Chapter 103

103

‘Well, we can't blame Gordon Collins for this fire. He's still in hospital.' Boyd stood surveying the smouldering mess. A small bungalow reduced to concrete and ash. ‘I'm sick of smoke.'

Lottie approached the fire officer, who'd also been at Collins's house. ‘What can you tell me?'

‘Accelerant was used. You can smell it from here. Petrol.'

‘Anyone inside?'

‘Not that we found so far. According to an eyewitness, there was shouting earlier, and when she looked out, she saw a taxi driving away, right before the place went up.'

‘So no bodies?'

‘I can't be sure until the fire is fully extinguished. Too dangerous for my crew to go on site yet. Another hour maybe.'

She joined Boyd, who'd been talking to the owner. ‘Well?'

Boyd checked his notes as the other man quivered, biting his nails. ‘Rented to a woman and a boy. Cash. No names. Rented for the week.'

‘Did you get any ID?' asked Lottie. The man shook his head. ‘Feck's sake.'

‘I reckon it was Diana and her grandson,' Boyd said.

‘If so, how did they get here?'

The man pointed to a grey VW Golf that had miraculously escaped any damage and made his way to talk to the fire officer.

Boyd visually inspected the car, tried the handle. Locked. A decal on the windscreen showed it was a hire car. ‘I'll check with them.'

‘It has to be her but what's she up to?'

‘You think Diana torched this place as well as Collins's house?'

‘I don't know. Why didn't she take the Golf? Why get a taxi?'

‘If we've to go checking taxi drivers again, we're back to square one.'

‘Hold on.' Lottie approached a woman with a dressing gown over her shoulders. She was fully clothed underneath but was shivering. ‘Miss Farnham?'

‘Yes. I called 999. I hoped there was no one inside.'

‘Did you see the taxi?'

‘Yes.'

‘Tell me what you remember.'

‘I heard shouting. A woman. Maybe screaming. By the time I looked out, I saw a taxi heading up the road and the fire had started next door.'

‘Can you tell me anything about the car? Colour? Make?'

‘It was just a taxi. Had the sign on top, unlit. Dark coloured car, maybe black. I can't think straight.'

‘Any numbers or letters on the sign?'

‘I couldn't see. It was almost gone round the corner by the time I looked out.'

‘But it was definitely a taxi?'

A shrug. ‘It had the sign.'

‘Okay, thanks.'

Lottie went back to Boyd. ‘Wherever Diana went, she didn't go voluntarily. The witness heard screams. There's no CCTV out here, so that's a dead end. I think we should pay Irene Dunbar a visit.'

‘You think she is involved? Or that Diana went there?'

‘Not necessarily. But I want to ask about that old fire at Cuan. Gordon Collins's house burned down, and now this holiday let. Our murderer could have started out as an arsonist.'

Her voice authoritative, verging on domineering, Lottie marched past Mona. ‘Open the door.'

There was no stalling or protestations this time. Lottie, followed by Boyd, rushed into Irene Dunbar's office.

The woman jumped, hand to her heart. ‘What's going on?'

‘You tell me.'

‘I've no idea what?—'

‘Enough.' Lottie slapped the photo found in Aneta's possessions down on the desk. ‘I want to know the names of everyone in that photo.'

‘It… looks ancient.'

‘Try thirty years old.'

Irene fell back into her chair. ‘What do you know about it?'

‘I said?—'

‘Okay, okay.' She picked up the photo. ‘Some people just want to dig up the past when it's best left buried.'

‘Who do you mean?'

‘Aneta. She kept digging and wouldn't give up.'

‘Did you know who she was?'

‘Not at first, but she couldn't deny her looks. She was the image of her… when she was young.'

This confused Lottie for a second. ‘Who? Her mother? Who was her mother?'

Irene dodged the question. ‘There were shades of her father in there too. The ruthlessness. The doggedness.'

‘You mean Gordon Collins?'

‘You know about it then.'

‘Just that he was her father,' Lottie conceded.

‘Ask him about it.'

‘I can't. His house was burned down and he's having an operation.'

‘God Almighty. Is he okay?'

‘He should be.'

‘You'll have to talk to Diana.'

‘She was burned out of her rented accommodation.'

Irene turned her head frenetically, gulping. ‘They'll come for me now and burn me out too. Dear God, what did we do?'

‘You tell me.' Lottie sat in one of the chairs. Boyd did likewise. They sat in the silence. No sound of a lawnmower outside today. ‘Go on, Irene.'

‘She was a first-class manipulator. Manipulated all of us, especially Gordon. When she got pregnant, we tried to help her. God, we did. She just sneered. Stamped her foot and laid down the law. Then this place went on fire. Half of it was burned down. I knew it was her, but I couldn't prove it. And Gordon… Poor Gordon. He's been making donations he can't afford, because he feels responsible, and perhaps he's afraid I'll tell. I'd never tell. I value my life too much.'

‘I'm lost, Irene.' Lottie side-eyed Boyd to confirm he felt similar confusion.

‘She was at the event here last year. I nearly died with shock. I thought she was still in the UK. I had no idea she had come back. Then I found out she'd been working in Ragmullin this five years. I'm afraid that when Aneta got upset that day, I admitted who her mother was.'

‘Who are you talking about?'

Irene darted her finger towards a girl in the photograph without touching it, as if it might scorch her.

‘Name her for me,' Lottie said, returning to her earlier question.

‘I fear her more than I fear the law. She's a chameleon. Her face could tell a hundred different stories in one hour. You never knew who you were going to meet.'

‘We have alibis, albeit weak, for everyone in our investigation,' Lottie said, half thinking out loud.

‘What about her sidekick?' Irene said.

‘Who?'

‘He keeps his eyes stuck to me every single day since I discovered she'd returned.'

‘And who is that?'

‘The gardener here. She forced me to take him on. Claimed she knew all sorts of things about me that would ruin me if made public. I've nothing to hide. I did nothing wrong. Not in recent years, anyhow. I helped back then. What we did was a mistake, and she couldn't reveal that old secret without implicating herself. But I know she'd twist things so badly that I'd never be able to hold my head high in public again.'

‘What's the gardener's name?'

‘Probably not his real name. And I pay him in cash. Her stipulation. No money trail. Clever bitch.' Irene's body sagged, as if the revelations had sucked the life from her.

‘His name?'

‘Thomas McCabe.'

Lottie wondered if he was related to Magenta McCabe, the name on the birth certificate. He had to be. ‘Do you know anything else about him?'

‘No. He says nothing. He's good in the greenhouse, I'll give him that.'

‘Do you sow tomatoes in a greenhouse?'

‘Why on earth…? Yes, but why?'

‘Doesn't matter. How does he travel to and from here?'

‘He drives a taxi. I reckon it's bogus.'

‘Did he transport Aneta to work?'

‘He wasn't here back then. He started shortly after she left.'

Lottie thought over what Irene had said about Aneta and her features like her young mother. She visualised the various photos on the incident board, the dead, the witnesses… It came to her in a flash. She stood and walked over to Irene, looking down at the seated woman. ‘If I say who I think the woman is, will you confirm it?'

‘I suppose so.'

Once she said the name, she got the nod from Irene that she'd been expecting.