Chapter 9

9

The twin-spired cathedral dominated the Ragmullin skyline. Nestled in a natural hollow, the houses and shops and factories spread out like the petals of a flower searching for light in which to flourish. The serpentine flow of the canal, with the railway tracks running alongside, circled like a snail trail about to take ownership of all in its path.

A grey fog hung low in the darkness. Rain wasn't far off, as usual. The lakes on the outskirts of the midlands town ensured the weather was damp most of the year, though during summer you might be lucky enough to get warmth for a week maybe, if the weather gods were on your side. But definitely not in late January. Spring couldn't arrive quick enough.

Above the shores of one such lake stood an ancient house that held many secrets yet to be revealed, though a few had been uncovered in the recent past.

Lottie stood outside the house, wrapped in her jacket, which was failing to ward off the chill in the air. Mug in hand, she sipped her coffee. She should have put a jumper on over her long-sleeved white top, and the biting wind penetrated her black jeans. Glancing at her boots, she saw they had already gathered mud when she'd walked from the house to the fence. Normal service so.

It was still dark as she stared out over Lough Cullion from the fence that surrounded her home. Temporary home, she corrected herself. The house belonged to her half-brother, Leo, who lived in New York. He had promised time and again to put it in her name, and one time she believed he had actually completed the paperwork, but on checking with the solicitor she could not afford, she found it not to be the case. Leo was a liar and a crook, despite working for the NYPD.

After a restless night, she wondered if she should move house. Find somewhere to make a home for her family with Mark Boyd and his son. But she had no capital, no savings, no nothing. Was she to be stuck in this rambling old structure for the rest of her life?

She glimpsed through the darkness the lake shimmering in the beginnings of the dawn. Sighing at the beauty surrounding her, chiding herself for not feeling more grateful while simultaneously wishing that for once in her life she could have what she desired. Since her husband, Adam, had died from cancer six years previously, she'd been treading water, sinking and coming up gasping for air. Boyd kept her afloat, as did her children.

She knew she had to think of her family over herself. Seventeen-year-old Sean had exams looming and he wanted to do a gaming course. Private college with astronomical fees. Chloe worked long shifts in Fallon's pub. And then there was Katie, who couldn't hold down a job long enough to have any decent chance at life. Of course little Louis kept her daughter busy, but being stuck in the house was no life for a twenty-three-year-old woman who had suffered so much tragedy. At least she'd been in her bed this morning, though Lottie had no idea when she'd come in.

As she swallowed the last of her coffee, her thoughts turned to her mother. Before Christmas, she'd felt she'd have to make a heartbreaking decision about Rose's care. But during the course of her most recent investigation, she'd come across an old friend of her mother's, and that friendship had reignited dramatically. In an odd sort of way, Betty had energised Rose. Maybe Lottie could delay any decision on her future care. It was still a worry that her mother lived alone, with her dementia bringing its own risks. But like herself, Rose was headstrong and bullish, when it suited her. Betty had gone to Birmingham for a few days to visit a relative, so it remained to be seen how Rose coped.

Tipping the mug over, Lottie recoiled at the lumps of coffee stuck to the sides. Having no patience was another of her failings. Who had time to wait for a kettle to boil? Who had time to stand in the early-morning half-light and stare at the beauty of a lake while bemoaning all the ills in their life? Who did that when they should be on their way to work? Someone who was running out of excuses to hide their rising anxiety.

Maybe she could pull a sickie? Call the boss and say she was dying or something. The thought of ringing Superintendent Farrell for anything other than a search warrant spurred her resolve to get her arse into the station. She turned her back on the beauty being slowly revealed as a new day came into being.

Lottie hadn't even time to park at the station before she had to drive to the cinema complex at Connell retail park. A body had been discovered by a young lad on his way into work. She felt the familiar tug of heartache that accompanied her on such investigations.

After she'd donned a protective suit and booties, she signed the log, walked through the cordons and gazed at the dead woman lying on the grass. She knew this death would necessitate a full-scale investigation, because it was plain to see the young woman had been murdered. When would this stop? Young lives being snuffed out by narcissistic fuckers. She despaired.

Looking away for a moment, she took a deep breath. School buses passed on the main road, and she was glad SOCOs had erected the tent so quickly. Diversions were being put in place, but not fast enough.

She stood inside beside Grainne Nixon, leader of the scene-of-crime team. Green eyes and a tendril of red hair were all that made the SOCO appear human. Kitted out head to toe in protective boiler suit, mask, booties and gloves, Grainne was unusually quiet.

