Page 93 of Hidden Daughters (Detective Lottie Parker #15)
The scream that Lottie and Boyd had heard came from the kitchen. They rushed in to find blood dripping from Grace’s hand. A knife lay on the floor.
‘What happened?’ Boyd ran to her side.
‘I cut myself,’ Grace said, as if it was blindingly obvious. She turned on the tap and waited for the water to run cold.
‘How did you do that?’ Boyd asked.
‘I was peeling spuds. I couldn’t find the potato peeler. I know I have it somewhere… I used the little knife. It’s too sharp.’
He held her hand under the running water.
‘Where’s Bryan?’ Lottie asked.
Grace pulled her hand free. Blood-infused water splashed around and dripped to the floor. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I want to apologise and?—’
Her phone beeped with a text, and Boyd’s did so a second later. They both checked their screens.
‘Mooney,’ they said simultaneously.
She read the start of the message on the locked screen.
‘Shit, Boyd.’
‘Double shit,’ he said.
She looked over at Grace. ‘Where is Bryan?’
‘He is not your concern and I want you to leave this house. You upset everyone.’
‘Please, Grace…’ Boyd said.
Grace ignored Lottie and directed her answer to her brother. ‘He’s outside, Mark. Councillor Wilson called round. I hope they apologise to each other. I can’t bear it when good people don’t get on.’
Lottie wondered where that left her, but she didn’t dwell on it.
‘Whereabouts outside?’ she asked.
‘What did Wilson want?’ Boyd asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Grace said, Lottie wasn’t sure which question she was answering. The distressed young woman continued, ‘I hope Bryan doesn’t hit him again. I don’t like violence.’
‘And Sergio, where is he?’ Lottie asked, and saw a stricken look cross Boyd’s face.
‘He’s in the living room.’
Boyd raced past Lottie to go find his son.
‘I’m sorry for all the upset, Grace,’ Lottie said.
She was met with silence. With no time to mend bridges, she hurried outside, the words of Mooney’s message sparking alarm in every step.
Outside the house, trying to decide where to look first, Lottie breathed in the fresh air, which was tinged with the scent of the sea and a strong farm-related odour.
She reread the text from Mooney. As she did so, two men walked out of the barn.
Denis Wilson, she presumed, along with Bryan.
Thank God. She exhaled a breath of relief and made her way towards them.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Lottie Parker,’ she introduced herself. ‘You must be Denis Wilson. It’s so sad about poor Ann. Please accept my condolences.’
‘Thank you. And you’ll be pleased to know I have the killer right here. I need to call Sergeant Mooney to take him in. This time I’ll make sure he’s charged.’
She noticed blood seeping from beneath Bryan’s greying hair at his temple. He had his head low, his demeanour one of defeat. Wilson was gripping him by the arm.
‘Do you know Bryan O’Shaughnessy well, Denis?’ she asked, winging it.
‘I’m Councillor Wilson to you.’
His arrogance stalled her momentarily, but she was used to that from her superiors, so she infused her tone with steel. ‘Councillor, do you know Bryan well?’
‘Well enough. He murdered my wife and all the others.’
‘The thing I’m grappling with is why? Why would he do that?’
‘Because he’s a bloody psycho, that’s why,’ Wilson said, a smug grin plastered on his face. Delighted with himself. Give me a break, Lottie thought.
‘As far as I’m aware,’ she said, ‘Bryan has nothing to gain by killing those people.’
‘Of course he has. He was in Knockraw as a youngster, and that documentary was going to expose his past crimes.’
‘The crime of stealing a few groceries? I don’t think that holds much fear for him. Definitely not enough to embark on a killing spree of innocent people.’
‘They were not innocent.’ Wilson seemed to realise what he had said, the politician in him catching up with his misspoken words. ‘My Ann was an innocent. I don’t know about the others. But I do know this. Bryan O’Shaughnessy killed them all.’
