Chapter 11

ELEVEN

Lottie walked back up the stairs with Boyd.

‘If Amy’s friend hasn’t been seen since Saturday night either, why has no one reported her missing?’ she said.

‘That’s according to Whyte. We’d better check it out.’

‘Give her parents a ring, and I’ll get Kirby to head down to Whyte’s Pharmacy to see if Amy’s colleagues can give us a head start. And we need to find out where Penny works also.’

Boyd nodded and moved over to his desk.

Lottie made for her office at the end of the general one. Kirby was still sitting in the same position as when she’d left. She was going to have to do something about him before McMahon started complaining that he was dragging down performance targets.

‘How are things, Kirby? What are you working on?’

‘What? Oh, sorry, boss. I was miles away.’ Kirby raised his head. Black rings circled his eyes, and his nose was redder than usual. Lottie caught a waft of stale alcohol. Yes, she thought, he’s in a bad way.

‘I’m not being unkind here,’ she said. ‘I understand your situation because I’ve been through the whole grief thing. But Kirby, listen to me. You need help. Professional help. If you don’t access it soon, the super is going to go apeshit. He has no loyalty to the people in this station, only to whatever can get him quickly up the career ladder, and at the moment, you are dragging him down. I understand what you’re going through, but that’s the way he sees it.’

Repeating myself, she thought. What the hell did she really need to say to her colleague? Knuckle down and buck up? No. That had been said to her too often, and it just made her veer in the opposite direction. She settled for ‘What can I do to help you?’

Kirby looked at her with pleading in his eyes. ‘Bring Gilly back?’

‘Come on, be realistic.’ Wrong thing to say. Kirby suddenly shoved back his chair and stood up. She put a hand on his arm and gently tugged his sleeve. ‘I’m sorry.’

He ran his hands through his bushy hair, his fingers snagging in the mop.

‘Boss, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m sick of paperwork. It’s driving me demented. I need something to get stuck into. Something to get me out on the streets, talking to people. The four walls in here are suffocating me.’

‘I like the passion in your voice. So here goes. Councillor Whyte’s daughter, Amy, seems to have disappeared. He hasn’t done much legwork in finding her, so I want you to make it your priority. Okay?’

‘Sure. That’s great. I’d like that.’

Lottie sighed with relief. ‘She works at Whyte’s Pharmacy. Go and talk to her colleagues face to face. You might be able to find out something from them that they didn’t want Amy’s father to know about when he spoke to them.’

‘Whyte’s Pharmacy. At the end of Main Street?’

‘Yes.’

Kirby grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and was out the door before Lottie could move.

‘You are a true motivator,’ Boyd said.

‘Doesn’t work with you, though.’ She slapped him playfully on the shoulder as she passed, her hand tingling from the touch. Boyd was having a good effect on her recently. ‘Have you located Penny Brogan yet?’

‘Working on it. I rang her father, but like Whyte said, he hasn’t seen her.’

‘Okay. Let’s start with this list of friends.’

‘All three of them,’ Boyd said, holding up his fingers.

‘Better than none.’

‘Ducky Reilly. I’d like to start with him.’

‘Right. Where does he work?’

‘As a security guard for the construction company working on the courthouse renovation.’

‘Let’s go.’

The renovation of Ragmullin’s courthouse had been ongoing for over a year. The building dated from 1829 and had been falling into disrepair for the last twenty years. It was costing forty million euros to restore it, and Boyd told Lottie he’d heard that it might go way over budget.

Rain fell in sheets as they left the car and approached the guard hut at the entrance to the site. Lottie held up her ID and the guard slid back the window.

‘What can I do for you?’ he said.

‘We’d like to have a word with Ducky Reilly. Is he at work today?’

The young man’s face paled. He closed the window and opened the door. He was about five foot five and had short curly brown hair peeking out from the edges of his beanie hat.

‘What’s this about? I didn’t do anything, no matter what anyone says.’ His voice was high and petulant.

‘And who would be saying anything about you?’ Boyd muscled in.

‘No one. Nothing. Shit, you guys are making me nervous.’ He pulled off his hat, then, as the rain poured down, quickly clamped it back on his head. Water dripped off his yellow work jacket and sprinkled a grey sheen onto the mucky ground.

Lottie shifted her feet, trying not to get her boots too soiled. A losing battle. ‘We’re here about Amy Whyte.’

‘Who?’

‘Come on now.’ Lottie could tell that he knew exactly who she was talking about. ‘When did you last see her?’

