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

by Patricia Gibney

  ‘Very careful murderer to get in and out unseen by neighbours.’ Lottie took one of the cigarettes.

  Boyd consulted his notebook. ‘We have a report from a man who lives down the road. Says he heard a car around six. Looked out of his bedroom window. It was still quite dark so he can’t be sure of the colour, but it was definitely a saloon type.’

  ‘That’s a lot of good.’

  ‘Better than nothing.’

  ‘I can’t stop thinking of that poor little girl. What did she hear to make her terrified enough to hide?’

  ‘Maybe the killer shoved her into the wardrobe?’

  ‘I don’t think there was time for that.’ Lottie pulled hard on the cigarette, trying to shield it from the rain with her other hand. ‘I’d say Moroney was in the bedroom getting dressed. Heard his wife scream or something. Instinct kicked in. He hid his daughter and ran down the stairs to see what was happening.’

  ‘That sounds daft. His wife could’ve screamed if she’d burned herself on the cooker or such. Why would he immediately think something was seriously wrong?’

  Lottie watched Boyd pacing in small circles, avoiding the puddles on the ground. Cigarette smoke hung low, suspended around him in the mist.

  ‘Moroney was investigating a drugs ring,’ she said, taking a final drag before stamping out the butt beneath her boot.

  Boyd ceased his pacing. ‘And how do you know that?’

  ‘He told me.’

  Boyd stood still.

  ‘What?’ she said. ‘Don’t be looking at me like that.’

  ‘Like what? Lottie, what were you up to with Moroney?’

  ‘I wasn’t up to anything.’

  He grabbed her arm. She smelled the freshness of the rain rising from his clothes. Drops dripped from his hair to his cheeks and nose. Too close. She took a step back, shook her head and walked away.

  ‘You’d better tell me,’ he shouted after her.

  Eighty-Three

  McMahon was pacing the office, as pent up as Boyd had been earlier. Lottie slammed her bag on the floor beneath her desk.

  ‘I think your friend Henry “Hammer” Quinn might be behind the Moroneys’ murders,’ she said.

  ‘That’s not possible.’ He came to a stop beside her desk.

  ‘Why not? Moroney told me he was investigating a drugs ring. He must’ve had something worth killing him for.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t Hammer, because I had him arrested late last night. Picked up from his home. He spent the night in Store Street garda station.’

  ‘Shite. It had to be one of his associates then,’ she said, biting her lip, wondering if she had it all wrong. Again.

  ‘Hammer was interviewed extensively. He admitted a few things but he swears he hasn’t seen or heard from Jerome in two years. Says he had nothing to do with the murders here in Ragmullin. Much as I hate to admit it, I tend to believe him.’

  ‘Jesus, that’s some turnaround. You’re the one pontificating that all this has to do with drugs.’ Lottie slapped her hand on the desk and a stack of files shuddered without falling. The whole investigation had started off with the murder of Tessa Ball. Was she the crucial link in everything?

  ‘I’m not saying it’s not to do with the drugs. Just that Hammer and his gang aren’t involved. I believe we need to find out who was supplying Lorcan Brady and Jerome Quinn with the heroin, and who they were supplying the cannabis to,’ he said.

  ‘And the fish food we found in Brady’s house,’ Lottie fumed. ‘Add that to your list while you’re at it.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘There was no fish tank.’

  ‘Ha! It’s used to cut the heroin. Makes it go further. Makes more money.’

  ‘I’ve heard it all now.’

  ‘Oh I doubt that.’

  Lottie shuffled her chair into her desk, then took the first file from the bundle and opened it. The typed words swam before her eyes as she tried to divert her attention from McMahon going into her office.

  Her phone rang.

  ‘Yes, Don,’ she said to the desk sergeant.

  ‘There’s an Annabelle O’Shea down here asking for you. I told her you were busy but she’s insistent.’

  She’d never phoned Annabelle back. What could be so urgent? But her friend might be the welcome relief she needed. ‘Show her into the interview room if there’s nowhere else available and I’ll be down in two minutes.’

  McMahon said, ‘I’m calling a team meeting. Five minutes in the incident room.’

  ‘I’m busy,’ Lottie said, and made her escape.

