Chapter 10

TEN

Lottie looked up when Boyd walked into her office.

‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Anything up?’

‘Nope, but now that I see you …’

‘Boyd!’ She laughed. ‘All quiet so?’

‘So far.’

As he retreated, she clicked through her morning emails, thinking of the couple of hours they’d shared last night in his apartment. Suddenly the door burst open once more. She looked up expecting Boyd again, but it was Acting Superintendent David McMahon who stood there, black hair glistening and his eyes sparkling with something she couldn’t decipher. He’d probably balanced a spreadsheet, she thought unkindly.

‘Good morning, sir,’ she said, though adding ‘sir’ galled her. She should be acting superintendent while Superintendent Corrigan was on extended sick leave, but no, the powers-that-be had drafted McMahon in from Dublin. A right kick up the backside for her.

‘Nothing good about it,’ he said, and flopped onto the chair in front of her desk.

‘Go on.’ She leaned towards him, interested.

‘Amy Whyte, twenty-five years old, didn’t come home after a night out on Saturday, and she didn’t turn up for work yesterday or this morning. Her father is downstairs to lodge a missing persons report.’

‘When did he last see his daughter?’ Lottie asked.

‘Saturday evening, before she headed out for Jomo’s nightclub.’

Lottie felt a moment of discomfort, thinking of her girls. ‘She’s sleeping off a bellyful of booze somewhere.’

‘You and I both know that is entirely possible, but try telling her father that. Will you do a little investigating? Just to demonstrate that we are doing something.’

‘You know him then? This Mr Whyte?’

McMahon leaned back in the chair, stretched his arms to the ceiling and yawned. He was usually jumping around like a toy on long-life batteries on Monday mornings. Not just Mondays. Every morning, come to think of it.

‘Not really,’ he said. ‘As you know, I’ve spent most of my working life in Dublin, but Whyte is a county councillor, so do me this one favour. You never know when we might need one in return.’

‘I know what I need. More staff. I can’t just go off on a wild goose chase when there’s so much to do. Court cases, budgets, KPIs to be met.’ She smiled inwardly. Key performance indicators were McMahon’s babies, and if he uttered the phrase once a day, he said it a dozen times. She felt a glow of pleasure in spouting it back at him.

‘You really know which buttons to push. For now, I just want you to talk to the man. See what you can find out. He’ll be pacified if he thinks an inspector is investigating.’

‘I need more staff.’ She folded her arms. ‘I’ve told you often enough. Since Gilly …’ Her words caught in her throat. The loss of the young garda had decimated morale in the station. Most affected was Detective Larry Kirby, who had been Gilly’s boyfriend. ‘And Detective Lynch is on maternity leave. We need new blood in here.’

‘I’m trying my best to get someone assigned from another station.’ McMahon stood up and moved to the door. ‘Now go and talk to Richard Whyte. That’s an order.’

Lottie shook her head as he marched out the door and into the general office. She rolled the name around in her mind. Amy Whyte? Could it be the same Amy Whyte? She would find out soon enough.

The man sitting in the room off reception seemed to fill the space with his bulk. And when he stood, Lottie remembered exactly who he was. Ten years ago, his daughter, then just a teenager, had been a key witness in a trial.

‘Good morning, Councillor Whyte. Take a seat.’ She squeezed in past him and sat down, and Boyd squashed in beside her behind the small desk. She silently warned herself to watch her Ps and Qs, because it would all travel back upstairs to McMahon.

‘I want to report my daughter missing.’

‘What’s her name and age?’

‘Amy Whyte. Twenty-five.’

‘When did you last see her?’

A whistle of air escaped his lips. ‘Saturday evening. Around seven.’

‘Okay,’ Lottie said as Boyd wrote in his notebook. ‘Today is Monday. You weren’t expecting her home Saturday night, or even yesterday, then?’

‘She went out with her friend Penny Brogan on Saturday, like she does every weekend.’

‘Has she a boyfriend?’

‘No one regular as far as I know.’

‘You weren’t worried when she didn’t come home Saturday night?’

‘No, I wasn’t. Sometimes she stays over at Penny’s … or, you know … a friend’s.’

‘What has you worried now?’

‘Amy works in my pharmacy. She didn’t turn up for work yesterday morning or today. She always opens the shop on Mondays. I got a call from one of the assistants at eight thirty to say the staff had no way of getting in.’

‘And that was unusual?’

‘Of course it was. Amy rarely misses work, and if she were ill, I’d know. It’s very unlike her.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I opened up the shop and let the staff in. Turned on the lights. Set up the tills. All the stuff that Amy usually does.’