‘Amy? Let me think …’

‘Jesus, answer the question.’ Boyd was losing patience.

Lottie tried to be nice. ‘Ducky, what’s your full name?’

‘Dermot Reilly.’

‘Which do you prefer us to call you?’

‘Everyone calls me Ducky.’ He shifted from foot to foot, splashing mud onto the leg of Lottie’s jeans.

‘Ducky it is so,’ she said, and Boyd sniggered. She threw him a dagger stare and turned back to the young man. ‘Can we talk inside?’ She indicated the hut.

‘It’s too small. Just my chair and the security cameras.’

‘Oh, I think we can squeeze in. Boyd, you wait in the car.’

As she followed Ducky into the warm confines of his miniature workplace, she had to agree with him. It wasn’t made for two people. She leaned against the door and he sat on the chair with a couple of screens behind him. Nothing hi-tech. She could see Boyd outside, trying to light a cigarette in the spilling rain.

‘So, tell me about Amy.’

‘Her dad rang me this morning asking about her too.’

‘When did you see her last?

‘Saturday night. We were all in Jomo’s. That’s the nightclub round near Petit Lane car park. You know, at the back of Main Street, past the chipper.’

‘Yes, I know it.’ Lottie squirmed as she recalled her daughters falling out of the taxi on Saturday night. Sunday morning if she wanted to be pedantic about it. ‘Who is the “all” you’re referring to?’

‘Myself and a few of the lads. And Penny, of course. She and Amy hang out together.’

‘Penny Brogan?’

‘Yeah. Amy and Penny are joined at the hip. So my mother says.’

‘Your mother’s met them?’

‘We’re friends. Since school. Amy is a bit up her own hole because her father’s a councillor. But Penny’s fun. Always up to something.’

‘You like Penny better, then?’

He blushed. ‘Suppose so.’

‘What happened at the nightclub? Anything out of the ordinary?’

‘Nothing happened.’

‘Did you leave with the girls?’

‘No.’

‘Come on, Ducky.’

‘What’s this about anyway?’

‘I’ll tell you after you answer my questions.’

He sighed and picked up a pen from the narrow ledge that Lottie supposed was his desk.

‘There were about a hundred and fifty other people at the club on Saturday night. It was packed.’ He twisted the pen around his fingers.

‘Did Amy and Penny leave together, or were they with you?’

‘I’m not going out with either of them,’ he said quickly. She could tell by his face that he wished he was.

‘Which of them do you like the most?’

‘Penny.’

‘You don’t like Amy?’

‘I didn’t say that. For feck’s sake. That’s what you lot do, isn’t it? Twist everything. I’m saying nothing else.’

‘Sounds to me like you have something to hide.’

‘I haven’t. So there.’ He dropped the pen and folded his arms.

‘Did the girls leave together?’ Lottie asked again.

‘I don’t know. No, wait a minute. Amy left first. Me and Penny, we had another shot … and a snog.’

Lottie smiled to herself. A shot and a snog. ‘So you remained there with Penny after Amy had left?’

‘Amy wouldn’t wait. We were out in the beer garden. It was drizzling rain. Don’t think she even had a jacket.’

‘What was her rush?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Did she take a phone call or anything?’

‘I told you, I don’t know.’

‘Where was she going?’

‘Home, I presume.’

Lottie decided not to give him time to think. ‘Did you leave with Penny?’

‘No. She left maybe twenty minutes later. Could have been longer, I don’t know. I’d had a lot to drink.’

‘And the girls, did they drink much?’

‘A few shots maybe. I wasn’t keeping count.’

‘Any drugs?’

‘Now you’re definitely pushing it.’ Ducky looked up at her and his eyes narrowed. ‘All these questions. Has something happened to them?’

Lottie decided to give him a little information. ‘Amy’s dad says she never came home Saturday night. She didn’t turn up for work yesterday or today.’

‘That’s a bit weird all right. What does Penny say?’

‘We have yet to talk to her.’ Yet to find her, Lottie thought.

‘But you came to me first. Why?’

‘Your name was on the list of contacts that we got from Amy’s dad.’

‘Amy’s very popular. Must be a long list.’

‘Actually, it’s short. Can you give me the names of anyone else who might know where she could be?’

‘Not really. Ask Penny.’

‘I will. When I find her.’ Lottie considered the young man. He wasn’t displaying any signs of concern for the girls. He just seemed nervous. Because she was from the guards, or was it something else? Did he know where they were, or was he usually this calm? ‘Where does Penny work?’

