Chapter 51

FIFTY-ONE

Megan Price entered the pharmacy feeling the dullness permeate the walls. It was odd without Richard there being his usual bustling self. He’d given her the keys and told her she was in charge until such time as he could get his head together and Amy’s funeral organised.

She let in the first two assistants and asked Trisha to make tea. She hung up her coat and pulled on her white work coat. It was old-fashioned, but she liked it because it gave her a feeling of importance and differentiated her from the underlings who struggled to put in a day’s work. At least Amy wasn’t around any longer with her smart comments and pungent perfume. She hoped the assistants were on top form today, because she needed to take a few hours off.

The door opened and she looked out from behind her counter to see Detective Kirby marching towards her.

‘Hi,’ she said.

He glanced around furtively, then leaned over to her and whispered, ‘You never told me about Tony Keegan.’

‘What about him?’

‘You were married to him.’

‘That’s no one’s business but my own.’

‘He’s friends with Conor Dowling.’

Megan’s expression was neutral. ‘So?’

‘Dowling is a person of interest in the recent murders. I’d have thought you’d tell me about your association with him.’

Sparks of red flashed behind her eyes. ‘How dare you. I have no association with Dowling, nor with Tony. What are you insinuating?’

Kirby seemed to physically step back. ‘Nothing. I don’t know. I would’ve liked to know.’

‘A sandwich and an Irish coffee doesn’t mean there’s anything between us. I thought you needed a companion, someone to share your grief with, but I was mistaken.’ She paused to take a breath. ‘I’d like you to leave.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m going.’

He turned and exited. She half expected him to bang the door, but it slid softly closed. Only then did she release her hands from the counter and see that they were white with the effort of clinging on.

Sam McKeown had a grin from ear to ear when Kirby stepped out of the pharmacy.

‘What are you laughing at?’ Kirby shuffled by him.

‘You. What were you accusing her of?’

‘Never you mind. Come on.’

Back at the station, there was still no word from Lottie or Boyd on the status of her daughters’ whereabouts.

McMahon shoved his head around the door. ‘Where is she?’

‘Who?’ Kirby asked in mock innocence.

‘Inspector Parker, of course.’

‘Not sure.’ Play it neutral, he thought.

‘Soon as she appears, I want her in my office.’ McMahon walked away muttering audibly. ‘When I get my hands on her … Using prime-time news slots for her delinquent kids …’

‘He’s narky this morning,’ McKeown said.

‘That’s mild. Finish up that CCTV today, will you?’

‘I will.’

Kirby pulled the Thompson file across his desk and opened it up.

‘Lottie, we’ve been down this road twice already this morning.’

‘I know, but they have to be somewhere. Pull in over there.’

Boyd parked the car and left the engine running. ‘What do you want to do?’

‘They’re around here. I can feel it in my bones.’

‘I can feel my bones and I can tell you they are fairly sore.’

‘Thanks for saving me.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ He opened the door, stepped outside and lit a cigarette.

She joined him and took a pull, but it made her light-headed so she handed it back to him. Their breath hung in the cold air and she scanned the car park. The Petit Lane houses were to her right, and she wondered if Mrs Loughlin had remembered anything further from the weekend. But her mind wasn’t on the murder investigations.

‘Bernie’s grandmother, Kitty Belfield, lived at Farranstown House. It’s locked up. No one has been there since Kitty passed away. It might be worth checking out. Send someone to take a look.’

‘Will do. Is the probate sorted yet?’

‘I have no idea.’ Lottie didn’t want to talk about a family inheritance she had no desire to claim. She said, ‘I’m sure Leo knows something. What was he thinking of, taking her out of a secure facility?’

‘Being impulsive must run in your genes.’ Boyd took a long drag on his cigarette and watched the smoke hang in the air.

‘Don’t you dare, Boyd. I want nothing to do with that family. Come on. We need to check in with the station.’

As they drove away, her eye caught the shadow of the lifting equipment over at the courthouse. Smoke billowed into the air. She had yet to discover if Cyril Gill was dead or alive. And then there was Conor Dowling to think of.

Detective Sam McKeown wasn’t sure he was going to stick it much longer in Ragmullin. Everyone seemed to have an issue with someone or other. He pulled up the next disc of CCTV footage, forwarded it to the relevant time and leaned back in the chair to watch. He’d been through it all once and found nothing. The worst job in the world.

As he clicked the mouse, the time slid by on the screen. 01:00. 01:30. He yawned. 01:35. He sat up straight. Clicked the mouse again. Zoomed in. He could see the grainy image of a parked car. He’d seen it on the first run-through. But now a shadow caught his eye. Two shadows. Out of shot, at the rear of the car. He zoomed in again, trying to get a look at the number plate. It was covered in mud. Intentional or unintentional, he did not know.

He clicked the images forward, slowly this time. The shadows moved out of shot. At 03:02, one shadow reappeared and the car disappeared. It had been parked in such a position that the doors were not visible and he could not see the driver. Whoever it was knew exactly where the cameras were. He pulled up the traffic cams for the same time, but the car seemed to have disappeared. There were no cameras outside the houses where the first two bodies had been found. He brought up the council office cameras and scanned for the relevant times. Again, nothing.

He moved on to Monday night. Saw the two young men stumble across the car park towards the disused dwellings. Backed up the tape. Kept rewinding it. A shadow moved along the perimeter wall of the car park towards the council offices. And then it was gone. What the hell? It was too large for an animal, so it had to be human.

He pulled up the incident report from Monday night. Someone had been in the house when the two lads arrived. They had been attacked and one person had run out, according to Mrs Loughlin. He twisted the heels of his hands into his eyes, then opened them wide. Concentrate, he told himself. Think.

Forwarding the tape slowly, he kept his eyes glued to the wall. Waiting. Watching. Then he saw it again. The shadow moved in the opposite direction and disappeared.

It might be nothing, and then again it might be something. He printed off screen shots and went to tell Kirby.

Kirby’s eyes felt like they were about to fall out of his head. The lines of print on the pages morphed into each other. He’d let himself down with Megan. It had been a silly move on his part. What difference did it make that she had been married to Tony Keegan? She was right. It had absolutely nothing to do with him. They’d only had a couple of coffees. You’re a total arse, he told himself.

He blinked and turned a page. Garda reports were so boring.

Bill Thompson. Sixty-four years old. Publican and councillor. Interesting. Kirby hadn’t heard any mention over the last few days that Thompson had been a councillor. He made a note. Continued to read. Turned the page. And then he saw a name that made the breath catch at the back of his throat. Surely that couldn’t be right. It had to be a mistake. Or was it? He looked around, wishing Lottie was here. But neither she nor Boyd had appeared yet.

Why hadn’t someone made the connection before now? He picked up the file to bring to McKeown.

McKeown was already standing behind him with a sheaf of pages in his hand.

‘You have to see this,’ they both said in unison.