Chapter 61

SIXTY-ONE

Kirby’s car was in the drive. Lottie stood with Boyd and listened. A train chugged in the distance, traffic buzzed on the bypass a few kilometres away, a swing in someone’s garden squealed in the rising night wind. Normality in the midst of confusion, she thought.

Rain fell steadily as she approached the house. No lights blazed and no one opened the door.

‘The garage door is open,’ Boyd said.

Lottie pushed past him and stared. The door was indeed slightly ajar.

‘Should we wait for backup?’

‘I’m waiting for no one.’

The door scraped on the bare concrete floor as she pushed it inwards. The interior was lit dimly by the red glow from a light on a fridge freezer. A bench with tools lined one wall. She shone her torch around searching for a light switch, but couldn’t see one, though a fluorescent tube hung from the ceiling on a chain. Returning her attention to the bench, she caught sight of the glint of metal shards.

‘Boyd, look.’

‘It’s a workbench.’

‘I know, but those shavings are similar to what I saw in Conor Dowling’s shed.’ She continued shining the light up and down the area in front of her until the beam illuminated an unusual circular piece of equipment. ‘What do you think that’s for?’

Boyd just shrugged and turned up his mouth.

Even in her anxiety to find Kirby and her daughters, Lottie remembered her training and tugged on gloves. Running her finger along the inside edge of the circle, she said, ‘This is what was used to make the coins found at the murder scenes. And it came from Conor Dowling’s house.’

A groan alerted her senses.

‘What’s that?’ she whispered.

Boyd had heard it too. He rushed to the internal door and pushed it. He found a switch and light fell into the garage. ‘In here.’

Lottie followed him. On the floor of what looked like a utility room lay Kirby.

‘Shit, are you okay?’ Boyd knelt down beside the prone figure.

‘How could someone have overpowered him? Surely not Megan?’ She paused as Boyd administered to Kirby. ‘Unless Tony Keegan is here. He might have Megan captive.’ She looked down at her two detectives. ‘Is he okay?’

‘I can’t see any blood. Maybe he was drugged.’

Kirby groaned again and opened his eyes. He quickly closed them again as if the light had blinded him. ‘Neck,’ he groaned.

Boyd ran his fingers around Kirby’s neck, turned the detective’s head to one side. But he still couldn’t see a wound.

‘Needle,’ whispered Kirby.

‘He’s been drugged.’ Boyd whipped out his phone and called for medical backup.

Lottie was about to reply when she heard a sound overhead. She patted Boyd on the shoulder to tell him that he was to stay with Kirby, then made her way from the utility room into a darkened kitchen. She had no idea what she was facing, so she decided not to turn on a light. The hair on the back of her neck stood to attention and her heart picked up pace. She was certain that if there was anyone in the room they would surely hear it. But it was empty. The torch beam caught the outline of a table and chairs and wall cupboards, and that was it. Scanning the light over the walls she found they were bare. She made her way to the next door and opened it.

A low moaning, like the keening of a banshee, whispered from above. At the end of the short hallway she came to a staircase. A few coats hung on the banister, the only sign that someone lived here. Hoping it wouldn’t creak, she put her foot on the first step, then made her way slowly upwards. On each step she could see a coin similar to those at the murder scenes. Her heart picked up speed in her chest and she held her breath, trying to subdue the rising surge of panic.

All the doors were open. Dim light seeped out from one. She made her way quickly, the beat of her heart almost deafening her. With no idea of what horror might await her, with no fear for her own safety, she stepped into the room.

Her mouth opened automatically to issue a scream, but all that came out was a choked gurgle. She tried to call out to Boyd, but the words would not form. She was rooted to the spot as if superglue was attached to her boots. Frozen in a time frame of terror.

Megan Price was nowhere to be seen.

But her two daughters lay side by side on the floor.

Their hands were bound in front of them. Legs outstretched. Their heads, one dark and the other dyed blonde, were both a straggling mess of blood. No movement. No breath that she could see. The scene of horror simultaneously iced her brain and her body.

She had no idea how long she stood transfixed, her heart shattering into a million fragments, her eyes pouring forth tears of pain. Her hands trembling, her knees weak as she fell to the floor. Her babies. Her girls. Her life. Entrusted to her to care for. To look after. To love. After Adam had died, her sole responsibility was to their children. To love them and protect them. And she’d fucked it all up.

It must have been only a few moments that she stood like that, and then she screamed.