The Lost Child: A Gripping Detective Thriller with a Heart-Stopping Twist

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘What’s in the box?’ Boyd knelt beside her.

  Lottie shook it. ‘It’s light.’

  ‘Are you going to open it or bag it?’

  Lifting the lid, she peered into the rectangular space that had once held size seven black court shoes, according to the label. A bundle of letters held together with a rubber band, sticky with age.

  ‘She hadn’t touched these in years,’ she said.

  ‘Old memories?’

  ‘Bad memories?’ She got a plastic evidence bag from her handbag and placed the bundle inside.

  ‘Not going to have a sneaky look?’

  ‘No time now.’ Claustrophobia tightened her airways. ‘I’ll check the cabinet and wardrobe. You search the living room.’ She stood up to let Boyd edge out and noticed he was careful not to let their bodies touch. Her imagination?

  She opened the door of the wardrobe. Ran her fingers through the hangers. Polyester and wool dresses, blouses and coats. Marks & Spencer Classic range trousers and sweaters folded on a shelf. On the floor, three pairs of well-worn black shoes. She closed the door and turned her attention to the three-drawer bedside table.

  On top of it sat a ticking alarm clock, set for seven a.m. A lamp. A small leather purse with gold lettering proclaiming that it came from Lourdes. Inside was a string of rosary beads. How many did she need? A laminated prayer to St Anthony was taped to the side of the locker. Lottie supposed Mrs Ball had recited it when she’d been in bed at night. Could this religious old woman really have beaten her adult daughter? Nothing would surprise her any more.

  She opened the top drawer. It was kept tidy, with plastic separators for loose change, and an assortment of pill bottles. Aspirin, blood pressure and sleeping pills. She shut the drawer. The next one held underwear and tights. The bottom drawer was lined with a selection of paperback novels.

  ‘Mrs Ball was an avid crime reader,’ she called out to Boyd.

  ‘Really? I thought she’d be the type to read the Bible. I don’t see one here.’

  ‘Don’t worry – I’ve found one.’ She flicked through the pages of all the books. Nothing fell out.

  She joined Boyd in the living room. ‘Find anything?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘We’ll examine what we’ve got back at the station. Switch off the light on the way out.’

  ‘Hey, Lottie?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Look at this.’

  She joined him hunched down at a dark cabinet squeezed between the armchair and the breakfast bar.

  ‘I thought it might be one of those cupboards that you hide a television in,’ he said, slowly opening the door.

  ‘Christ!’ Lottie said. ‘That most definitely is not a television.’

  Twelve

  The bread was brown, soft and fresh, but the tea was weak. Lynch made no comment on either. Across the table, Emma gulped Red Bull from a can, her eyes wide with apprehension. Or was it fear? Lynch wondered.

  ‘So who was with you down at your house earlier?’ Lynch asked.

  ‘What? I was only at the shop.’

  Lynch couldn’t help rolling her eyes. ‘Well, it wasn’t Natasha, because she was in bed. Tell the truth. Who was with you?’ She tried to remember if McGlynn had in fact confirmed that someone had been with Emma. But then she recalled that he didn’t even know Emma.

  ‘I don’t have to tell you anything.’

  ‘Might help us find your mother.’

  ‘Do I need a solicitor?’

  ‘A solicitor?’ Lynch spluttered into her mug. ‘Why on earth would you need a solicitor?’

  Emma shrugged her shoulders. ‘Dunno. They always say that on the telly.’

  Sitting forward, hands clasped to keep her impatience locked in, Lynch said, ‘Emma, this is very serious. Your gran is dead. Your mum is missing. You can’t just go waltzing round the shops. You could be in danger.’

  The girl’s eyes seemed to pop behind her spectacles. ‘I want my dad.’

  Bernie Kelly said, ‘I don’t think you should be frightening the life out of the poor girl. Isn’t it your job to keep her calm?’

  ‘I just want to know where you went this morning, Emma.’

  ‘Buying bread.’

  ‘There’s plenty of bread here,’ Bernie said. ‘No wonder you’re half drowned. You need to get out of those wet clothes.’