‘And did you try to find out where she might be?’

‘I was busy with the shop, and customers started coming in. The day got away from me. I was sure she’d be at home when I got there. But she wasn’t.’

‘What did you do then?’

‘I just assumed she had met a fella on Saturday night and was still with him.’

‘Has she done that before?’

‘A few times. But she’s twenty-five, not a child, Inspector Parker.’

Lottie didn’t like the rebuke in his tone. She straightened her back and tugged up the sleeves of her T-shirt. As usual, Boyd remained silent. Letting her dig herself into a big black hole.

‘Did you contact her friends?’

‘Of course.’

‘And?’

He fidgeted in the chair. ‘Well, I don’t know all of them …’

‘Can you give me the details of those you did contact?’

‘I can. But they’re no help. No one knows where she is.’

‘They might be able to tell us when they last saw Amy.’

‘At the nightclub, Jomo’s. That’s the last time anyone saw her.’

‘Anyone you’ve contacted, that is.’

‘Correct.’

‘I need the names and numbers.’

‘Sure.’

He took a page from his breast pocket and handed it over. Lottie glanced at the handwritten list. It was short. Very short. Three names.

‘I’m sure there are more,’ he said quickly, ‘but they’re all I had in my phone.’

‘Some of these might be able to provide me with further names and numbers,’ Lottie said. ‘And what about the people she works with?’

‘They told me they hadn’t see her since Friday evening, when she locked up. She was off on Saturday.’

‘Are you in the shop every day?’

‘Only when Amy is off. I trust her to run it for me.’

‘I need a list of all the employees.’

‘I’ll email it to you.’

‘Thanks.’ Lottie considered the burly man in front of her. He seemed genuinely worried. ‘Are things okay at home, Mr Whyte?’

‘At home?’ He ran a stubby finger along his cheek. ‘Everything’s fine.’

‘Your wife?’

‘She’s dead.’

Lottie thought that perhaps she should have done a quick Google on Mr Whyte before she met with him. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No need to apologise.’ He waved a hand in dismissal. ‘She died six years ago.’

‘Are things okay between you and your daughter? Any recent arguments or fallings-out that we should know about?’

‘We acknowledge each other’s space. Lead our own lives. We’re both adults.’

Reading between the lines, Lottie gathered that Mr Whyte allowed Amy to do just about anything she liked.

‘Why are you reporting her as missing?’

‘I can’t find any trace of her. Usually she’d send a text if she was staying with someone, and she rarely misses work. Like I said, it’s totally out of character.’

Lottie knew she’d have to dig a bit deeper, but at the same time she hoped Amy would waltz home this evening, contrite and full of explanations, false or otherwise.

‘Have you a photograph of her?’

He extracted a creased photo from his wallet. It showed the two of them sitting at a bar drinking cocktails. ‘Barcelona. Last year. I have a holiday home there.’

‘Did you check that her passport is still at home?’ Lottie said.

‘No. But she wouldn’t … not without telling me. I know my girl.’

Not well enough, Lottie thought. ‘Can I hold on to this?’

‘Mind it for me, please.’

‘I will.’ Lottie smiled involuntarily as she studied the happy face of the dark-haired girl in the picture. Her glass was gripped by a hand with long red nails sporting little diamond studs in the tips, and her ears were adorned with similar heart-shaped studs. ‘She’s very pretty.’

‘And very happy. She has no reason to disappear or run away. Wherever she is, she’s not gone voluntarily.’ Richard Whyte dropped his head.

‘I’ll find her for you,’ Lottie said, and immediately felt Boyd’s foot strike her ankle. She knew she shouldn’t be making promises she wasn’t sure she could keep. But something in Whyte’s demeanour made her feel sorry for him. A thought occurred to her. ‘Your work with the council. Could someone you’ve been dealing with have anything to do with Amy going missing?’

He looked up, his face a mask of incredulity. ‘No way. Amy has nothing to do with my council work.’

‘Any elections coming up? Maybe projects you’ve been involved in that might result in someone making threats against you or your daughter?’

‘You’re completely off track there, Inspector. Amy has no interest in that side of things. It’s very dry and dusty for a girl of her age.’

‘I’ll have a chat with her colleagues in the pharmacy, but if she contacts you in the meantime, let me know immediately.’ Lottie tidied up her papers and Boyd stood. Whyte remained seated. ‘Was there anything else, Mr Whyte?’

‘Amy’s friend. Penny Brogan. I can’t get hold of her. I spoke with her father an hour ago. He hasn’t heard from her either. It seems she might also be missing.’