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

by Patricia Gibney

‘It’s Katie. You need to speak to her. Little Louis is driving me and Sean mad. Sean even threatened to stuff him up the chimney. He’s only joking, but please hurry.’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  Lottie stood with the phone in her hand, staring at the fireplace. Then back to the toy box. Where would a man hide something he didn’t want found? Rushing over, she pulled toys from the plastic container. Lego, Peppa Pig, a fire truck, a garda car with a siren that blared loudly as her hand touched it.

  ‘Slow down. You’re like a lunatic,’ Boyd said, shrugging on his coat.

  Her fingers touched it before her eyes registered it. She yanked it out. A faded manila folder. Similar to the one she had kept all those years in her desk drawer until she had solved the mystery last January. A green treasury tag was looped through a double-punched hole at the edge. She stared. Her hand feathered the old paperwork. Sensing Boyd standing over her, she didn’t know whether to hide the file under the toys or show it to him. Gulping down a sob, she felt his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The answer, Boyd. I think it might be the answer I’ve been looking for.’

  Ninety

  Boyd retrieved a plastic evidence bag from the car and Lottie carefully slid the folder inside. Time. She would need time and peace to go through it. But the title scripted on the front told her enough. This was Moroney’s bargaining chip. But was it what the killer had been after, or was that something else entirely?

  Tiredness creased her legs as she hobbled towards the car, nodding goodnight to the officer manning the crime-scene tape at the gate.

  ‘Will I drop you at yours or do you want to pick up your car at the station?’ Boyd asked.

  ‘I’d best get home and sort out the war.’ Lottie clicked on her seat belt.

  ‘Care to tell me why that file has your father’s name on it?’

  ‘Not now. I can’t think straight.’

  But she was thinking. Thinking how her father’s post-mortem file had gone missing from the Dead House. How Cathal Moroney and his wife had been murdered in their own home. How this file had lain hidden among his children’s toys. She wouldn’t sleep tonight. Her mind was in overdrive.

  As Boyd idled the engine outside her house, she saw that all the lights were blazing.

  ‘Your kids still up?’ he asked.

  ‘Probably killing each other. Thanks for the lift.’ She put her hand out to open the car door, but felt Boyd tug at her sleeve.

  ‘You need to be careful,’ he said, his voice as soft as the rain pitter-pattering against the windscreen.

  Twisting to face him, Lottie smiled. ‘You know me, I’m always careful.’

  She leaned over to peck his cheek, but he turned his head and their lips met, fleetingly. A warm sensation travelled the length of her body and settled nicely in the pit of her stomach. She wanted more. Now. To help warm the chill that had slipped over her body like a coat.

  The moment was broken when he drew back and faced towards the rain falling outside. With a sigh, she stepped out onto the pavement and watched him drive off. Clutching the file tight to her chest, she walked towards her front door.

  * * *

  She sensed nothing until the shock of the whack to the back of her neck caused her to lunge towards the door, cracking her head against the weather-beaten timber. The file in its plastic covering slipped from her fingers to the ground. She fell to her knees, blood pouring from a gash in her forehead. The second punch landed in her ribs. As a gloved hand whipped up the file, Lottie grabbed for the ankle beside her. What if he got into her house? To her children. Her grandson. No!

  She turned over and glanced around wildly. Alone. Staggered to her feet. Where had he gone? No car speeding away. Had he escaped on foot? She dragged herself down the path, veering onto the grass patch, blinded by her own blood. Glimpsing a shadow vaulting her neighbour’s wall, she felt adrenaline kick in and took off after him, shedding her bag and jacket as she ran. Would Boyd have heard anything as he left? Her feet were moving quicker than her brain. She swiped away the blood now streaming down her face. As long as the assailant was ahead of her, her children were safe.

  Over the wall. Around the side of the house. Where had he gone? A bat-like figure was scrambling up the embankment at the end of the garden. The train tracks. He was heading for the railway. She had no idea which way he would go. She followed.