‘Why are you so adamant that he is the murderer? Are you trying to deflect the investigation away from yourself?’
‘From me? What do you mean? I am an upstanding citizen. I do my utmost for the community, and when I am elected to government, this whole area will prosper and flourish. And let me tell you, it will all be down to me.’
‘I suppose as a grieving widower you will appeal to the masses,’ she said as nonchalantly as she could fake. Inside, a hot rage boiled.
‘I am insulted by that statement. I loved my wife.’
She had to keep him talking. She needed Bryan to move away. But he seemed to be stuck in a stupefied state. A knot of doubt twisted in her gut. Had Mooney got this all wrong?
‘Then I am sorry for your loss,’ she said.
‘You don’t sound like you mean it.’
‘I do. I met and talked with Ann. She was a lovely woman, but she was damaged.’
‘What do you mean? There was nothing wrong with her.’
‘You spent a lifetime controlling her,’ Lottie said, ‘but was she really the best person for you by your side going forward?’ She hated belittling Ann, but she had to poke for a reaction.
‘You are out of line,’ Wilson said, looking around. Was he searching for a way out of the conversation or a way out of the yard?
Just you wait and see how far out of line I can go, she thought.
‘That may be so,’ she said, ‘but I think you are obsessed with your image. And maybe Ann was not the most suitable person to be a parliamentarian’s wife. She was beautiful, but she was nothing more than a dressmaker. Wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny at Dublin Castle tea parties, would she?’
Bryan, move , she silently implored, but he kept his head lowered, immobile.
‘I will have you dismissed from the force.’ Wilson’s face turned puce. Not a pretty sight. It matched his stupid cravat.
‘Others before you have tried,’ she said with half a laugh, ‘so I wish you luck with that.’
This incensed him. She could see him working to keep his temper in check. The air seemed to drop low around them, shrouding them from reality.
‘Are you purposely trying to get fired?’ he said.
‘No, I’m trying to help you own up to your actions.’
‘Are you mad?’ he spluttered. ‘You are a spiteful bitch, that’s what you are. You can’t bear to see anyone do well for themselves.’
‘Mr Wilson, I don’t know you, so I have no personal grudge against you. But I don’t like people who get others blamed for their actions.’ Time to end this charade. ‘Do you know a man called Robert Hayes?’
His face paled. Good. She appeared to have wrong-footed him. His confused expression was fleeting before he righted it.
‘I’ve heard of him. He was a local priest out Moycullen way,’ he said. ‘Got kicked out of the clergy. Rumour had it that he interfered with children.’
‘I can’t say if that was true or not, but I’m referring to incidents much further back. The Sisters of Forgiveness,’ she said. ‘The convent laundry. Knockraw industrial school. Now do you know Robert Hayes?’
He leaned his head to one side, appraised her with a quizzical gleam in his eye. ‘I really think you have lost the plot.’
His grip on Bryan must have loosened, because the farmer suddenly twisted and with an extended arm landed a punch to the councillor’s stomach.
Wilson bent over in two before regaining his equilibrium.
Bryan caught hold of his shirt collar and tugged him backwards.
The shirt ripped, came away in his hand.
Wilson turned around, sparring with his fists, and knocked Bryan to the ground.
Lottie stood open-mouthed, staring at the burn scars streaking across the skin on the councillor’s back. Bad burns. Deep and old. Decades old.
She shook herself out of her stupor and leaped forward, grappling with him, but she had no cuffs to restrain him, no weapon to impair him. He flung her off, then turned, spittle dripping from his lips.
‘You are one fucking bitch,’ he snarled, curving his hand into a fist, ready to make contact with her face.
She heard footsteps rush around the side of the house as she prepared to fend him off.
Mooney grabbed Wilson’s arm and twisted it up his back.
‘I’ve been dying to do this for a long, long time, Councillor. You are under arrest for the murders of Assumpta Feeney, Mickey Fox, Brigid Kelly and Ann Wilson.’