  * * *

  Might as well be on Mars, Lottie thought as she entered the airless interview room. The outside world ceased to exist once you seated yourself at the steel table, its legs screwed to the floor.

  Her breath caught in her throat. ‘Annabelle! What happened to you?’

  ‘I need to speak with you, Lottie.’

  Dragging a chair across, she sat beside her friend, who didn’t look at all like the confident doctor she’d known for most of her life.

  Annabelle raised a bandaged hand and pushed back a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the lobe of which was covered in dried blood. With her other hand she traced a line around her neck and her trembling fingers drew down the roll of her black polo-neck sweater.

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ Lottie stared at the marks circling her throat. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Have you to switch on that recorder before I say anything?’

  ‘If you’re making a formal complaint, I’ll get someone to sit in with us and I can record the conversation.’ Lottie sat rigid, unsure whether to wrap her arms around her friend or to call an ambulance.

  ‘No, I don’t want anyone else. I’ll tell you first. Then you can decide what you want to do.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll record it to be on the safe side. It might not stand up in court, but if you don’t want another witness, that is your choice.’

  Flicking the switches, Lottie formally identified herself and got Annabelle to say her name for the tape. She really should be upstairs dealing with the Moroney killings. But her friend looked too distraught for this to be anything other than serious.

  ‘Now, Annabelle, tell me what happened to you. How you come to have those injuries.’

  ‘I’m not sure, Lottie. It’s kind of personal, but at the same time, I’m so afraid.’

  ‘You’ve presented with visible injuries to your hand, neck and ear. They will have to be photographed. Who assaulted you?’

  Annabelle whispered something.

  Lottie said, ‘I’m sorry, but you need to speak up for the tape.’ Had she just accused her husband of assault? Oh God, she needed Boyd to sit in.

  ‘My husband, Cian O’Shea.’ Annabelle’s voice was stronger now. ‘But that’s not the reason I’m here.’

  ‘If that bastard did that, he must be charged.’

  ‘Hear me out. Then I’ll decide what I want to do.’

  Gripping her friend’s hand, Lottie looked into her eyes and felt the reflection of intense sadness. She knew Annabelle was a master of her own circumstances, but not even one of her affairs warranted the abuse she must be suffering. And what could be more important than reporting her husband for assault? ‘Go ahead.’

  She waited as Annabelle swallowed, blinked back tears and pulled her hand away.

  ‘I know you thought Cian was a good man. A quiet guy. Waiting patiently by while I partied and shagged my way though life. Maybe that was true, but once he found out about my affair with Tom Rickard, something shifted dramatically inside him. It was like that affair snapped his heart in two.’ She paused, swallowed, took a deep breath, exhaled and continued. ‘I could handle the taunts. The dagger stares. The name-calling. I could handle all that… I thought. I wanted to leave many times, but the twins… You see, he would never let them go with me. He repeated that so often, Lottie, I feared he meant more than just not letting them leave. Do you follow me?’

  Lottie thought
for a moment. This didn’t sound like the Cian she thought she knew. But she had felt something was wrong when she visited the other day.

  ‘I do follow you. But even if Cian did those horrible things to you, I don’t think he would harm his own children.’

  Annabelle laughed, and Lottie flinched at the manic sound. It was like the wail of an injured animal.

  ‘He would, you know. If he can rape me in our own kitchen, with the twins not far away, he can do anything he damn well pleases. But Lottie—’

  ‘Rape? Jesus, Annabelle! I’m getting Boyd. This has to be formal.’

  ‘Hear me out first. I think Cian is involved in something very dark. Dangerous. He spends hours locked away in his study, and I mean locked. He put a code device on the door to stop me entering and snooping. But I did go in. He left it open on purpose, to test me. I was suspicious before… but now… now I’m sure.’

  ‘Sure of what?’

  ‘He’s doing something dreadful. He disappears from the house every night and doesn’t come back until morning. I don’t know where he goes, but last night I heard him leave around four a.m. He came home as I was leaving for work. He was… Oh Lottie. He was covered in blood.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Blood.’ Annabelle paused. ‘Can I have a drink of water?’

  ‘Sure, and I’m getting Boyd. Wait here a minute.’