  Grasping at bushes and shrubs, she made her way upwards, slipping and sliding, until eventually she was standing on the tracks. The bells in one of the cathedral spires rang out the half-hour. Rain pelted down on top of her and the wind roared around her. She couldn’t see him anywhere.

  ‘Scumbag! Come back. Come back here!’ she yelled at the top of her voice, but her words were carried away on the wind.

  Swinging round, trying to see where he could have gone, she lost her footing on the wet steel girders and tumbled head over heels down the opposite embankment. Crashing into long grass, she yelped in pain. Blackness all around. The amber glow from street lights, distorted by the wind and rain, flitted in and out of focus. Grabbing the branch of a bramble bush, oblivious to the thorns piercing her skin, she pulled herself upright. Pain shot from her ankle and she stumbled. Attempting a step forward, she tried to think what Boyd would do in this situation. Head back and check on her family? Call for reinforcements? Or continue her quest? Damn it, there wasn’t much she could do with tears of blood blinding her more than the driving rain. She couldn’t go back up the slope, so the only way was forward to the road, then she could limp back to the house and call for backup.

  As she began to walk, dragging her leg, a figure stepped up out of the long grass, silhouetted by the warped lights in the distance. Lean, not too tall, clothed from head to toe in black. Waving the plastic evidence bag containing Moroney’s file.

  ‘Who are you?’ Lottie shouted. ‘I want that file.’

  Silence. The figure advanced. One step at a time.

  Hightail it the hell out of here? Or stand her ground? The reverberation of little Louis crying and the memory of Chloe’s anxious phone call reminded her that she needed to get home. But she also wanted to know the truth. The truth Cathal Moroney’s father had been prevented from publishing in his newspaper all those years ago. The truth Cathal Moroney had been murdered for. And was it this truth that had wiped out Tessa Ball and her family?

  Tugged by indecision, she heard the wind kick up as the rain washed blood from her forehead into her eyes. Refocusing her vision, she saw that the figure was not alone. Another person was skidding down the embankment, coming to a standing stop in front of her. Images of her children, alone without a mother or father, flashed and died in her mind. She would never see little Louis grow up. Her mother was right. Irresponsible was her middle name.

  This time the blow to the side of her head smashed the light out of her eyes like an exploding bulb. As she fell into the darkness of the night, she glimpsed the glint of a knife before her knees hit the swampy grass. She had one last thought before she fell unconscious – she knew exactly who they were.

  Ninety-One

  The fire in the stove had long died when Rose Fitzpatrick awoke, cramped, at her kitchen table. She sat up and let her eyes wander through the darkness. Too many nights she had sat like this. Alone. Too much time to think. And now she thought of Tessa Ball and how the woman had interfered in her life.

  She stood up and checked all the electrical appliances were switched off. They were. At least I’m not totally losing my mind, she thought. Out in the dark hallway, she looked up at the fuse box. She knew that someone had purposely knocked off her electricity the other day, just as she knew someone other than Lottie had ransacked her attic. All led to the past.

  If they came for her too, she knew she would be sorry to die. She’d miss seeing her grandchildren and great-grandson grow into adulthood. She smiled sadly. She’d also miss seeing Lottie rush head first through her life. Maybe one day her daughter would sett
le down again. Boyd. He was a nice man. Rose thought of her own husband, Peter. The bastard.

  She flicked on the bedroom light and drew the curtains. Without undressing, she lay on her lonely double bed and closed her eyes. For more than forty years she had kept her secrets. But perhaps now was the time to reveal them.

  * * *

  Alexis was sure something had gone wrong. She knew O’Shea had hacked her webcam, so she was careful to remain on the other side of her office. Beside the painting.

  She had done everything in her power to protect the child. Everything. But she hadn’t counted on murder. Her finger slid along the news app on her phone. Two more dead. Two children orphaned. What would happen to them now?

  Her mind was unceremoniously dragged back to a time long ago. Ragmullin. Where it had all begun. Where she had acted beyond her years and put a plan in motion to ensure she could raise at least one of Carrie’s children. Trying to make up for her sister’s madness. It had taken a lot of money. But her parents had had plenty. Now she herself had more than she would ever need. And it still brought her nothing but trouble.

