Chapter 24

TWENTY-FOUR

In Whyte’s Pharmacy, Kirby was glad of the mug of coffee offered to him by Megan Price. She was seated opposite him, her dark hair feathered with strands of grey held back in a ponytail and her black dress with brass buttons down the front adding an air of regality to her appearance. She had hung up her white work coat when he’d arrived. He inhaled the antiseptic smell of medicines emanating from the stacks on the shelves around them, and when she stared at him, he dropped his eyes and drank a mouthful of coffee.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Megan said. ‘Two lovely young women in the prime of their lives. Who would want to do such a thing?’

‘It’s a brutal old world we live in,’ Kirby said. ‘I need you to think over everything you know about each of them. People they may have spoken about. Anyone who came into the shop that they reacted to in any way that you can remember as being … let’s say unusual.’

‘You’ll have to let me think about it.’

Kirby put the mug on the floor between his feet and noted how scruffy his shoes looked. The toes were scuffed, and when he lifted his foot, he could see where the sole was coming away. Gilly would have had something to say. He gulped loudly.

‘Is anything wrong?’ Megan Price said. He felt her hand brush his knee.

‘No, no, it’s fine. I’m fine.’

‘You look tired, and if I may so, there’s a deep-rooted sadness in your eyes. I know that look.’

‘And what look might that be?’ Kirby tried a wry smile. He didn’t want to talk about Gilly. How was it that she invaded his thoughts at the most inopportune moments?

‘Sorrow. Unrelenting, unforgiving sorrow. Did you know her well?’

‘Who?’

‘The young guard who was murdered during the summer.’

He couldn’t stop the tears that dripped one by one down his cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of his hand.

‘Let’s get back to Amy and Penny.’ He straightened himself on the small stool. ‘When did you last see either of them?’

‘Death leaves a big fat hole in your life,’ Megan said softly, leaving his question unanswered. ‘That’s the worst part. Trying to find something to fit into it and knowing in your heart that it will always be there. What was her name?’

Kirby gazed into the pharmacist’s dark brown eyes. They were kind and sympathetic.

‘Her name was Gilly. She was a lot younger than me, so she made me feel young. And she had the craziest smile you’d ever see. Not crazy like crazy, if you know what I mean.’

She laughed nervously. ‘Is infectious the word you’re looking for?’

‘That’s it. I’ll never hear her voice again. Do you know how terrifying that is? To know you will never hear someone’s voice again.’

‘I know it well. It’s tough, Detective Kirby. With time, the pain will ease. It never goes away, but you learn to live with it.’

‘Are you speaking from experience?’ He patted his pockets. He could do with escaping outside for a quick smoke.

She stood. The cluttered space seemed to fill, though she was as thin as a rake. ‘Enough about personal trauma. I’ll rack my brains and let you know if I remember anything out of the ordinary about Amy and Penny.’

‘I’d appreciate that.’ Kirby edged by her.

He noticed the downturned heads of the two assistants, who’d made themselves busy when he and Megan returned to the main shop. He welcomed the multitude of scents vying with each other for supremacy.

‘Did Amy have a locker? Somewhere to store personal stuff?’

Megan blushed. ‘She used a small cupboard in my office, but I checked it this morning when I heard the news. There was nothing in it.’

Kirby addressed one of the shop assistants; Trisha, according to her name badge. ‘Did you like working with Amy?’

Trisha’s face drained of all colour and she began to sob. ‘She was fantastic. We all loved her. Didn’t we?’

He noticed she’d directed her question to Megan and not the other assistant. Megan nodded and steered Kirby to the door. ‘I have your card. I’ll have a chat with the girls too and contact you if we think of anything.’

Out on the street, Kirby couldn’t help feeling that he’d missed something. He scratched his head. For the life of him he couldn’t work out what it was. One thing he knew for sure, he was totally embarrassed. When he’d been in the claustrophobic storeroom, he’d realised he needed a shower. Badly.

The recording equipment was running, and names and details had been outlined. Lottie had picked up Chloe and Sean and dropped them home, where she was surprised to see that Katie had prepared dinner. She’d declined the offer to eat and rushed back to work, where she found Conor Dowling had been brought to the interview room. Boyd did the introductions for the recording before she began.

‘So, Conor, you’re working for Cyril Gill, is that right?’

‘You know I am because that’s where you had me picked up from. Don’t be asking stupid questions. I know the drill. Been here before, haven’t I?’

‘Yes, you have. When did you get out of prison?’

‘You know that too.’

‘Two months ago. And you started working for Cyril Gill two weeks ago.’

He clamped his mouth shut, arms folded, legs stretched out under the table. A lip curled upwards. His nails were crusted with mud and the backs of his hands laced with dirt. He’d dropped his work coat on the floor and rolled up his sleeves. His arms were inked with a myriad of tattoos.

‘Odd choice of employer,’ Lottie said.

Dowling said nothing.

‘I mean, Cyril Gill is the father of one of the two young women who gave evidence against you ten years ago. Why would you want to work for him?’

He sniffed and eventually said, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. That’s my motto.’

‘Do you see Mr Gill as your enemy?’

‘What do you think?’

‘He did nothing to you.’

‘That scum bitch of a daughter of his did.’

‘Have you been in contact with Louise Gill recently?’

She thought she noticed a slight blush, but he quickly rubbed his hands over his cheeks and up onto his bald head.

‘No,’ he said.

‘And Amy Whyte. What do you know about her?’

‘She lied too.’

‘Lied about what?’

He scanned his surroundings with narrowing eyes, which landed on her. ‘Why have you got me here? I’m entitled to my solicitor and a phone call.’

