Chapter 59

FIFTY-NINE

The old house looked like something out of a Dickens novel. Leo’s mother – well, the woman he thought of as his mother – used to read him the classics, and he thought Farranstown House could have comfortably housed Miss Havisham.

He walked around the outside, checking the gravel for any signs of recent footprints. The ground was mucky and wet, and the deep footprints of the uniformed officers who had checked it out when looking for Bernie made distinguishing anything of interest next to impossible. He stood on the doorstep surveying the landscape. The inky sky touched the lake in the distance, and a thin, pale stream sheeted the horizon in expectation of night.

No point in hammering on the door, he thought, and made his way around the side, checking through the darkened windows as he walked. All he could make out was sheeted furniture standing like ghosted sentries. He recalled Alexis telling him about a basement. In New York, most of these had an external door. He couldn’t see one here. He’d have to search inside, but he had no key. He lifted the latch in hope. No such luck. He put his eye to the keyhole. There was a key on the inside of the lock.

On the ground, he found a piece of wire and jiggled it around in the lock. After a couple of minutes he heard the key drop to the floor. Now he could get somewhere. He worked the piece of wire until he heard a click, and the door opened.

He pushed it inwards and stepped inside the house that he knew should rightfully be his. Flicking a switch, he was amazed to see the hallway slowly fill with muted light. That, at least, was a bonus. Closing the door behind him, he made his way into the spacious farmhouse-type kitchen.

Tendrils of icy cold swathed the stillness. His detective’s antennae were on their highest alert level. He knew he was not alone in the old house.

‘Are you in a hurry to get back to work?’ Kirby said.

‘I am, actually,’ Megan replied. ‘What are you doing here?’

He wanted to talk to her in a civilised setting, not out on her dark driveway.

‘It will only take a few minutes. You don’t have to make tea; I just want you to answer a couple of questions.’

He studied her face, her hair knotted at the nape of her neck, her camel coat and blue scarf. She wore flat-soled knee-length black boots. He thought she looked pretty.

‘I’m sorry. I have to go,’ she said. ‘I’m already late.’

‘Aren’t you going to close your front door?’

She fumbled in her bag for her keys as she pulled the door closed. She turned the key in the lock.

‘Look, Detective Kirby. You’re a nice man, but you’re going through a grieving process. I don’t think I’m the right person to help you. Maybe you should visit a therapist.’ Her voice was sharp and professional.

‘Do you have a pet?’

‘No.’

‘Is this where your father lived?’

‘Stepfather.’

‘And your mother?’

‘She died, must be fifteen years ago.’

‘And did you inherit this house when your stepfather died?’

She stalled beside her car. ‘Why are you asking me these questions?’

‘Did you receive a note from Conor Dowling to deliver to Amy Whyte?’

‘You’re talking utter rubbish. I can give you the number of a therapist if you’d like.’

She opened the car and sat in.

Kirby leaned on the open door. ‘Can I have a look around your house?’

‘No you cannot. Just leave.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. I’m going.’

‘Good. I’m heading back to work.’

She slammed the door and Kirby had to jump out of the way as she reversed out onto the road and drove off with water splashing from the potholes.

He watched her go before making his way to his own car. He threw his phone on the seat, then sat in and returned his attention to Megan’s house.

She emerged up the stairs from the basement like a shadow creeping out of a coffin. All in black, her hair shorn and her skin an unusual pallor.

‘I thought she would find me before you,’ she said.

Leo leaned against the kitchen table, wondering how he was going to handle this.

‘Where are Lottie’s girls?’

‘You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?’

As she took a step onto the flagstones, he noticed she was twisting a rope round and round her hand. The end of it was shaped like a noose. He prayed she hadn’t already killed them.

‘It doesn’t have to be this way, Bernie.’ Edging along the length of the table, he knocked against a chair, the sound screeching in the fusty air.

‘Stop!’ She raised her other hand. In the moonlight streaming through the window, he saw the steel of a knife glinting in her hand.

Back at the station, after they’d settled Belinda Gill with a blanket and a cup of tea with plenty of sugar, Lottie and Boyd entered the incident room. Dowling and Keegan had been released. There was nothing she could have done to prevent it, so she would just have to follow the evidence. McKeown surfaced from the midst of a group of detectives and hurried over to them. His tie was sticking out of his pocket and his shirt was undone at the neck. He looked like she felt. Exhausted.

