was reported missing by her husband this evening.’

‘Sure I know that. Mooney told me. I should ring him to see if she has turned up. She was in the convent back then too, when Gabriel was murdered.’

‘Who is Gabriel?’

‘I told you already about what Ann told me on the beach.’

‘Oh, right. All these names are new to me.’

‘I have an idea. I just remembered I have Ann’s phone number.’

‘Mooney and her husband would have called it numerous times.’

She found Ann’s card and tapped the number into her phone. ‘No answer.’

She got off the bed and took the glass with the drop of wine Kirby had poured for her. She sniffed at it, hoping to relish a fine grape aroma, but a stale odour wafted to her nose. ‘How are you even drinking this shit?’

‘Needs must.’

Just then, her phone rang and Ann’s number appeared on the screen. ‘It’s her. Thank God. She must be okay.’ She put down her glass and answered the call. ‘Hello, Ann.’

‘Who is this?’

‘Lottie Parker. We spoke earlier today. Ann, are you okay?’

‘I’m not Ann. I just have her phone.’

A trickle of dread tracked a cold line down the length of Lottie’s spine. It was a female voice, one she could not place. Still, she had a feeling she’d heard it before. ‘Who are you? Where is Ann?’

‘Too many questions at once. I can’t think. You’re confusing me.’

Lottie thought she heard a sob, and her training kicked in. She could not alienate this person who was in possession of Ann Wilson’s phone. ‘Don’t be upset. Please talk to me. I want to help in any way I can.’

‘No one can help me. Are you the detective Ann spoke to?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you have to do something before someone else dies.’

‘How can I do that? Do you have information that can help?’

‘Find out all you can about Assumpta Feeney. She has to be the key to it all. She was first to die.’

A thought raced through Lottie’s mind. ‘Is this Imelda?’

The call went dead.

She looked at the phone in her hand. ‘I think that was Imelda Conroy. Why has she got Ann Wilson’s phone?’

‘Holy Mother of God,’ Kirby exclaimed. ‘I better call Mooney.’

‘Wait a minute. Let’s think this through.’

‘What did the caller say? You look puzzled.’

‘She said Assumpta Feeney is the key to everything. But Mooney said Assumpta lived abroad for years. How can we find out about her? Is there anything on those printouts he gave you?’

He opened his jacket and extracted a wad of very creased pages.

‘Jesus, Kirby, you need to get a man bag. Or an iPad.’

‘Nothing wrong with an inside pocket.’ He flattened the pages out on the narrow table. Lottie leaned over them. He was right, they were sparse. She realised why Mooney hadn’t told her much. It was because he really hadn’t got anything. Loads of DNA with only one hit, Bryan O’Shaughnessy.

‘Did Bryan ever know Assumpta Feeney, I wonder.’ She put a finger under his name.

‘We could go out there and ask him, I suppose,’ Kirby said, ‘but I don’t think I’d be welcomed.’

‘Why?’ She looked at him pointedly. ‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing. Why do you always think I did something wrong?’ He must have caught her look, because he said, ‘Okay, I get it. Anyhow, I only asked Bryan about Edie Butler and if he had a relationship with her. He didn’t remember her at first, but then he did.

Said she always seemed to be on edge and left him suddenly. ’

‘And that was enough to get you barred from the house?’

‘Not that, no. I was telling him about the awful way Edie had died just as poor Grace arrived with tea on a tray, which she dropped. Tea and crockery all over the floor. I made my excuses and left. But honestly, I don’t want to bother her again. I’d say this week has been hell for her.’

‘It has been worse for the victims of these awful crimes. I better ring Mooney.’

It felt like she’d hardly finished the call when Mooney arrived.

‘How did you get here so fast?’ Lottie asked, opening the door.

‘I was in the vicinity. I received a call from Denis Wilson wanting to press charges against Bryan O’Shaughnessy.

I’m on my way to the Wilson house now. Probably another storm in a teacup for me to listen to when I should be in my office reviewing the evidence or out searching for his wife, if she really is missing.

I sincerely hope she’s just upped sticks and left him. ’

‘Come in. You’ve met Detective Kirby.’

‘Care for a drink?’ Kirby said.

‘No thanks, I’m still working. God knows, I hardly put my head down all week.’

Kirby offered the weary detective his chair and went over to the window to lean against the ledge.

Mooney asked, ‘What’s this about Ann Wilson’s phone?’

‘Like I told you, I tried ringing her,’ Lottie explained. ‘I had her number from earlier today. It went unanswered. Then, a few seconds later… It was only a few seconds, Kirby, wasn’t it?’

‘Yep.’

‘I got a call. Ann’s number was on the screen. When I answered it, it wasn’t Ann. I’m certain it was Imelda Conroy.’

‘Why would she have Ann Wilson’s phone?’

‘Because she abducted Ann, perhaps?’

‘I doubt that.’ Mooney looked sceptical

‘You said her husband reported her missing,’ Lottie insisted.

‘I did, yes, but Denis is a fucking drama queen.’

‘Maybe this time it’s not drama,’ she said. ‘Why else would Imelda have Ann’s phone?’

Mooney yawned and shook his head. He looked so exhausted that Lottie almost offered him the bed to lie down on. ‘What did she say? This caller you think might be Imelda Conroy.’

‘She told me to find out about Assumpta Feeney. That she’s the key because she was the first to die.’

Kirby piped up then, coming alive. ‘But Edie Butler was first to die if we connect all the murders.’

‘Maybe she was just the first to be found,’ Mooney said. ‘What’s the link between them all?’

‘Their history and the method of killing,’ Lottie said. ‘They were scalded with boiling water, Mickey with toxic fluid. And little Gabriel was murdered decades ago in the convent in a big old washing machine. Robert Hayes has to be the killer.’

‘But you have no evidence of him being anywhere near any of the crime scenes.’

‘Not yet,’ Kirby said. ‘But we’ll find it.’

‘Like I said, the modus operandi is similar,’ Lottie said, ‘and he used to be in and out of the convent.’

‘I need hard evidence,’ Mooney said. ‘All I have so far is DNA tying Bryan O’Shaughnessy to the cottage where Assumpta was murdered, not to mention him being in some way related to Imelda Conroy. And you vouched that he couldn’t have killed Brigid, the priest’s housekeeper.’

‘True. We have to find Imelda.’

‘You do know you have nothing to do with this investigation?’

‘Well, you keep contacting me.’ She realised she sounded childish. ‘I received the call from Ann’s phone.’

‘And I will investigate that.’ Mooney sounded adamant. ‘I better see Wilson and take details of this complaint he wants to make.’

‘You should get uniforms to do that.’

‘He insisted on me. Anyway, it will be good to have a look around his house. If his wife is actually missing, there might be some clue there. Goodnight to you both.’

When Mooney had left, Kirby stood and saluted the closed door. ‘He’s a bit out of his depth, isn’t he?’

‘I agree. He seems to be collapsing under the pressure. I feel sorry for him.’

‘I better be off to my own room before I collapse from tiredness. I’m heading back to Ragmullin early in the morning. Will I take that with me?’ He pointed to the almost empty bottle.

‘No, leave it. I think you’ve had enough. I’ll pour it down the sink.’

‘You’re the boss,’ he said with a wink, and left the room.