Page 97 of Hidden Daughters (Detective Lottie Parker #15)

Armed with the CCTV evidence he’d received from Detective Kirby, Detective Sergeant Matt Mooney strode into the interview room feeling lighter on his feet than he had all week.

He’d even had a shower, changed his suit and trimmed his beard.

At last he had something tangible with which to wipe the arrogance from Wilson’s face.

He did the introductions for the recording and sat back, his finger tapping the manila folder on the table. Everything he needed was digitised, but a file helped to unsettle a suspect.

Norah Ward was the solicitor, now that Bryan O’Shaughnessy was no longer her client. Mooney outlined the arrest sheet, keeping his eyes firmly on Denis Wilson. The man never wavered, his eyes pinned to a spot above the detective’s head.

‘What have you to say for yourself, Mr Wilson?’

‘It’s Councillor,’ Wilson said, unable to stop himself.

‘A conviction will soon see you lose that title, and any hope of running for the Dáil will be gone.’

‘I did nothing wrong.’

Mooney slowly opened the folder, flicked through a few pages and closed it again. ‘Care to tell me where you were last weekend?’

‘Home.’

‘All the time?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘Take any trips?’

Wilson glared at his solicitor, who had her head down, then back at Mooney. ‘What’s this about?’

Mooney was glad to see Norah Ward had little interest in her client. Good. ‘Did you take a trip to Ragmullin last Friday?’

‘If you’re asking, you must know that I did.’

‘What was that trip for?’

‘Business.’

‘On a Friday afternoon?’

‘I work every hour God gives me.’

‘Still believe in God, do you?’

Wilson swerved around on his chair, almost falling over as he spat out words at his solicitor. ‘Will you stop this farce? He can’t prove I did anything wrong. I should not be here. Do something, woman.’

‘Why don’t you listen to what the detective has to say.’ Norah inclined her head towards Mooney. ‘I’m sure you have something more than conjecture to impart, otherwise you wouldn’t have arrested my renowned client. Is that correct?’

Mooney heard the implied slur on the word ‘renowned’. Good woman, Norah. Beaming, he extracted two CCTV stills from the folder. ‘Mr Wilson, your white SUV shines up lovely and bright for the cameras. Does it have a PR engine too?’

‘You’re a bollox, Mooney,’ Wilson said. ‘It’s my car, you know it’s my car, so what?’

‘This is you in your car in close proximity to Edie Butler’s apartment complex.’

‘Who the fuck is Edie Butler?’ Wilson was all bluster, but Mooney could see he was rattled. The tremor in his voice was a true giveaway.

‘Edie was murdered last weekend. On Friday afternoon, she was taken from her apartment by force and?—’

‘There was no force. She…’ Wilson paled, realising his faux pas.

‘Please continue.’ Mooney worked at keeping a neutral expression painted on his face. Inside he was dancing a jig. ‘She went with you willingly, did she?’

Wilson exhaled loudly and licked his lips, contemplating the CCTV image on the table. No denying it was his car, him behind the wheel, the diamond on his stupid cravat catching the light. See if you can talk yourself out of this one, Mooney thought.

‘She contacted me.’ His voice was low.

Mooney asked him to repeat what he’d said.

‘You heard me. She contacted me.’

‘Why would she do that?’

‘That Conroy woman was harassing her. Wanted her to go on the record for her stupid documentary.’

‘And?’

‘And nothing. Edie was distraught. I told her I’d go to Ragmullin to talk to her. That’s all. We talked and I went home. End of story.’

‘How did you first meet Edie Butler?’

‘No comment.’

Mooney took a moment to align his information. He’d secured it from the bishop, who still had possession of the Knockraw industrial school admission records, eager to help, now that it suited him.

‘You were put into the Knockraw institution by your mother when you were a young boy. Ten years old. Your father had died and she couldn’t handle you along with your four younger siblings.

You stayed on after your time to leave because you became invaluable to those who ran it.

You became a real-life pimp. Isn’t that true, Mr Wilson?

Isn’t it also true that you met Edie – who was then known as James – through your crimes while you were in Knockraw?

’ This last bit was conjecture based on Robert Hayes’s statement, but he delivered it as a fact.

‘No comment.’

‘Here are a few more CCTV stills,’ Mooney said, to disconcert the suspect. ‘Take a good look at them.’ He spread the images out on the table. A tableau of Wilson’s movements the previous weekend laid bare before him. ‘You returned to Ragmullin on Sunday evening. Why was that?’

‘She called again. Hysterical. What could I do? I went back to calm her down.’

‘That’s not strictly true, though, is it?’ Mooney was enjoying seeing Wilson squirm. After all, he was a cold-blooded murderer.

‘What do you mean?’

