Page 145 of The Altar Girls

Lottie wondered about what he’d said. Jacinta Nally worked for Dream Care. She had access to Phyllis Maguire. Was she the woman Phyllis had given the rosary to? Had Jacinta a mother who’d died in the nursing home? Lottie had convinced herself it was Zara, but it was worth checking out Jacinta. She didn’t share any of this with Boyd. He had enough to think about with his son in ICU. Instead she asked the question that had been bothering her.

‘What happened between you and Julian Bradley, Boyd?’

‘He’s a prick. He taunted me about Sergio. I felt underneath his words, he was rubbishing Jackie. I’m the only one allowed to talk badly of her and her already tarnished name,’ he said wryly. ‘She was Sergio’s mother, after all.’

‘She took him away from you twice. The first time when she didn’t tell you about his existence, and then she disappeared with him without a word to you. Anything else of note from Bradley? I’m having him brought in for questioning.’

‘He’s an oddball. Seems obsessed with his work. Too intense for my liking. And he’s been in Ragmullin since Sunday. I wouldn’t trust a thing he says.’

‘Okay, thanks. I better go. And Boyd, give Sergio a kiss from me.’

‘I will, but what about me?’ The sparkle was back in his voice, just for a second, and she welcomed it.

‘A kiss for you too.’

88

The air in the car was tight. Martina did not dare glance at McKeown, whose shaved head was red with anger. She’d listened to him ranting until he’d abruptly clamped his mouth shut. She allowed the silence to widen the gap between them. If she spoke, she’d say the wrong thing, and her throbbing head wasn’t able for another of his outbursts.

They had already called into the social workers’ office, but Bradley wasn’t there and no one knew where he might be.

McKeown pulled the car in with a screech of tyres outside the Brook Hotel. Ruptured memories threatened to regurgitate the acidic bile from her stomach.

‘You go in,’ he said.

‘Why don’t you?’

‘You’re the one who spent the night with him.’

‘I did not. I had a drink with him. That’s all. And I learned critical information from him.’

‘Information that the boss already had.’

‘How was I to know that? I was off duty, and another thing, it’s no concern of yours who I drink with.’ Each word was like a piano key striking the inside of her temple. She just hoped she wouldn’t be sick in Mr Shit-face’s car.

‘Have it your own way then.’ He unbuckled his seat belt and had the car door slammed before her brain could formulate a retort.

In the silence of the car, she wondered about the hours she’d spent with Julian Bradley last night. From what she could remember, he’d been a gentleman in that he hadn’t approached her for sex. But the more he’d spoken, the more she figured he was a deeply troubled man, maybe even deranged. He had some sort of warped mentality that he was saving children from the big bad world. Did he see himself as their saviour? Could that ideology make him a killer?

With these confused thoughts, her body shivered and she noticed tremors in her hands. From the alcohol? Or had she just cracked a motive for the murders?

Before she could brainstorm this idea in her head, the door was yanked open and McKeown flung himself into the seat. He was reversing the car out before he spoke a word.

‘Bastard checked out.’

‘We need to tell the boss. And I have a theory.’

‘Good. Glad someone has one in this clusterfuck of an investigation.’

She remained silent. Fuck him if he thought she was sharing one thing with him.

‘Well, sweetheart, tell me your earth-shattering theory.’

‘I’m not your sweetheart.’ She rubbed her clammy brow. He was such a dickhead. How had she even considered sleeping with him, let alone bloody well doing it?

‘Okay cranky-knickers. Keep it to yourself. But remember you’re just uniform fare, I’m the detective.’

‘You know what, McKeown? You can go fuck yourself.’