Page 82 of Three Widows

‘Has the car been there long?’

‘I’ve no way of knowing. Tyres are dry. No caked mud or dirt that I can see on the doors or underside. It’s spotless.’

‘Did you swab for fingerprints, blood and the like?’

‘I know my job, but the problem is that someone else knows it too. They used bleach on the inside, the tyres and the underside of the car, and on the rear shutters of the unit. I’m leaving a couple of the team here, but I really have to get…’

‘…back to the lake. A current case takes precedence. I understand.’

‘A current case with a murder victim in the morgue.’

Grainne was driving out the gate when Kirby saw Ted staring at him. He escaped inside the lock-up, pulled on a pair of gloves and approached the car. There had been no mistake. It was Tyler Keating’s. He’d sent out enough alerts about it previously to recognise it and the registration number. Who had driven it in here? When, and why? Nothing he could do until SOCOs had finished, though.

Letting them get on with their work, he glanced at the canvases propped up against the wall. He flicked through them. Blobs of paint that made no sense to him. As he reached behind the largest, at the back of the stack, he pursed his lips in a silent whistle.

Three banker’s boxes.

Quickly he moved the paintings to the opposite wall, sweat bubbling like raindrops inside the collar of his shirt with the exertion. The boxes didn’t appear to have labels or markings to identify what might be inside. Why were they hidden in here, though? He lifted the lid on one of them. A conglomeration of small trophies and scrolled certificates. He unfurled one. Leaving Cert student of the year awarded to Damien O’Loughlin. He counted seventeen rolled-up certificates. Each one would have to be examined to see if they provided a clue to Jennifer’s murder. But it was obvious that this was where she had stored her dead husband’s personal belongings.

He replaced the lid and moved to the next box. A flutter of anticipation turned to excitement when he saw what was inside. Bulging buff-coloured files. He flicked through one. They appeared to be solicitor’s files. Damien had been a solicitor. Were these copies of work he’d been involved in? Or had he stolen them?

The last box contained more files. He needed to get them to the office immediately. They might mean nothing for the investigation; then again, they might mean everything.

After making the arrangements to have the boxes transported, he went outside and headed to the garden centre to ask the staff it they’d seen Tyler Keating’s car being driven in. He learned nothing of consequence.

The car, like the boxes, was a bloody mystery.

53

Lottie called a team briefing after leaving Kathleen Foley’s house. When she arrived in the incident room, she was relieved to see the team seated and waiting. She knew what she needed was a shower and a change of clothes, but she hadn’t had time for lunch, let alone personal grooming.

‘We need to locate Helena McCaul. She’s not at her shop, her house or her mother’s. She knew both the murdered women. How do we find her?’

‘She could be anywhere,’ McKeown said. ‘Might have gone shopping in Dublin, for all we know.’

‘She could already be in the clutches of the killer,’ Kirby sniped back. ‘But first, boss, I have to tell you about the discovery I made at Jennifer’s lock-up.’

‘Hey, I’m the one who found the car, so feck off, Kirby.’

‘Enough of that,’ Lottie said.

Undeterred, Kirby blurted, ‘Behind her paintings, there were three cardboard banker’s boxes. Two of them contain files. The other holds personal effects of Damien O’Loughlin.’

McKeown leapt up. ‘For fuck’s sake. You have to poke your fat nose into—’

‘Sit down!’ Lottie waited as the tall detective did as he’d been told. ‘Where are these boxes now?’

‘On their way back here,’ Kirby said.

‘Good. And the car? Any idea how it came to be in that particular lock-up?’

‘No, but it was bleached thoroughly. Grainne thinks maybe the GPS could give us a clue.’

‘Keep me informed, and I want to know the second those boxes arrive. Back to Helena McCaul. Any ideas where she might be?’

‘She could be anywhere, but maybe we should check the pubs,’ Boyd said. ‘Her mother mentioned she’d had issues. She must have taken Éilis’s death hard, following so quickly after Jennifer. I know I’d hit the pub if it were me.’

‘Me too,’ Kirby said.