Page 80 of The Guilty Girl

‘You make the wrong choices all the time. You almost got Detective Sergeant Boyd killed in an explosion a while back. There’s dissent in your camp, and affairs happening left, right and centre. You’ve lost control.’

So now she was being blamed for McKeown’s affair on top of everything else.

‘You can’t deny that I bring in results. All I ask is that you let me talk to Sean. Once I’ve done that, I will report back to you. I know I can find Lucy’s killer. One chance, that’s all I ask.’

After considering it, Farrell eventually spoke. ‘You have until the morning. And I don’t want to arrive in here with another victim’s face stuck on the incident board. Got it?’

‘Loud and clear.’ Relief flooded through Lottie and her legs felt like jelly. Time to escape.

As an afterthought, she remembered her manners. ‘Thank you, Superintendent.’

37

Ivy was so annoyed about Richie ignoring her that she drove aimlessly around town. She checked the time on the dash. Another half-hour before she was due home with the car. She knew she’d be looking at her mother’s sour puss for the rest of the evening if she was late.

Her hangover was relentless. She needed a Chinese takeaway, Lucy’s go-to cure. But Lucy was dead. The realisation left a hollow in her stomach. She felt totally lost without her friend.

She drove up and down Main Street, circling the roundabout twice. There wasn’t a vacant parking space to be found close to the restaurant.

No way was she going to park in a car park and walk all the way back with her head thumping. Maybe she could sneak some of her dad’s vodka at home. She’d heard him call it the hair of the dog. Might not beat Chinese food, but she was willing to try anything to get rid of the headache that was threatening to blind her.

She fired off another text to Richie, knowing he wouldn’t reply, like he hadn’t replied to the dozen earlier ones. She’d have to leave it until tomorrow. Then she would march up to his house, ring the bell and keep ringing it until he opened the door. If his wife was there, bad luck.

Ivy was long past caring.

* * *

Cormac changed into his jeans and went to stuff his cut-offs into the washing machine. The forensic guys had taken the clothes he’d been washing that morning. He found it hard to believe it was still the same day.

The nagging feeling tearing away at the base of his skull wouldn’t let go. Should he have told the truth about what had really happened? He wondered if Hannah had talked. Or was she so badly affected by the drug that she had no recollection of the remainder of the night? She’d scared him badly. He couldn’t understand it. Hadn’t he taken the same type of pill and it had had little or no effect? Perhaps it was because she was a narcotic virgin. It must be that.

Maybe he shouldn’t have shown the detectives the photo. It provided a motive for Hannah to attack Lucy and took the pressure off him. Hannah was a sweet girl and didn’t deserve all this. Despite everything, he liked her.

It was such a fucking mess.

A panic attack began to take root in his chest and he struggled to control his erratic breathing. There was a spare inhaler somewhere in the house, but he ransacked every drawer without success.

He shivered violently as his chest constricted again.

In the cupboard under the sink, he found a folded-up paper bag. Flapping it, he made a funnel to breathe into. It was the only thing he could do to normalise his breathing.

At last the rasping eased.

No matter what he’d done, Cormac wasn’t ready to die.

Maybe it was time to tell the truth.

* * *

When Babs arrived at the hospital, the look on her face told Hannah she’d been expecting to see her daughter in a straitjacket.

‘I can’t understand why you’re here.’ Babs pulled a chair to the bed and sat.

‘The doctor thinks it’s possible my drink was spiked, despite inconclusive test results. He said too much time had passed before the test was done, but I had all the symptoms. I’ve to stay in overnight attached to these monitors.’

‘I hope I haven’t to pay for all this – we don’t have health insurance.’

‘Would you rather that detective charged me with murder?’