Chapter 97

97

Propped up on a trolley in the corridor of A otherwise he didn't appear to be injured.

‘They've left me here to rot,' he said with self-pity, staring at his hands.

‘You were lucky to get out before you burned to death.'

‘Lucky? My house is gone. All my beautiful things, up in smoke.'

‘Things can be replaced.'

He exhaled a raspy breath. ‘I suppose so.'

‘How did the fire start?'

‘I don't know, do I?' A tinge of anger crept into his tone. ‘I was asleep until the smoke woke me up. I raced down the stairs. The kitchen was in flames. I couldn't find the fire extinguisher because it wasn't hanging in its usual place. Someone did this to me. To my house. The bastard.'

‘You believe someone else started it maliciously?'

‘What do you mean by someone else ? Do you think I did this to myself?' He held up his hands. ‘You're crazy.'

‘You said earlier, "she has destroyed me". Who did you mean?'

‘I… I never said that.' He doubled over coughing. More black phlegm lingered on his chin.

‘You did.'

‘I must have been raving.'

‘Can you tell me about Aneta Kobza?'

After wiping his chin with his elbow, he said, ‘Who?'

‘The young woman we found dead Sunday morning. I think you knew her.'

‘What?'

‘You reacted badly to her photo.'

‘I'm not used to looking at dead people.'

‘You know who I'm talking about then.'

‘You're putting words in my mouth.'

‘Someone was paying her a grand a month.'

‘Nothing to do with me.'

‘It came from a London bank.'

‘Still nothing to do with me.'

‘I believe you use a London bank for some of your business ventures.' This was hearsay based on Brenda Morgan's recent interview.

‘What are you suggesting?'

‘I have a host of suggestions, but I'd prefer if you told me the truth.'

‘I am telling you the truth.' His cadence displayed the grit of a businessman used to getting his way. Used to lying.

‘You're fudging it, Gordon. You're involved in these murders either directly or indirectly. Let me tell you what I think.'

She paused, waiting for him to object. He merely nodded for her to continue.

‘You were paying Aneta Kobza to keep quiet about something. I don't know what that was, but it was possibly some underhand deal that she knew about. Then she decides to come to Ireland and scares the shit out of you. Or maybe you scared her that day in Cuan at the financial donors' event. She freaks out, and then she's abducted and doesn't reappear for a year. When she does, she is starved, abused and very dead. Am I warm?'

He shook his head, leaving a sooty smear on the white pillowcase.

‘We found John Morgan's photo among her possessions.'

‘I know nothing about that.'

‘Why were you paying her?'

He set his mouth in a thin line. Then his demeanour shifted to one of melancholy as he made his admission. ‘Aneta was my daughter.'

‘Shit.' Lottie leaned against the wall and blew out her cheeks. ‘How? When? Shit. I'm so sorry for your loss. Did she always know, or did she find out and then blackmail you?'

‘She found out because someone told her. Aneta was the result of a regrettable indiscretion years ago. She was placed for adoption very soon after she was born. After her adoptive parents died, maybe someone who wanted to destroy me told her. Or else the adoptive parents knew and had told her. It doesn't even matter, does it? I transferred a maintenance amount to keep her in Poland, but she wasn't satisfied. She came to Ireland to seek out her birth mother because I wouldn't give her that information, and I'm not giving it to you either.'

‘Why not?'

‘I was threatened. My fucking house was torched. I nearly died in it.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘Inspector, I never killed anyone, but I have a fair idea who is behind the murders, and I've been warned, so I'm keeping my mouth shut.'

‘I could arrest you for impeding my investigation.'

‘Arrest me then. I'm done talking.'

He closed his eyes and clamped his lips shut. Lottie noticed another dribble escape the side of his mouth and trickle down the cleft of his chin. Collins was helpless, and despite herself, she felt sorry for him.

‘If you have a change of heart, contact me, but I'll be formally interviewing you when you're well enough.'

He gave no indication that he'd heard her. She left him there, lying on a trolley in the overcrowded A&E corridor, and wondered what this new information meant to the case.

The smoky smell had adhered itself like glue to his suit, skin and hair. Boyd desperately wanted to take a shower, but he hadn't time. He felt in his bones that the investigation was gearing up. The burning of Gordon Collins's house had added a new dimension. The fire officer had told him there was evidence of an accelerant having been used. Boyd doubted Collins had done it himself. The man had appeared besotted with his house. Someone was trying to kill him. Or warn him. Had Collins murdered three people and abducted Shannon? Was he missing a crucial tell?

He'd driven out to the field where Aneta's body had been found. He wanted to get a feel for the area again, especially after discovering the McGoverns had owned a house in the Drinock locality. He imagined Collins's fingers were all over that transaction. What did it mean, if true?

Breathing in the fresh country air, he studied the landscape. Someone had to have driven along the road, stopped the car and carried her body to the field. Why this field? It was about two kilometres from the McGoverns' old house. Was that a coincidence, or were they involved? Small-town living meant people had connections all over and coincidences were rife. The McGoverns had it in for Collins because of the defects in their current home. They appeared to be a hard-working, if struggling, couple with a young son who had inadvertently witnessed the disposal of Laura Nolan's body.

He scanned the horizon. He couldn't see any houses from where he stood, though the land was flat. The spires of Ragmullin Cathedral were just about visible in the distance. All around him was farmland. The farmer who'd found the body had been cleared of any involvement without shedding light on why his land had been used to discard the young woman's body.

Boyd surveyed the area again. Was it opportunistic, because this was somewhere far enough away from the actual crime scene to be deemed safe from detection? Or was it close enough for someone in a hurry?

Back in the car, he pulled up the McGoverns' old address on his sat nav and out of curiosity, drove towards it. The house was listed as an old Protestant rectory dating from the nineteenth century. The road narrowed the further he drove until it was nothing more than a lane. He reached a closed gate, which he estimated to be at least ten feet high. He stopped the car and noticed an intercom on the pillar to the side of the gate. The house was not visible. Walls and trees surrounded it. Was it just an old rectory that was now someone's abode, or was it something much more sinister?

He wasn't going to get answers outside the wall, and he needed more information before he went pressing an intercom on a whim. He decided to return to the station to check the property register. His humour didn't improve when he realised he had to reverse five hundred metres, praying he didn't meet a tractor.