He shrugged. ‘She worked for a while with Amy in the chemist. But I think she got fired or something. The last I heard she was on the dole.’

‘Where does she live?’

‘She has a flat on Columb Street. Don’t know the number. She never invited me. I only visited her at her parents’ house. Try there.’ He gave Lottie the address, and she turned to leave.

‘Thanks for your help. If either of the girls contacts you, this is my number. Call me straight away.’

She handed over her card and escaped out the door. Ducky Reilly seemed to know a whole lot of nothing.

As she made her way towards the car, in which Boyd was now sitting, Lottie heard the rumble of an engine behind her. She stood to one side and a black Mercedes SUV pulled up beside her. The driver’s window whizzed down.

She recognised the man behind the wheel immediately. Cyril Gill was well known in the town. A shyster, her mother had once said. He was a developer and builder.

‘Mr Gill,’ she said, appraising him. He was dressed for an office meeting, not a site visit. Pristine blue shirt with a white collar, and a red silk tie. His face was clean-shaven and his black hair had a hint of grey above his ears. She thought his blue eyes looked jaded, but his face was clear of wrinkles.

He took her card and glanced at it.

‘Detective Inspector Lottie Parker.’ The soft, silken voice immediately put her on her guard. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Having a look around, though it seems I’m not authorised to go on site.’ She wasn’t going to let Ducky sink, not yet.

‘Anything I can help you with?’ His eyes were shifty, and Lottie thought he hadn’t the slightest intention of helping her with anything. Not that she needed help from him.

‘No, it’s fine.’ She drew away from him and headed to her car.

‘Access is strictly by appointment,’ he said, and the window whizzed back up.

She raised her hand in a wave. Back at the car, she sat in beside Boyd.

‘Was that Cyril Gill?’ he said.

‘One and the same. And trouble is never too far behind him.’

‘He was involved in some planning scandal years ago.’

‘So the story goes.’ Lottie waited for Boyd to start the car. ‘Nothing was ever proved, if I remember correctly. As usual in this country.’

‘Never liked him. Who can look so fresh at seventy?’

‘I don’t think he’s seventy. More like fifty-one or two.’

‘Whatever.’

‘That’s Chloe’s favourite word.’

‘Whatever.’ He grinned. ‘Where to next, then?’

‘Penny Brogan’s family. And let’s hope Amy Whyte is there with her.’

Cyril Gill parked in his private space, the only place without sludge running over it. He got out of the car and stared at the sky. Black and purple clouds chased each other across a grey blanket, and the rain continued to slap against his face.

‘Three months behind, and now this,’ he muttered as he headed to the Portakabins. The job was proving more difficult than he’d imagined at the tender process. Because the courthouse was a listed building, the exterior had to be maintained in its original form. And that hindered the total renovation required to modernise the place into a functioning twenty-first-century courthouse.

A blast of heat thrust its way outside as he entered.

‘What did the guards want?’ he called over to the foreman, Bob Cleary. ‘And why are you in here and not out there cracking the whip on the arses of those lazy fuckers?’

‘Came in for a cuppa. It’s my break. I am entitled, you know.’ Bob put the mug to his lips and slowly sipped the steaming liquid.

Cyril poured himself a coffee from the dispenser and wiped crumbs off his chair before sitting down.

‘What guards?’ Bob said.

‘They were at the gate as I drove in.’

‘Didn’t see them. Ducky must have stopped them.’

Cyril lifted the phone. ‘Ducky, what did the guards want?’

‘Nothing to do with work. Just enquiring about some girl I know.’

Hanging up, Cyril stared at Bob. ‘Three months behind? Is that right?’

‘More like five or six if this weather doesn’t improve. There’s a storm warning for the weekend.’

‘Oh for Christ’s sake.’ Gill slapped the desk and a file slid to the floor.

Bob picked it up and handed it back. ‘I’ll get back to work.’

‘Do. And I don’t want to hear anything about five or six months. Ever. You need to catch up on lost time.’

‘It’s the tunnels, Mr Gill. They need shoring up. The crane wobbled last week.’

‘Cranes don’t wobble. And those tunnels have been there for five hundred years, so they’re not going to shift any time soon.’

‘But once the lift shaft?—’

‘I thought you were getting back to work?’

Once he was alone, Cyril pulled off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. The fumes from the gas heater were giving him a headache, but he had work to do. He opened the daily work schedule spreadsheet and tried to figure out where he could make up the lost time. Otherwise, he would be in worse trouble than he had been last time. And Cyril Gill did not want to revisit that annus horribilis ever again.