Page 4 of The Altar Girls

A young boy, maybe eleven or twelve years old, was huddled on a woman’s knee. His mother, presumably. He looked a bit old to be sitting there, but the shock of his discovery would have been immense. A priest hovered beside them, a redundant silver teapot in his hand. His jet-black hair was swept back from his eyes, a dead ringer for a younger Robert de Niro. Around her own age, mid forties, she estimated. He wore a black turtle-neck sweater and tan corduroy trousers. His feet were shod in damp navy slippers.

‘Father Maguire?’ Lottie enquired.

His body visibly relaxed and his eyes shimmered with relief. ‘Detective?’

‘Inspector Lottie Parker.’

‘Thank God you’re here. This is a tragedy of biblical proportions. An absolute nightmare.’ He then seemed to cop on to himself. ‘Poor Alfie has had a terrible shock. Would it be okay if his mother brought him home now?’

He placed the teapot on the narrow table behind him while Lottie took his place beside the stricken mother and son. She knelt on the wooden floor, her knees and ankles creaking, and laid a hand on top of Alfie’s. He was frozen to the bone.

‘Hi, Alfie, I’m Lottie.’

‘He needs a hot bath and his warm bed. Please, we want to go home.’

Lottie looked up into the troubled eyes of Alfie’s mum. ‘Ms Nally, I—’

‘It’s Jacinta.’ The woman looked to be in her early thirties, clear-skinned, with her hair gathered up beneath a thick wool hat. Red tendrils were stuck to her tear-stained cheeks.

‘I need to ask Alfie a few questions, then you can leave. Is that okay with you?’

‘Anything to get us out of here. This is too traumatic for him.’

‘Were you not aware that choir practice was cancelled?’

‘The phone network was down for a while earlier and when the text registered I drove straight back. I should have waited with him, but I was tired after a long day’s work and needed a shower and… I’m sorry.’

The priest stepped forward. His hands now free, he laid one gently on Jacinta’s shoulder. ‘Don’t beat yourself up over it. These things happen. I should have sent the notification earlier, but the weather had eased before it turned bad again.’

‘What time did you issue it?’ Lottie asked.

‘Seven thirty-five.’

‘I never thought choir might be called off,’ Jacinta said. ‘Though I should have known, seeing as school was cancelled this morning.’

Lottie squeezed Alfie’s hand. He looked up at her, freckles like gingerbread cookies lining his nose and forehead. He was shivering beneath his padded jacket worn over a black hoodie; even his eyelids trembled. His grey trackie bottoms were soaked up to the knees, his runners dripping melted snow onto the floor.

‘Alfie. This is a terrible thing for you, but I need to ask you a few questions so that I can find out what happened to the little girl. Do you think you can talk to me? For a minute or two, that’s all.’

He nodded slowly, his ginger hair clamped to his scalp. Sweat or snow? Lottie didn’t know.

‘Why were you out behind the cathedral, Alfie?’

‘It was the old lady’s fault. She came rushing around the corner. I just went to see what scared her.’

‘What old lady?’

He looked at his mother, who inclined her head for him to continue.

‘Mrs Coyne,’ he said. ‘She hadn’t even got her coat buttoned. And it was snowing hard and the ground was icy. She’s old.’

Lottie glanced at Jacinta, who looked at Father Maguire.

The priest spoke. ‘Betty Coyne used to work for us in the parish office. Answering the phone mainly. But she retired about five years ago after a stroke. It became too much for her. She helps me as chaperone for the choir.’

‘What age is she?’ Lottie asked, knowing how children thought anyone over eighteen was ancient.

‘In her late seventies, I’d say.’