‘According to the final post-mortem results, the assistant state pathologist has determined that Edie Butler was murdered either late Saturday night or Sunday morning. So you could not have spoken with her on Sunday evening.’

Wilson bit his lip, and Mooney visualised the cogs turning in his brain. He hoped they were rusty.

‘No comment.’ He folded his arms.

Taking another image from the folder, Mooney slid it across the table. ‘These were found hidden beneath the floor of your car boot. Recognise them?’

‘Must belong to Ann.’

‘She has her own car. Why would she hide them in yours?’

‘How would I know?’

Another page made its way across the table. ‘This is Edie Butler wearing the exact jewellery.’

‘I’m sure there are a lot of people with similar jewellery.’

‘Perhaps, but no one else would have that same jewellery containing Edie’s DNA.’

‘Is there a question there?’ Wilson dropped his eyes.

‘I also have proof that your wife was at a bridal expo in Birmingham last weekend and did not arrive home until Monday morning.’

‘So?’

‘So, you had the house to yourself. Did you have a nice time catching up about the old days with Edie? Before you filled her with drugs, as per her post-mortem toxicology results. Before you killed her?’

‘You can’t prove a thing.’

‘Do you know something? I can. Edie’s fingerprints were lifted from the mantelpiece in your living room. Hair has been recovered from your bath drain with her DNA. You killed her in the same bath in which you later killed your wife.’

‘You’re delusional.’

‘No, Mr Wilson, you are if you think you can talk your way out of this. But I would like to know why.’

‘Why what?’

‘Why did you have to kill all those women?’

‘If you’re so smart, you should know.’

Mooney felt his heart surge in his chest and his eyes went to the machine to double-check it was still recording. Wilson had as good as admitted to the murders.

‘You were the mastermind behind what went on between the convent and Knockraw. What age were you then? Nineteen? Twenty? So clever at such a young age.’

‘That wasn’t me. It was all Robert Hayes.’

‘He has a slightly different take on it.’

‘I’m sure he does. The lying weasel.’

‘What do you think he lied about? Killing the wee girl in the convent?’

‘He did that, not me.’

‘Ah, but he was under your immense influence. You were such a strong character and he just did what you told him to do.’

‘He couldn’t even do it right. Got me blamed. Did you see the scars I still have to this day? Those bitches were as delusional as you.’

Mooney tapped the folder again. He had copies of pages from Assumpta’s notebooks. But he didn’t want to show them to Wilson if he didn’t have to.

‘I can kind of understand why in your warped mind you felt you had to kill Assumpta. She was going to land you straight in the shit. She, Ann and Edie were all in the convent, and I believe Edie told you she wanted to tell her story to Imelda Conroy. And Brigid Kelly, she’d been in the convent too, and she’d later worked with Robert for years.

You couldn’t risk her talking either. Then poor old Mickey Fox.

He knew too much. Knew it all. You made him burn the records he’d stolen, then you came back and murdered him. ’

‘And why on earth would I do all that?’

‘You had too much to lose with a general election coming up later this year. An old murder and abuse of vulnerable girls would not look great on your CV.’

Wilson was silent for a few moments, and when he spoke, his voice was so low Mooney had to strain to hear him. He hoped the machine picked it up.

‘I should have just killed Imelda Conroy. That would have saved me a lot of fucking bother.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

He looked up from beneath his eyebrows. Eyes dark as his soul.

‘Why do you think I went to the cottage that night? It was her I wanted. Didn’t even know who the other bitch was until she blurted out how she knew me and that she and others were going to destroy me.

That was when I knew I had to get rid of them all. ’

‘Let me get this straight,’ Mooney said.

‘You were still on a high that Sunday night, thinking you’d got away with killing Edie by dumping her body in a Ragmullin river to keep her murder from being traced back to you.

But you still didn’t know what information Imelda Conroy had amassed for her documentary.

So that same night you decided to go after Imelda, whom you suspected might cause you the most damage. ’

Wilson chewed his lip. Said nothing.

Mooney was satisfied he had enough with the forensics and the interview. But one thing puzzled him.

‘Why not kill Robert Hayes while you were at it?’

‘Bastard disappeared. He even called to Edie in the hair salon on Friday evening to warn her not to talk to Imelda. If I’d found him, I’d have forced him to do the deeds.

And I’d have kept my hands clean. Robert could never say no to me.

’ Wilson made to flick his cravat, only to find he was wearing a garda-issue grey tracksuit.

His lips curled in disgust. ‘I should not be here. It’s all his fault. ’

‘I’m getting tired of hearing you blame everyone else. I think it’s time you answered for your sins, Mr Wilson.’

Mooney looked over at Norah and caught the curve of a smile on the edge of her lips.