Page 122 of The Guilty Girl

Lynch scrolled until she came to another, more disturbing image. Terry Starr was sitting with an even younger girl perched on his knee. She had fear in her eyes. The light was bad but Lynch could tell the girl was no more than a child.

Lynch felt her stomach contents liquefy. She rushed to the bathroom, where she fell to her knees in front of the toilet and dry-retched into the bowl.

Wiping her mouth, she flushed the toilet, then turned on a tap and splashed cold water on her face. She stared into the rusted mirror above the sink with wide eyes. If that had been one of her children sitting on Terry’s knee, she’d kill the bastard with her bare hands. What in God’s name had she stumbled on here? Whatever it was appeared to have been conducted in plain sight.

Back at her desk, she tried to reach Lottie but the call went unanswered.

Kirby stood and wiped his greasy hands on the legs of his trousers. She almost gagged again.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Lynch. It won’t stain.’

She wanted to throw a barb back at him, but she couldn’t find any words. She hoped she was wrong about the photo, but she didn’t think so.

58

Hannah Byrne was alone in the interview room when Lottie eventually entered. Kirby had pleaded the need to eat, so she’d got McKeown to join her. The food Kirby had bought for the girl remained untouched on the table.

She had skimmed through the psychological evaluation that had been conducted on the distraught teenager. The report stated that there was a strong possibility Hannah was suffering from stress or trauma amnesia. Otherwise she was deemed in possession of her faculties.

The medical report stated that the lab was unable to detect GHB drugs in her system as too much time had elapsed, but MDMA was detected in her blood and urine. The girl had taken Ecstasy. Lottie thought it was likely something else had been slipped into her drink. But had it been enough to render her amnesiac?

‘Your mother not arrived yet?’ She pulled out a chair, asking a simple question to engage the girl in communication.

Hannah shrugged, lashes shielding her downcast eyes. ‘I don’t even know why I’m here. I’m tired, sick and hungry.’

‘Why don’t you eat the food we bought for you?’

‘You call that food? Too many unknown additives.’

Lottie refrained from pointing out the obvious. The girl had been happy enough to swallow an unknown drug. Give me strength, she thought.

Fixing what she thought was her motherly face in place, she said, ‘Hannah, I got the DNA analysis results and it’s not looking good for you. I need your mother here, and I advise you get a solicitor.’

Hannah looked up, her expression fractured, haunted eyes ringed black. ‘Why couldn’t you talk to me at home? This place scares me. I still feel awful and my head is pounding.’

You and me both, Lottie thought.

‘I’ll check to see where her mother is.’ McKeown left the room.

Lottie considered the teenager sitting with her arms crossed tightly around her waist, her blonde hair sticking to her sweaty brow. Exhaustion was written in every pore on her skin. Her heart filled with pity for the youngster and she wondered why.

They had evidence, mostly circumstantial, but the dead girl’s blood under Hannah’s fingernails seemed conclusive. However, they also had to consider the earlier argument with Lucy at the party. The bloodied towel could have been planted in the rucksack. That begged the question: when had Hannah fetched the rucksack from Lucy’s house? Despite all that, it was the body-shaming photos that stuck in Lottie’s craw.

Babs Byrne rushed in in a fog of cheap perfume, McKeown behind her. Without even glancing at her daughter, she sat down.

McKeown conducted the formalities for the recording and Lottie asked if Hannah wanted a solicitor. ‘You might be entitled to free legal aid.’

‘My daughter has done nothing wrong,’ Babs said, red sauce clogged in one eyebrow, ‘and we don’t need a charity solicitor. We are not a charity case. Okay?’

Lottie opened up the thin file folder in front of her and slid across a glossy reproduction of the photo Lucy had shared on the night of her party.

‘This is you, Hannah,’ she stated.

No denial, only the tightening of Hannah’s lips into a thin line.

Babs erupted. ‘What the hell? Why are you bandying about a half-naked photo of my daughter?’

‘This image was circulated to dozens of people on the night Lucy was murdered. Many of the recipients were at the party. It was also sent to you, Hannah, either by accident or intentionally. Witnesses say you reacted violently towards Lucy and the two of you ended up in a physical altercation. Can you elaborate?’