  Her phone vibrated with an incoming call. She glanced casually at the caller ID and cancelled it.

  She had called up her own computer expert and ordered a virus to be placed on everything O’Shea had been connected with. Nothing could be traced back to her. She had had enough of Ragmullin, with its warped citizens.

  And now there was somewhere more important she needed to be.

  The Late Eighties

  The Child

  They put me back in the laundry room after the woman’s visit. I liked the book she left with me. It had my mother’s name inscribed on the inside. Did she think I would take after my mother and sow herbal plants? Huh, I did enough of that with Johnny-Joe. Perhaps one day I will meet that woman and return the book.

  I hate this laundry so much.

  The smell. That’s what I hate. Dirty stinking vermin living in this place. All of them. The nurses and the shit-faced lunatics I have to share with.

  Another basket is wheeled towards me. A woman with a slack, crooked face pushes it.

  ‘What you looking at?’ she says.

  ‘Just trying to figure it out.’

  ‘You’re so mean.’

  ‘An alien? No, maybe you’re a big fat rat.’

  ‘No! Don’t say that. I’m going to tell them and you’ll have to work here until you die.’

  I turn round so rapidly I catch her off guard. My fist clips the side of her head and she falls face down on top of the dirty linen. Right place for her, with her shitty arse sticking up in the air.

  Sweat drips down my forehead and along my nose. The air is boiling. I feel like stripping off. Maybe I will.

  She moans.

  ‘Oh shut up, will you? You’re giving me a headache.’

  I open the machine to throw in the sheets, and then I get a mad thought. I am in the madhouse after all. Wheeling the basket over in front of the machine, I grab her ankles and pull. She is heavy, the old cow. More sweat. Pouring now like rain down my face. Swelling under my armpits. Pull and tug. Pull once more and haul her up and out, and in.

  ‘There now, ugly face. You’ll be nice and clean after a few cycles.’

  I close the door. Press the button. Turn the dial. And she’s off.

  Sitting down amongst the soiled sheets, I cross my legs yoga style and watch.

  Big Chief Sitting Bull.

  Yeah!

  I hear someone laughing.

  Oh, it’s only me.

  I keep on laughing until the machine stops.

  There’s something quite soothing about watching someone die.

  Day Seven

  Ninety-Two

  Boyd’s mobile chirped as he got out of the shower.

  ‘Hi, Chloe. What’s up?’

  ‘Is Mam with you?’

  ‘With me? What gave you that idea?’ He reached for a towel.

  ‘She never came home last night.’

  ‘She did. I dropped her off. It was late. After twelve thirty. She should be there. Have another look.’ He dried himself vigorously, the phone clamped between chin and shoulder.

  ‘What sort of a dope do you take me for? I’ve checked. Not a sign of her anywhere.’

  ‘Calm down, Chloe. Don’t be worrying. I’ll call round to yours on my way into work. Give me ten, fifteen minutes. Okay?’

  ‘Hurry up.’

  Boyd quit the call and dressed in his grey suit, white shirt and blue tie. He ran a hand through his hair, grabbed a jacket and ran to his car.

  ‘Where are you, Lottie?’ he said through clenched teeth.

  * * *

  Chloe opened the door, with Katie and Sean standing behind her.

  ‘You’re sure she didn’t come inside last night?’ Boyd walked into the kitchen behind Chloe. When the girl glared, he held up his hands. ‘Okay. Okay.’

  ‘I thought I heard her at the door about twenty minutes after I rang her. But it must’ve been the wind, because no one came in. After a few minutes, I even went outside to look. No one around the place. Just rain and wind.’

  Boyd walked back to the door. Checked the lock. No key. Searched around the step. Nothing. Where did she go after he dropped her? The memory of her lips on his suddenly erupted and he knew immediately that something had happened to her. She’d been anxious to get home and read the file they’d taken from Moroney’s. But she’d wanted to see her children even more. He phoned Kirby.

  ‘Any sign of the boss this morning?’ he asked.