‘Boss,’ he said. ‘We rushed through the DNA from Dowling and Keegan. The forensics lab have outdone themselves this time. Probably because we now have five bodies.’

Lottie perched on the edge of a desk, tapping a text to her mother. ‘Go on.’

‘Do you remember the hairs found on the bodies at the first murder scene?’

‘Yes.’ She glanced at the incident board, where a photograph of said hairs was pinned. ‘But we didn’t think we’d get much success seeing as they came from a doss house.’

‘Anyway, we already had Dowling’s DNA on file from the original case. Though I don’t think any comparative analysis was ever carried out, once you had the witnesses.’

‘Things were different then,’ Lottie said. ‘Samples had to be sent to the UK. It cost a lot of money, and budgets were as tight as they are now.’

‘Well, just to let you know, it isn’t a match for the hair.’

‘Doesn’t prove anything.’

‘I know. But I thought it was important. I’ve fast-tracked Keegan’s DNA sample to the lab. My contact there said he should have something within four hours.’

‘That must be a record,’ Boyd said.

‘It’s all about who you know,’ McKeown said, and tapped the side of his nose.

Lottie read the reply from her mother. No word on the girls. She pocketed her phone.

McKeown was still talking. ‘But this is the good bit. They got a hit on the hairs from an unrelated case.’

‘What?’ Lottie and Boyd said.

‘It may be nothing, but a couple of years ago, Whyte’s Pharmacy was broken into. Samples were taken from all the employees to rule them out of the incident. I don’t know if the culprit was ever found. You might remember it, boss.’

‘McKeown, will you get to the point.’ Lottie slid off the desk and paced up and down in front of the boards.

‘The hair found on the bodies is a match for Megan Price.’

‘What? The hair from the crime scene at Petit Lane?’ Lottie digested the new information.

Boyd said, ‘Megan worked with Amy Whyte. It could have transferred from her clothing if their coats were hanging close together.’

‘No, Boyd,’ Lottie said. ‘Amy was out clubbing. Her clothing was nothing like what she would wear to work. And hairs were also found on Penny Brogan. We need to bring Megan in for questioning.’ She glanced around the room. ‘Where’s Kirby?’

They all looked round.

‘Didn’t you send him to Whyte’s Pharmacy to ask about the note Dowling sent to Amy?’ Boyd said.

Lottie had her phone in her hand calling Kirby as she ran out of the incident room.

There was no answer from Kirby, but as she went to tap his number for a third time, the phone vibrated with a text.

‘Leo,’ Lottie said.

‘What does it say?’ Boyd asked.

She read it out. ‘“Farranstown. Injured.”’

‘Does he say anything about Katie and Chloe?’

‘No.’ She sprang into action. ‘McKeown, you try to reach Kirby. Head down to the pharmacy and see if he’s still there. Take uniforms and bring in Megan Price. Boyd and I have to go to Farranstown.’

In the yard, she told Boyd to drive. He was a faster and safer driver. The sky was dark, with the yellow hue of street lights giving it a gothic air.

‘Will I put on the flashers?’

‘Yeah, do.’

‘We should radio for backup.’

‘Let’s see what Leo’s found first.’

Boyd switched on the flashing blue lights and headed out on the road towards Farranstown House.

‘Do you think Bernie’s there?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘If she is, she’s liable to do anything. We should radio for backup just in case.’

‘Shut up, Boyd.’

‘You’re being irrational, Lottie, though that’s nothing new.’

She refused to answer him.

‘It could be a trap,’ he said eventually.

‘I thought of that.’ And she had. Every scenario was tripping over itself in her brain. ‘Okay. Radio for an armed unit to follow us.’

‘We should wait for them.’

‘Just drive the fucking car, Boyd.’

As far as Kirby knew, Megan didn’t have a pet. But the noise had sounded like an animal. Or something. Or someone.

Curiosity got the better of him, so he got out of his car and walked around the side of the house again. Ears pricked. Listening. Nothing. He stood at the back door, pressed his ear up against it. Definitely nothing. Back around to the front again, and to the garage. Silence. But he had to go in. He wished he had McKeown’s knife.

He jiggled his car key in the garage lock. Pulled it, twisted it. No go. Looking around on the ground, he found a sharp piece of slate, but it broke the second he tried to jimmy the lock. He stood back and surveyed the doors. Hinges. He set to work on the screws with his key.

One hinge was on the ground, with three more to go, when he heard a car screech into the gravelled drive.