Page 34 of Three Widows

Her voice was soft and soothing. It made his stomach flutter.

‘Hi, Amy.’

‘Are you having a good day? Head okay?’

‘So I did give you my number?’

‘You sure did,’ she laughed. ‘Couldn’t let the day pass without checking up on you.’

‘Are you stalking me now?’ Shite, why had he said that? Despite a series of Tinder dates, he still hadn’t learned to keep his mouth shut, to clamp down the gabble that invariably found its way out.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have called.’ Her voice quivered. Damn.

‘Oh shit, sorry, Amy. I shouldn’t have said that. Long day so far. Busy day. Big case.’

‘Sounds tiring. Are you all right?’

‘If I make it to bedtime in one piece, I’ll have managed just fine. All okay with you?’ That was better, he thought.

‘Today is a bit of a shitshow if I’m honest. I only called to see if you want to meet for a drink later. After work. Or whenever suits you.’

The thought of another drink caused Kirby’s stomach to roll in protest. Though come to think of it, a drink might cure his head. Then again, one could lead to another and then another. So maybe it wasn’t the best course of action.

‘I’d love to meet up,’ he found himself saying. Then qualified it by adding, ‘Only coffee for me.’

‘Famous last words.’

‘I know. I’m a glutton for punishment.’

‘Meeting me is punishment?’

‘God, no. I didn’t mean that at all. Honestly, I—’

‘Stop it, Larry, I was joking. You take everything so seriously.’

‘It’s the job.’

‘No worries. Does Cafferty’s suit you?’

‘Perfect. When?’

‘Why don’t you text me when you finish up there?’

‘I will. And Amy, thanks for calling. You’ve made my shitty day a whole lot better.’

He killed the call and wondered how he could run out on his colleagues this evening. It was the beginning of a murder investigation, when all hands on deck meant just that. Long hours and adrenaline-fuelled brains. The critical time. But this was also the first time in ages that he’d felt good about someone. About himself. He sensed he was a bit lighter on his feet. Knowing his weight, that was a miracle.

Topping his cigar, he stuffed it into his shirt pocket and headed inside, his brain swirling with excuses to leave early. Until then, he would keep his head down and work diligently. His stomach rolled again, and he only just made it to the toilet in time.

‘I’m never having another drink,’ he muttered as he washed out his mouth with a handful of water from a dripping tap.

23

Standing in Éilis Lawlor’s living space, off the quaint galley kitchen, Lottie repeated all the questions Lynch and Lei had asked of the teenage babysitter.

Unable to discover anything new, she said, ‘Would you be able to take the children to your house for an hour or two, Bianca?’

‘Sure, my mum can help. But why?’