  She went to the door and shouted for someone to fetch Boyd and bring water. She sat back down, checked the recorder and waited while Annabelle stared at an invisible spot on the wall.

  ‘You wanted me?’ Boyd entered the room carrying a pitcher of water and a couple of paper cups. ‘Annabelle! What happened to you?’

  Lottie brought him up to date. ‘Are you okay to continue, Annabelle?’

  Annabelle drained her cup of water and Boyd refilled it. She sipped, then bit her lip before continuing.

  ‘Cian came into the kitchen literally drenched from the rain and I could see blood on his hands. I think he’d tried to wash it off, but I’m a doctor, I know blood streaks when I see them. I must’ve been standing with my mouth open, because before I knew it, he’d thumped me in the stomach. When I fell to the ground, he held me down with his foot. I thought he was going to kick my head in, but he changed his mind, hauled me up and grabbed me by the throat. I could smell it on him then. The blood. I could smell it on his skin.’

  ‘What happened then?’ Lottie asked, keeping her voice low and calm though she wanted to shake the story out of Annabelle.

  ‘He snarled, like a dog. Told me to keep my mouth shut and then he wouldn’t have to kill me too.’

  ‘Kill you too? Who did he kill?’

  ‘I don’t know, but then I heard on the car radio about a suspected murder out in Gaddstown and I had to come here. Am I married to a murderer?’

  Lottie eyed Boyd. He looked as incredulous as she felt. ‘Tell me what happened after he told you to say nothing.’

  ‘He stripped off his clothes and put on a wash, then walked naked up to his study. Not caring if the twins saw him. No matter how he is with me, he usually remains visibly calm to others. Now he’s gone mad. Insane? I don’t know, but he seriously frightened me. What has he done, Lottie?’

  ‘I intend to find out,’ Lottie said. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘At home.’

  ‘Where are the twins?’

  ‘At a friend’s house. I waited until they were up and had had their breakfast. Stuck a smile on my face and dropped them off. I couldn’t face going into the surgery, so I drove out to the lake and sat in my car for a few hours deciding what to do. And now I’m here.’

  ‘Annabelle, we are going to pick Cian up and bring him in for questioning. You have to sign your statement. Then I think you should collect the kids and book into a hotel for tonight.’

  ‘Why can’t I go home once you get Cian?’

  ‘We need to interview him and see if we can get evidence to link him to a crime. You will be safer away from home until we have a clearer picture of what we’re dealing with. Do I have permission to enter your house?’

  Unhooking a key from her key ring, Annabelle handed it over. ‘You’ll need the alarm code too.’ She called it out and Boyd wrote it down.

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ she cried. ‘If I had remained faithful, this would never have happened.’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself. None of us knows what drives someone to alter their behaviour. And Cian is responsible for his.’

  Eighty-Four

  Once Annabelle had left, Lottie and Boyd returned to the incident room. No sign of McMahon.

  Kirby said, ‘We got updated data from Emma’s phone. She made one call after she went missing.’

  ‘Just the one? To who?’

  ‘Whom,’ Boyd said.

  ‘Not now, Boyd. Who did she call?’

  ‘Natasha Kelly.’

  ‘Oh. I thought maybe it was someone we could pin her murder on. Looking for moral support, I suppose. Girl talk. When did she make the call?’

  ‘12.05 p.m. Lasted four minutes and three seconds.’

  ‘And no other calls? None to her father?’

  ‘Nope. That’s it. As we couldn’t track the phone before, I reckon she had taken the battery out.’

  ‘Figures, seeing as we found the SIM card and battery separate from the phone, in the kitchen.’ She thought for a moment. ‘What was so important that Natasha was the only person Emma felt safe enough to contact? We need to interview Natasha Kelly. Have you Emma’s phone data for the night of Tessa Ball’s murder?’

  Kirby flicked through the pages. ‘Nothing until the 999 call. Jaysus, I thought youngsters were always on their phones.’

  ‘They very seldom ring or text any more,’ Lottie said, thinking of her own children. ‘Facebook, Snapchat and WhatsApp. Check out her social media accounts. See if that turns up anything.’

  ‘Right, boss,’ Kirby said, scratching his head.