  ‘It’s a long walk to the shops. Why did you go out for bread if there was some here?’ Lynch persisted.

  ‘I like it fresh.’ Emma dropped her eyes.

  ‘Who was with you?’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘Listen, Emma, I know when a teenager is telling me lies.’ Lynch was kicking herself for not getting more details from Jim McGlynn. ‘I need the truth from you. Now.’ Then she’d have to ring Lottie and tell her the girl had been out, alone or with someone.

  ‘Bernie, could you make us two very strong cups of tea? This might take a while.’

  * * *

  Boyd stopped outside the station to let Lottie out of the car. She picked up her bag from the footwell. ‘Register everything. We’ll go through the letters later on.’

  ‘Will I get forensics to check the apartment?’ Boyd idled the engine.

  ‘No harm giving it the once-over. But I don’t think they’ll find anything. It looked untouched since the last time Tessa was there.’

  ‘What was a little old lady doing with a handgun?’

  ‘Breaking the law. And don’t forget she had boxes of bullets. Protection? Fear? I don’t know why she had it or where she got it from. But get everything printed and organise a ballistics test. See if it was fired recently.’

  ‘No one’s been shot around here. Recently,’ Boyd said pointedly.

  ‘Check if it’s ever been fired.’

  ‘Sure. Where are you going?’

  Lottie got out of the car and pulled up her hood. ‘I need a coffee. A proper one. None of that office shite. Won’t be long.’

  ‘You sure it’s just a coffee you’re after?’

  She slammed the door without reply.

  * * *

  The water on the footpath lapped up over her boots, saturating them. Rain dripped from the hood of her jacket down on to her nose. It was gone midday, but it was persistently dark and wet. Light from shop windows cast amber shadows on the flood streaming down the road into drains clogged with fallen autumn leaves. An umbrella-wielding passer-by prodded Lottie in the back of the head and she quickly entered the coffee shop.

  She ordered and sat at a table by the window to mull everything over. She could do with Boyd to bounce stuff off, but he was being a pain in the arse. When her coffee arrived she stirred in three sugars and on impulse asked for a cream bun. Two garda sergeants came in, nodded acknowledgement and settled into a corner booth by the far wall. They reminded her of her dad. Though she’d only been four when he died – when he killed himself – she remembered him in uniform. Or was that a trick of the mind? Did she only remember him from photographs? She couldn’t be sure.

  The coffee was too strong but she forced it down. Her thoughts were focused on her father. What would he look like today if he was still alive? Would he have made detective? She liked to think so. But he’d be well retired by now. Would he be proud of her? Rubbing her forehead, as though it could eradicate the pain thumping inside, she wondered how different her life might have been if he hadn’t killed himself. She had to find out what had made him do it. The box was still in her bedroom. His papers. Stuff from his desk. She’d gone through it many times since her mother had given it to her almost five months ago. Conducted her unofficial investigation, but no one she’d spoken to remembered anything. Selective amnesia? She didn’t know. It was maddening

  She put down the cup with a clatter, pushed away the uneaten bun. Her stomach could just about cope with liquid.

  Her phone rang. Lynch.

  Thirteen

  Standing outside the coffee shop, Lottie slipped her phone back into her bag.


  Lynch had had one job – one goddam job – and she seemed to have messed it up. Emma had left the house and Lynch had no idea where the girl might have been. Pulling up her hood, Lottie turned towards the station. It was dark enough for the street lights to be on, but they weren’t. She glanced up at the cathedral spires, which appeared to look down on her – two eyes warning of impending doom.

  She heard a siren screeching down the road towards her. Boyd. He drew the car alongside, and she leapt back against the wall to avoid being drowned in the splash of water from the road.

  ‘Get in,’ he shouted, pushing open the passenger door.

  Lottie jumped in. ‘What’s the rush?’

  ‘Marian Russell’s been found.’

  ‘What? Where? Is she okay?’

  ‘Too many questions.’

  ‘Okay, one at a time.’ Lottie held up one finger. ‘Is she alive?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Two fingers. ‘Where’s she been?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  She abandoned her fingers. ‘Where the hell are we going?’

