Page 75 of The Guilty Girl

‘It’ll have to be logged and tested,’ Gráinne said, ‘for blood and DNA. Protocol.’

‘Test and log away. You won’t find anything on it.’ Lottie was totally confident on that score. Her son was not a killer. But it bothered her that he was still scared enough to carry his father’s knife.

* * *

Hannah had been moved to one of the cells, given a scratchy blanket and told to rest. She’d curled up on the hard bench and slept fitfully until the psychiatrist arrived.

He’d been young and chatty. Her one thought was that he would let her go home. Instead, he’d recommended she be admitted to hospital for comprehensive tests, citing dehydration, possibly from whatever narcotics she’d ingested.

Now she lay on a bed with a rubbery mattress in Ragmullin hospital. Additional bloods had been extracted and she was currently under observation until the psychiatrist returned to assess her further.

She wanted to go home. She missed her little brother. She even missed her mother. Babs had promised to call in if she got someone to babysit Olly, otherwise she’d said she’d phone. So far it was radio silence.

Lying there becoming more uncomfortable by the minute, Hannah wondered about Cormac and what he’d told the detectives. She was sure he’d been questioned. Ivy would have made it her business to rat them out.

Thinking of Ivy automatically shot her thoughts straight to Lucy. Someone had killed her. Hannah herself had had blood on her hands. Her memory was full of blanks. What had happened? She needed to talk to Cormac. But she was stuck in hospital without her phone. She had to convince the doctors she was okay, and then she’d answer all questions, even to say no comment. They’d have to let her go. After that, she’d find Cormac and maybe uncover the blanks in her memory.

She should have felt better once she’d made this decision, but she felt worse. For some reason she was scared of what Cormac might tell her. Why? What had she done? What had he done?

Shoving her face into the lumpy pillow, she sobbed until she fell asleep.

35

Half an hour late for the already delayed team meeting, Lottie swept into the incident room, handbag trailing off her arm, her bad mood evident to those gathered there without her opening her mouth. She dumped the bag on the floor and kicked it under the desk as she tore off her jacket, rolling it in a ball. It suffered the same fate as the handbag.

The chatter in the room ceased, everyone on high alert. The air was stuffy from body odour and a sickening floral perfume. It smelled like something her mother would spray liberally on her wrists. That thought prompted her to recall Sean’s earlier phone call about buying groceries for his granny, which in turn spiked her irritability. Her son was in for an inquisition when she got home.

Without preamble, she launched straight into the meeting, setting the grim tone.

‘Seventeen-year-old Lucy McAllister died following a sustained and frenzied knife attack. She suffered several stab wounds to her torso; the fatal wound according to the pathologist was the one to her throat. The other wounds may have weakened her by the time she’d dragged herself up the back stairs to the room where she was found this morning. The pathologist suggests the weapon could be as simple as a steak knife. One such knife is missing from the kitchen. It has yet to be found and extensive searches are continuing at the McAllister property.’

‘Probably thrown into the canal,’ McKeown muttered, keeping his shaved head bent and tapping his iPad idly.

Lottie ignored him, fighting a battle to keep her anger under wraps. It was reasonable to suspect McKeown had already spoken to Sean, so she had to tread carefully.

‘There are signs Lucy was sexually active … erm … prior to her death.’ She stumbled over her words as she recalled Gráinne mentioning the box of condoms in Sean’s pocket. Get a bloody grip, woman. She coughed, masking her hesitancy. ‘If intercourse did occur, there’s still no proof the same person killed her. We await the full post-mortem results, but one interesting—’

‘Could have been a sexual assault,’ McKeown interrupted. ‘First he raped her, then he tried to cover it up by killing her.’

Lottie silently counted to five before continuing. ‘My information is only preliminary, so we don’t know anything else about it.’ She took a few breaths to calm her racing heart. ‘It will take time, but the DNA will be analysed against samples taken from any suspects we bring in. Noel Glennon is currently top of that list, plus Cormac O’Flaherty and possibly Richie Harrison.’

‘A lot of other red-blooded young males were there too, and what about Hannah Byrne? Is it the victim’s blood on her hands?’ McKeown was now verging on belligerence. ‘Where is she anyhow?’

Digging her nails into her palms, Lottie took a deep breath, her thoughts scrambled by his constant interruptions. ‘Hannah has been moved to hospital for precautionary tests. I hope she’ll be well enough for interview tomorrow.’

McKeown stayed quiet. Good.

‘What is the motive for Lucy’s murder? Why would Hannah assault her? We have the photo Cormac O’Flaherty said was shared with everyone at the party. I’m reluctant to put it on the board because I don’t want to subject the unfortunate girl to further voyeurism. One gruesome fact emerged from the preliminary post-mortem. A section of skin was incised from Lucy’s torso.’ She paused as a collective groan went up from the assembly. ‘Under her arm, on her ribcage. Here’s a photograph of it.’

She pinned up the photo of the wound that Jane had emailed.

‘Is it shaped like a heart?’ Kirby enquired, leaning his head sideways, squinting at the image.

‘Could be. But why would the killer, who seemed to have been in a frenzy, have taken the time to do that?’ Silence greeted her question. ‘Any bright ideas? What about you, Detective McKeown?’

He kept his mouth zipped.

Garda Brennan put up her hand as if in a classroom. ‘It’s possible Lucy had a tattoo that might have identified her attacker. His initials in a heart? Something like that … Sorry, that’s stupid.’