  Maria Lynch piped up. ‘I checked her Facebook already. Nothing unusual. She had no Twitter account.’

  ‘Did you check out Natasha’s accounts?’

  ‘No, but I will.’

  Lottie said, ‘We have a development that might answer a few questions about Cathal and Lauren Moroney’s deaths.’

  ‘At last. Answers.’ Superintendent Corrigan marched in. ‘I’m sick of the media calling us headless chickens. These murders are like an aggressive cancer, spreading too fast. We need to halt it. And I mean today.’

  He was gone almost as soon as he had arrived.

  ‘You heard the man,’ Lottie said. ‘And if Tessa’s murder had to do with land, figure out how much she was worth and who would benefit by wiping out her entire family.’

  ‘Besides, O’Dowd, Arthur Russell is the last man standing,’ Lynch said.

  ‘Well find them. Boyd, you come with me.’

  ‘Do we need backup?’

  ‘Let’s see who or what we’re dealing with first. Okay?’

  Boyd shook his head. ‘Cian O’Shea. Who would believe it?’

  Lottie said, ‘Not many, I’m sure. Let’s get to his house before he gets to a solicitor.’

  * * *

  The house looked grimmer today than Lottie remembered. She got out the key ready to put it in the door.

  ‘The alarm code. Do you have it ready?’ she asked.

  ‘In my head,’ Boyd said.

  ‘Annabelle wasn’t sure it would be activated, but if the keypad is beeping, it’s on.’

  Lottie stuck the key in the door and turned it. They stepped onto the black and white diamond-shaped tiles and listened. No beep from the alarm. Not a sound. She crept into the kitchen, looked around quickly. No one. At the door to the utility room, she paused. No sound from the washing machine. She peered in. The door of the machine hung open. Empty.

  ‘Where did he put the clothes?’ she whispered.

  Boyd was looking out at the back garden. ‘There’s a car in the garage. He must be here.’

  A
s she turned to leave, Lottie spied a laundry basket on top of a counter. With protective gloves on her hands, she picked through the clothes. A man’s outer jacket, sweater, shirt, trousers and underwear. ‘Where did he leave his shoes? We’ll need to bag this lot once we’ve found him.’

  Back in the hall, she wondered if maybe they should get a warrant. No. It’d be fine. At the top of the stairs, she saw the door with the keypad. Open. She raised an eyebrow at Boyd, questioning. But then she realised that Cian would have no need to lock his study during the day while his family was out.

  With a nod of her head, she indicated for Boyd to follow her.

  At the door, she kept her hand on her gun, unsure of how this was going to develop. With the tip of her boot, she edged the door inwards.

  ‘He’s not here,’ Boyd said, stating, as he usually did, the obvious.

  ‘All this equipment. It’s like something out of a Hollywood studio.’

  ‘You’re trespassing on my property.’

  Lottie swung round, crashing into Boyd.

  Standing on the landing, naked, was Cian O’Shea. And he looked feral.

  ‘Ah, the very man we’re looking for,’ Lottie said, winging it.

  ‘Get out of my house. Now.’

  Visually assessing him, Lottie couldn’t see any obvious wounds on his body. She concentrated on the knife in his hand.

  ‘I think you should put down that weapon and get dressed, then we can have a chat.’

  ‘I said, get out!’

  He moved into the study. Lottie stood unmoving. His eyes were predatory. Was this the same man who had been married to her friend for twenty years? She didn’t recognise him. His mouth drooped and his hair was wild.

  As Cian advanced further, Boyd pounced. The knife fell to the floor, and before Lottie could react, Boyd had snapped handcuffs on the naked man. Cian crumbled and began to cry. ‘I didn’t mean to kill them. That wasn’t supposed to happen.’

  ‘Call SOCOs and get him out of here,’ Lottie said.

  Boyd led the man to his bedroom, where he found a robe to hide his nakedness, before bringing him down the stairs, reading him his rights as he went. O’Shea had presented as a dangerous threat to two detectives, armed with a lethal weapon. They could probably hold him for twenty-four hours on that charge alone. He would likely retract the words he had just uttered. Lottie needed evidence to support Annabelle’s statement.