‘What do you think?' Lottie asked, her voice breaking the silence in the cramped space.

‘A young woman with her life snatched from her before she got to live it. There are some bastards around, aren't there? Why do they think they have the God-given right to take a life? To stub out the existence of another human being. There's no reason for it. It's so unfair.'

‘Agree with you on all points. Can you offer me any insight as to how she died?'

Grainne kneeled on a steel plate beside the body and pointed out the woman's injuries. ‘I'm not a pathologist, but I suspect there are at least three knife wounds. One to her neck, which also has evidence of strangulation. Another on her arm – it may be a defensive wound. Her top is soaked with blood, so I imagine we'll find another to her chest. Which of them was the fatal wound? The pathologist will determine that, but I'd guess a struggle took place.'

The dead woman was clothed in jeans and a flimsy top, no shoes or coat. She lay at an awkward angle, one leg partially under the other, her arms askew, as if she had dropped from a height. One strap of her top was missing, or perhaps it only had the one.

The area where her body had been discovered was close to the cinema, coffee shop and retail outlets on the outskirts of town. The waste ground was surrounded by a stone wall and hedges. The entrance barrier had been secure, so it was feasible that someone had heaved her over the wall and thrown her down on the ground.

‘Who found her?' Lottie asked, trying to keep herself detached from the horror inflicted on the as yet nameless woman.

‘A teenager. Detective Kirby can fill you in.'

‘Okay. Any ID on the body?'

‘None that we've found yet, but her purse, her phone even, could be somewhere among the bushes. There's a couple of my lads searching. Have you a team here yet?'

‘Rustling them up at the moment. Can you give me anything to go on before the state pathologist arrives?'

‘The victim appears to be in her mid twenties, looks fit, so maybe she works out. Her clothes are inexpensive. She wore make-up and fake tan, which has run. Her nails seem clean but they'll be swabbed. Her feet are muddy. No sign of her shoes. Her jeans are zipped and buttoned, so perhaps there was no sexual assault, but that's just an observation. I need to get to work.'

‘She has no jacket or coat and her top is light. Where's her outer clothing? Her shoes? Could she have been taken from her home?' Lottie mused.

‘I'd say she was dressed for a night out.'

‘It was raining last night. You'd imagine she'd have a coat if she was out.' Something to consider, Lottie thought. ‘Any idea how long she's been here?'

Grainne widened her eyes, two emeralds flashing disdain. ‘You and I both know that it's up to the pathologist to give us an indication of that, and even then it's not in any way definitive.'

‘I know, but I need a ballpark idea.'

‘Her clothes are wet. Maybe from the dew, but we had a lot of rain last night. Gosh, it's so terribly sad.'

‘It is. Thanks, Grainne.'

‘Oh, one last thing. The ground around her seems to have been disturbed. Footprints. They're quite small. I checked the guy who found her. His feet are bigger, but we'll examine his shoes. And there's flattened grass over there.' She pointed. ‘I had it covered to protect it for evidence.'

‘Evidence of what?'

‘Don't know yet, but maybe the killer sat and watched her die.'

Outside the tent, Lottie whipped off her mask and inhaled the fresh morning air. She had deposited the protective gear in a paper bag by the time Detective Larry Kirby joined her at the inner cordon.

‘Where's the lad who discovered the body?' she asked.

Kirby puffed out his cheeks and ran a hand over his bushy hair in an attempt to control the mass of curls. ‘I sent him over to the café. Don't bite my head off yet. Garda Lei is with him. He said he knew the boy.'

‘Walk with me and fill me in.'

‘His name is Shane Santos. He's nineteen, said his family live in Enfield but he shares a flat beside St Declan's.'

‘Go on.'

‘He arrived early to open up the coffee shop. Seven thirty. The other shops open at nine, though the cinema doesn't open until later. He makes coffee on the go for retail staff, who usually appear by eight thirty. So he said.'

‘How did he get in here? Wasn't the barrier down and locked before our lads had it opened?'

‘He jumped the wall.'

‘Was it normal for the barrier to be down?'

Kirby shrugged. ‘All I know is what he told me. SOCOs took his shoes for testing and said they'll make moulds of the footprints around the body for analysis. He has spare runners stored at the shop.'

‘Let's go and see if this Shane can help us.' She sincerely hoped so.