Page 153 of The Altar Girls

‘She has a bond with you. Perhaps you could help her regain her voice.’

‘But her mother won’t let me near her now.’

‘Then I need something else.’ Once again her eyes were drawn to the rosary. Even though Zara had said she didn’t recognise it, Lottie was now wondering if she had in fact made it. And if she had lied about the rosary, what else had she lied about? Maybe she had given it to Father Maguire’s mother, who had returned it to her when Zara’s mother had died. So how had it ended up in her dead daughter’s hands? Had she passed it on to someone else? What Lottie needed was forensic evidence. In the meantime, she was going to request a supervised interview with Harper and permission for a forensic sweep of the workshop.

The door burst open and Kirby flew in waving an unlit cigar, his coat flapping.

‘What is it?’ she asked, unable to hide the alarm coursing through her body.

‘Father Pearse… he told me.’ He bent over, hands on knees, panting.

‘Kirby? What did he tell you?’

‘We have to go. Father Maguire… He’s…’

Lottie rushed to her detective as he folded up in a hacking coughing fit.

‘Get water,’ she instructed Lei, leading Kirby to a chair.

‘Right away,’ Lei said. ‘Is he okay? Is it a heart attack? Maybe I should call an ambulance and—’

‘Just water, Lei.’ Lottie turned her attention back to Kirby and waited until he got his breath back so that he could tell her what it was he’d learned.

92

Martina knocked on Sinead’s door again without receiving an answer. The blinds were down, so she couldn’t sneak a look in the window. Maybe she’d have better luck at the back of the house.

The kitchen window was a bit high, but when she stood on her toes she could just about see in. There didn’t appear to be anyone in the compact kitchen. McKeown was right. There was no one home.

About to walk away, she thought she saw movement, a shadow maybe, on the floor by the table. She pulled over an empty flowerpot, upended it and stood on it to get a better look inside.

‘There,’ she said aloud.

Someone was lying on the kitchen floor. She wiped the window and squinted harder. A woman. There was definitely something wrong.

She jumped off the flowerpot and tried the back door. Of course it was locked. What she was about to do was wrong on so many levels, but she had to do something. Grabbing the ceramic pot, she smashed it into the smoked-glass panel. Easing her hand through, she unlocked the door. Once inside, she rushed to the prone figure. The woman moaned. Turning her over, Martina noticed a bump on her forehead.

It wasn’t Sinead.

The childminder?

She paused and listened. Voices from further inside the house. She pinged the radio on her vest, and called for backup. McKeown was out front in the car; she should fetch him, but her instinctive antennae told her she had to act now.

Leaving the woman on the floor, she moved towards the kitchen door, feeling hindered by her heavy vest and belt. As she depressed the handle and stepped into the hall, she walked straight into Julian Bradley.

‘Fuck.’ She ducked as his arm lashed out at her. She dashed for the front door and flung it open, yelling for McKeown, just as she was hauled back into the house by her hair.

‘What the actual—’

‘Shut up,’ Bradley said, and bundled her into the sitting room.

She fell onto her knees, but quickly righted herself and threw out a leg. He tripped over, face-planted on the floor. In the next instant, she had him restrained, his hands cuffed behind his back. Breathing a sigh of relief, she saw Sinead Healy with a little girl in a pink tracksuit huddled on an armchair. She turned around as McKeown entered the room.

‘There’s an injured woman in the kitchen,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’ve called for backup.’

‘You’re some woman for one woman,’ he said as he left to investigate.

Martina faced Sinead. ‘What happened here?’