  ‘The hospital.’

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘She was found outside the front door of the hospital. She was wearing a bracelet ID because she’s diabetic. Her name was on it. Security guard had the sense to call us.’

  ‘She’s alive so.’

  ‘She was when we got the call. I’m not so sure now.’

  ‘Boyd, stop it.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ he said. ‘We were told she’s been taken through to the emergency department and they’re working on her. Sounds serious.’

  He parked the car in the ambulance bay and Lottie was first to jump out and run to the revolving hospital door.

  ‘Come on,’ she shouted at the inanimate glass as Boyd squeezed in behind her.

  ‘Which way?’ he asked.

  ‘Follow me,’ she said.

  ‘Detective Inspector Lottie Parker,’ she shouted into the intercom speaker at A&E. ‘Open up.’ The door swished inwards.

  Trolleys with patients lined the walls of the corridor. Lottie crashed along. She grabbed a passing nurse.

  ‘Where can I find Marian Russell?’

  ‘I’ll have to check. Take a seat,’ the nurse said.

  ‘I have to find her. Now.’

  ‘As I said, I’ll check. And you need to calm down.’

  Lottie took a deep breath. ‘Please,’ she said, trying to conjure a smile.

  ‘We’d better wait.’ Boyd guided her to a reception area.

  The nurse looked at a computer screen, tapped the keyboard and said, ‘She was triaged and taken upstairs for surgery.’

  ‘She’s alive then.’ Lottie exhaled.

  ‘She was when she left here,’ the nurse said. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, we’re busy today.’

  Lottie barely heard the words. She turned, ran out of the A&E department and scanned the notice board on the wall.

  ‘Third floor,’ she said, heading for the stairs.

  By the time they reached the third floor, Lottie thought the elevator would have been a better option. Too late now. She leaned her bottom against the wall, bent over in two, struggling to catch her breath. Boyd was walking in circles, not a hair out of place, breathing normally.

  ‘Press the buzzer.’ Lottie wiped drool from her chin.

  ‘You need to give up those cigarettes,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t smoke.’

  Boyd made a display of taking out his pack of cigarettes and counting them. She snatched it from him and shoved it in her bag as the ward door opened.

  ‘We’re here about Marian Russell,’ Lottie said.

  ‘Are you family?’ The nurse checked down a list on a clipboard in her hand.

  ‘We’re detectives.’ They showed their ID.

  ‘She’s in surgery. Leave your details and I’ll give you a call as soon as she—’

  ‘Look,’ Lottie interrupted, ‘this is a murder investigation.’

  ‘She’s not dead,’ the nurse said.

  ‘I know, but her mother is and we need to speak with Mrs Russell as a matter of urgency.’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll be in any state to speak to anyone for a long time.’

  ‘Can you tell us what injuries she presented with?’ Boyd asked.

  The nurse began to close the door. ‘I’ve told you, Mrs Russell is in surgery. That’s all I can say for now.’

  Lottie stuck her foot in the door. ‘What are her injuries?’

  ‘Detective…?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Parker,’ Lottie said, showing her ID again.

  The nurse conceded. ‘She has severe head injuries. And her tongue was cut out. Sorry, but I must get back.’

  Lottie removed her foot and allowed the door to swing closed. She looked up at Boyd. He was standing against the wall, mouth open, running his hand up and down his chin.

  Neither of them could speak.

  And if Marian Russell couldn’t speak either, where did that leave their investigation?

  Fourteen

  ‘I need a cigarette, now.’ Lottie hopped from foot to foot at the front door of the hospital.

  ‘It’s a non-smoking campus.’

  ‘And you’re parked in an ambulance bay. Give me a cigarette before I scream.’

  Boyd searched his pockets. ‘You took them.’

  She rooted around in her bag, found the pack and handed it to him. He lit two and gave her one. She inhaled too quickly and curled up in a fit of coughing.

  ‘For someone who doesn’t smoke, you have a hell of a smoker’s cough.’

  ‘I feel sick. Her tongue was cut out, her tongue! First her mother is murdered. Then Marian disappears and turns up at the hospital with horrific injuries.’