  ‘Nope.’ Dropping his voice to a whisper, Kirby said, ‘McMahon and Corrigan are having a big conflab about something or other. We haven’t been invited to the party because—’

  ‘Wait. Listen. The boss never arrived home last night.’ He explained where they’d been. ‘Will you send a couple of uniforms over to watch her family. Just in case.’

  ‘Sure thing. On it straight—’

  Boyd hung up and called Superintendent Corrigan to inform him of Lottie’s disappearance before returning to the kitchen. Sean, Chloe and Katie, holding baby Louis, were sitting in silence at the table. They had heard every word he’d said on the phone.

  ‘Is Mam going to be okay?’ Sean asked.

  Boyd stared at the tall young teenager, the spitting image of his dead dad, and felt his heart lurch in his chest.

  ‘I hope so.’

  But he wasn’t sure. He tried to line up his thoughts. O’Shea was in a cell at the station, ruling him out of the equation. They still had no information on the whereabouts of O’Dowd or Russell. Could one of them have approached Lottie last night? Would she have left voluntarily with one or the other? Probably. If she thought it would lead to solving the murders. Why hadn’t she called him? He flexed his fingers, beginning to fear for Lottie’s safety. Shit, he feared for her, full stop.

  ‘Once gardaí arrive to watch you, I’m off out to look for your mother. Don’t be worrying. Okay?’

  ‘It’s not okay,’ Chloe said. ‘Go and look for her now. We don’t need you babysitting us. I’ll phone Granny again. She’ll be over in two minutes. Go and do your bloody job.’

  Boyd couldn’t help the half-smile that broke out on his face. Chloe was so like her mother it was uncanny. He couldn’t help but notice her scratching at the skin of her arm with her fingernail. Fresh pink lines of trouble.

  Hearing a car pull up outside, he rushed out. Garda Gilly O’Donoghue jumped out of the squad car.

  ‘Go on,’ she said, taking over.

  Boyd leapt into his own car. Before turning the key in the ignition, he thought for a moment. He had dropped Lottie at her door. She never made it inside. What had occurred? Had she been abducted? Or had she noticed someone acting suspiciously and taken off after them?

  He got out of the car and searched again around the front step and the pathway. If anything had happened here, the rain had washed everything away. Walking across the small overgrown lawn, he noticed indents filled
with water. His feet squelched in the grass. He hunkered down. Checked with his finger. Footprints.

  Following their trail, he found they stopped at the wall. Out on the pavement he glanced up and down, and over the neighbour’s wall. A dark bundle caught his eye. Rushing over, he picked up what he knew to be Lottie’s black puffa jacket and her handbag. With them in either hand, he ran around the side of the house and into a garden. Here he could see distinct footprints leading up to the embankment to the railway tracks. At least two sets.

  ‘Boyd?’

  He turned to face Kirby huffing towards him, a fat cigar clenched between his teeth. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I think she saw someone suspicious and followed them. Up there.’ Boyd pointed upwards.

  ‘Jaysus, she could’ve gone in any direction after that,’ Kirby said, stuffing the cigar into his jacket pocket.

  ‘Take these’ Boyd handed over Lottie’s belongings. ‘I’m going to have a look.’

  ‘After that, I think you need to come to the station. I have new info you need to look at.’

  Catching onto a bush, Boyd vaulted a small fence and began climbing up the embankment. Once on the railway tracks, he looked all around. The rooftops of Ragmullin lay like some Old Master’s monochrome sketch, faded with time, contorted with their secretive history and drowning in a deluge of murders. He crossed the tracks and checked the other side. A steep hill of grass and shrubs. At the bottom, a short pathway led to the main road. The reeds and grass were dampened down. From the weather? Or had someone slid down there in the night? Wishing he had on a pair of hiking boots rather than his leather loafers, he made a slippery descent. At the bottom, he determined that the reeds were damaged from more than the rain. To his left, the path led to the main road.

  He gazed up the way he had come and concluded he’d have to take the long way round. As he walked, he kept his eyes to the ground. But anything that might have indicated that Lottie had taken this route had been obliterated.