Page 160 of Three Widows

She rushed to the incident board to study the photos taken in the garden office. There among swatches of material was the orange Axminster carpet. Did it come from a house Éilis had worked on? She recalled that the woman had used an office in town before moving it to her home. Was the carpet from there? Pulling up files, she searched for all she could find on the address. The building had been owned by Éilis and Oisín Lawlor. A year after his death, it was in the ownership of a company called Widow Island.

What the hell did that mean?

Her brain was a riot of information and she was unable to see her way through it. And squarely in the centre of the riot was the image of Frankie’s body beneath the bridge, grotesquely damaged and naked beneath a yellow dress.

She shook herself to keep alert and went over all the notes about Éilis.

‘Boyd, hear me out.’

‘Okay.’

‘Éilis worked on Jennifer O’Loughlin’s house. She also designed Owen’s deluxe studio. I suspect she worked on his and Frankie’s kitchen; it’s a similar design to her own house and—’

‘Is this about the Axminster carpet?’

‘Yeah. What if she had taken samples from some other property but never got to do the work? I didn’t find anything in her notes to identify such a place. Did she inadvertently come across something that led to her being killed? And why is her old office building now in this Widow Island company name?’

‘McKeown found out about a company Tyler Keating set up …’

‘It looks like Damien O’Loughlin and Tyler Keating were involved in illegal property dealings. Maybe Éilis sold her office in town to this company under duress.’

Boyd sighed. ‘This is all speculation. We need evidence.’

‘There has to be something in those files Kirby was going through.’

‘He was looking at them before he headed off with Lei. Left in a hurry. Never said where they were going.’

‘If he found a lead, hopefully it will help us.’

It bloody better, because she was clean out of ideas.

99

The overgrown grass rustled as Kirby walked. But the old Foley house was shrouded in a deathly silence. At the rear of the house, he put his hand on the latch of the back door, and held his breath as he depressed it. The door opened.

Taking a step across the threshold, he quickly put the crook of his elbow across his nose and mouth. Too late. The stench of faeces and blood filled his airways and he dry-retched into his sleeve.

Was this where Amy had been held captive for a few dark hours while some deranged bastard beat her to within an inch of her life before being moved and left to die in Helena McCaul’s shop? Anger bubbled in his chest.

There had to be a reason for Amy being left at the shop. Had the murdering deviant wanted her to be discovered? Was the intention to shift the blame to Helena? Or was Helena their killer?

He made his way through the kitchen. There was evidence that it had been used recently. A box of cereal on its side, cornflakes attracting an army of ants across the scratched wooden table. Unwashed cutlery and crockery filled the sink and another colony of insects crowded around food-stained plates. He lifted the lid of a garbage bin. His heart almost stopped. Blood-soaked crime scene protective clothing.

‘Christ Almighty! Fuck,’ he swore.

He stepped into a large utility room. Cold air caught in his throat. It was like an ice box. He backed out and made his way from the kitchen to the hallway. Finding a pair of gloves in his pocket, he blew to expand them and shoved in his sweaty, awkward fingers.

Pausing, he listened.

Not a sound, save for the creak of old floorboards and a rising wind outside. A sliver of sweat tracked from his hair down his neck to pool along his shirt collar. A sudden blast of fear crashed through his chest and he wondered if he’d been stupid to come in alone. Maybe he should fetch Lei? No, he needed him on lookout. Someone could return.

The door to his right was padlocked. He’d need a bolt cutter. Then a thought occurred to him and he ran his hand along the top of the lintel.

A key.

He placed it in the lock. Turned it. The door opened inwards, sticking as if something was caught beneath it. He looked down. Thick plastic sheeting with holes or cuts in places. Call it in? Get Lei to witness this? Whatever this might be. But the image of Amy’s injuries propelled him into the room without further thought for procedure.

‘Holy Mother of God.’ His voice was a whisper of disbelief.