  ‘And where was she? Who was holding her? Why?’

  ‘First things first.’ Lottie blew out a ring of blue smoke. ‘Get Arthur Russell into the station. We need to have another chat with him.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And interview whoever found Marian. Check the CCTV to see if she was dropped off or staggered in.’

  ‘I’ll call Kirby.’ He pulled out his phone.

  ‘I want an armed detective guarding her room. If she survives surgery, that is.’

  ‘I’ll draw up a roster when I get back to the station.’

  ‘Get someone to come now.’ Lottie paused for breath. ‘And contact Lynch. Emma Russell has to be watched twenty-four seven.’

  ‘Righto.’

  ‘No one goes in or out of the ward.’

  Boyd nodded agreement.

  ‘We need to go back and search the Russell house,’ Lottie added.

  ‘SOCOs were there all morning.’

  ‘They’re looking for evidence of a domestic dispute gone tits-up. This is something much bigger than that.’ She turned to head for the car. ‘Ah no. This is all I need.’

  Cathal Moroney, crime correspondent for the national television station, was running towards her.

  ‘Detective Inspector Parker, I’m glad I caught you,’ he panted, coming to a stop beside her.

  ‘Well, I’m not, and it’s no comment, no matter what the question is.’

  ‘Just a quickie.’ He struggled with a super-sized umbrella as he beckoned for his cameraman to get out of the van with the satellite dish on top.

  Lottie glared at him. ‘Out of my way, Moroney.’ She attempted to get around him. Blocked by the cameraman.

  ‘One minute, that’s all,’ the reporter insisted. He flashed his sparkling white teeth. Were they false? Lottie wondered.

  ‘I’ve nothing to say to you. You’ll get a press release like everyone else. Now move.’

  ‘I’ve been doing a little investigative work. You might be interested in it.’

  Lottie felt her phone vibrate in her bag.

  ‘Sorry, I have to get this.’ She took out the phone, waved it in his face, then glanced at the screen. Her daughter, Katie. She moved out of ea
rshot of the reporter.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she hissed. ‘I’m very busy.’

  ‘Where’s the Infacol, Mam? Louis won’t stop crying. Granny said he has wind.’

  ‘Jesus, Katie. I’m up to my neck with a murder and you’re looking for Infacol?’

  ‘You gave it to him yesterday. Where did you put it?’

  Pausing, Lottie leaned against the parking ticket machine. Rain poured down her sleeve onto the phone. Infacol. Where had she put it?

  ‘The cupboard over the fridge, I think.’

  ‘I looked there.’

  Lottie glanced at the hospital entrance gate. A large unmarked garda car was speeding into the set-down area. Superintendent Corrigan.

  Straightening her back automatically, she said, ‘Katie, I have to go. Sorry.’

  ‘Mam, he needs it!’

  ‘Go to the pharmacy and buy some, okay? I really have to go now.’

  Feeling guilty, she hung up and raced to the front door, where Boyd was attempting to keep Moroney at bay. Shaking her head frantically, she tried to draw his attention to the superintendent’s car. Boyd returned a blank stare.

  Moroney jumped in with his microphone. ‘Detective Inspector Parker, can you inform the public if you have anyone in custody regarding the murder of Tessa Ball?’

  ‘No comment,’ Lottie said. ‘Superintendent Corrigan has just arrived. I’m sure he’ll speak to you.’

  ‘Where is he? Oh, I see him. Great. Thanks.’ Moroney took off at a gallop, splashing through puddles.

  Lottie moved just as quickly in the opposite direction. Grabbing Boyd by the elbow, she dragged him into the hospital foyer and up the stairs.

  ‘Did you get it all sorted?’ She tried to catch her breath as she took two steps at a time. Not a bad place to be if she suffered a heart attack.

  ‘I’m still trying to reach Lynch. Two uniforms are on the way.’

  ‘OK. We need to stay here until they arrive. We can’t leave Marian Russell alone.’

  ‘She’s in surgery,’ Boyd pointed out. ‘She’s not going anywhere.’

  ‘Right, but I don’t want to risk anything else happening to her.’