Lottie felt Boyd kick her ankle. It hadn’t taken long for the ‘entitled to my solicitor’ line to raise its head.

‘You’re not under arrest,’ she said.

‘I can go so?’ He unfolded his arms and made to stand up.

Slamming her hand on the table, Lottie felt Boyd jump at the same time as Dowling.

‘Sit down!’

‘I am sitting.’

‘Listen to me. I want the answers to a few questions first, then you can leave. Okay?’

‘Suppose so.’

He was either stupid or pretending to be stupid. She intended to fire right ahead and find out.

‘When did you last see Amy Whyte?’

He half closed his eyes and watched her through the slits. ‘Might have been 2006. My memory’s not the best from all the beatings I got in jail. Where you and that pair of liars landed me.’

‘You’ve been free for two months. Did you make contact with Amy in that time?’ Chancing her arm, watching his expression, waiting for the break. But he remained calm.

‘I don’t want to clap eyes on that bitch ever again.’

‘Not likely, is it, seeing as she’s dead.’ Lottie let the sentence hang in the silence and watched his face for a reaction. But he simply stared right back at her.

‘When was the last time you saw Amy?’

‘What do you mean?’ At last. Realisation dawned on his face. He sat forward. ‘Look here. This is a joke. You pinned one crime on me, and sure as there’s a fire in hell you’re not going to do it again. You can piss off, you skinny bitch.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ Lottie said. Boyd nudged her again. She glared at him. She wanted Dowling riled. He might inadvertently say something he didn’t mean to say. Hopefully.

‘Take it any way you like,’ he snarled. ‘I’d say you’d like it up the arse!’

‘That’s abusive language.’

‘What are you going to do about it?’

Ignoring his anger, Lottie said, ‘Where were you on Saturday night from eleven p.m. onwards?’ She kept her tone even, her voice clear and strong. No way was this bald shithead going to get under her skin.

‘At home.’

‘And all day Sunday?’

‘At home.’

‘Can anyone verify that?’

‘None of your business.’

‘It is my business.’

He let out a strangled sigh. ‘My mother is there all the time. She’s disabled. Chronic arthritis, if you want to know.’

‘She can vouch that you were at home all weekend?’

‘Yes.’

‘You never went out anywhere?’

‘I went to the shop for milk and bread.’

‘What shop?’

‘Tesco.’

‘I’m sure their security cameras will confirm that, if you provide me with the times.’

‘I don’t know what time it was. I’m not Superman with a super-brain.’

‘No, you’re most definitely not.’

‘Are you being smart with me?’

‘No. But you’re being smart with me. So give me the truth.’

‘I’m saying nothing until I get a solicitor.’

Lottie wasn’t giving up so easily. She rolled up the sleeves of her T-shirt and extracted a laminated sheet from the buff folder in front of her.

‘What’s that?’ Dowling said.

‘Read it,’ she said. ‘You can read, can’t you?’

He turned the sheet around and scanned it. ‘So? What’s it got to do with me?’

‘We found it in Amy Whyte’s bedroom. Did you write this note and send it to Amy?’

‘You didn’t ask if I can write.’

‘Come on, Conor. Playtime is over. This is serious,’ Lottie said, trying hard to keep it professional.

‘Answer the question,’ Boyd said.

‘What question might that be?’ Conor sighed loudly. ‘Yes, I can write, and I can read too. Happy?’

‘No, I’m not.’ Lottie took the page and slipped it back into the folder. ‘And your smart mouth is not endearing you to me at all.’

‘Tough shit.’

‘This is a photocopy of a coin found in the envelope with the note.’ She showed him an image of the round piece of metal. She held back on talking about the coins found with the bodies. No point in showing her hand too early.

‘Never saw it before.’

‘I think you did. You refused to talk last time, but you can tell the truth about this crime.’

‘Would you ever fuck off?’ His face flared red, and his knuckles, crunched into fists, were white. He stood up. ‘I’m leaving. And don’t think you can frame me for whatever this is about. I won’t stand for it a second time.’

The door swung closed behind him.

Lottie said, ‘Interesting young man, don’t you think?’

Boyd said, ‘Did you notice he never once asked how she died.’

‘Maybe he already knew.’

‘Like he’d heard about it?’

‘No, like he did it.’

The cathedral bells rang out the hour as Conor walked past the wrought-iron gates. He didn’t even bother to check how many chimes. Time was his enemy. Time had betrayed him and continued to do so. He’d learned that in a cell with the shouts and roars of the other inmates for company. A plump black crow perched on a railing ahead of him. He picked up a drink can from the path and toyed with the idea of hurling it at the bird. As he came closer, he noticed that the crow’s beak was thick and hard. The eyes black. He paused and stared. The bird did not move. Which of us has the darker soul? he wondered. Then he laughed. Birds had no souls.

He dropped the can and kicked it down the footpath in front of him. He kept on kicking it until it ended up in a muddy drain. Then he thumped his fist into a car door. His probation officer would be pissed off to learn he’d been questioned by the guards. Well, tough shit.

He needed a pint. Hadn’t he promised Tony he’d buy him a drink after work? He didn’t fancy going into Cafferty’s. All the guards drank there. He took out his phone and found his hands were shaking. Goddam you, Parker.

He texted Tony. Told him he’d meet him in Fallon’s pub.

No reply.

He’d have one pint anyway, then go home to see what his mother had got up to during the day. And then he remembered he’d put on a wash that morning. The clothes had probably been in the machine all day. They’d be rank. He’d have to wash them again. After he’d had his pint.