‘What of it? I don’t care. He certainly didn’t care enough to stand up and claim me. No one did. They paid off the asylum manager so that they would take me in with my mother. Me. A child.’ A derisory snort.
‘What became of your twin?’
‘I don’t know. I remember having a foster mother at one stage. But I honestly don’t know and I really don’t care any more, because now I’ve got rid of the witches.’
‘Why did you torture Marian?’
‘She knew too much, with all her genealogy stuff. I tried to be her friend. But she wasn’t anything like I believed a sister should be. Too interested in her herbal remedies. Thought she could grow something to help my depression, as she called it. Then she wanted to go public with what had happened to me as a child – being thrown into the asylum. Said I could make money out of it. The stupid woman.’
Lottie turned this around in her head. Marian had had her tongue cut out because if she went public, Bernie’s association with criminals would be discovered. ‘Your mother, Carrie, was she into herbal remedies also?’
‘How would I know?’
‘There was a book on herbs at O’Dowd’s, and another one at Marian’s house. The name Carrie King was written inside the book I found at the farmhouse.’
She watched Bernie jump off the countertop and walk up and down. ‘Seeds. Herbal stuff. Now I see.’
‘What do you see?’
‘I think it was my mother who started Johnny-Joe growing seeds in the asylum. Tessa brought me the book. I gave it to Marian. A peace offering.’
‘But I found two copies.’
‘Maybe she gave one to O’Dowd too. How the hell would I know? Does it even matter?’
‘In the larger scheme of things, Bernie, no it doesn’t.’
‘They said Carrie was mad, but the real mad one was that Kitty Belfield bitch. She abandoned her daughter so that she could marry a wealthy man. And disowned Carrie over and over again by not acknowledging her children. That is the worst sin of all. Abandonment.’ She paused. Lottie felt the heat of her fiery stare. ‘You said you have children. Are they safe? Do you watch out for them? Care for them? Nurture them? Kitty Belfield didn’t. She felt only shame. She did nothing for her daughter or her grandchildren. She disowned them all.’
‘How do you know so much about the family?’
‘I knew a little through Marian, but I got to read some files here. The first day I called. I must look like Carrie, because it was as if Kitty recognised a ghost from the past. I frightened her so much, she showed them to me. She said they’d supposedly been taken in a burglary. She eventually told me that Stan and Tessa orchestrated it so that no one would ever lay eyes on the files. I can’t understand why they didn’t burn them. Oh shit, I should have asked the old bag that before I suffocated her. I suppose I’ll never know now. But who cares? I don’t.’
Lottie tightened her grip on the can behind her back, gritted her teeth. She couldn’t afford to say the wrong thing, but she probably would. Bide your time, Parker. Once her children had reported her missing, Boyd would find her. He was diligent, and if he studied the land maps, wouldn’t something resonate with him? Maybe. Maybe not.
She kept watch as Bernie continued her silent march up and down the confined cellar. And silently prayed for the knowledge to know when to strike.
Ninety-Six
‘We thought he was saying Quinnie,’ Boyd said, grabbing his jacket.
McMahon said, ‘No, he definitely said Bernie. She was behind it. He can’t talk much, but I’m sure that’s what he said. Where are you going?’
Boyd stopped at the door, turned back. ‘I don’t know.’ Flopping down in the nearest chair, he said, ‘We need to think. Where could Lottie be?’
Kirby said, ‘If this has to do with revenge over land or inheritance, it might link back to the Belfields. I think Lottie could be at Farranstown House.’
‘I think you’re right,’ Boyd said. ‘Come on, let’s get moving.’
‘Hold on a minute,’ McMahon said. ‘Why would Bernie go there, and why would she take DI Parker?’
‘We have no other bright ideas, have we?’ Boyd looked around at the faces of Kirby, Lynch and McMahon. Corrigan was standing at the door.
‘Well what are you waiting for, DS Boyd,’ the superintendent said. ‘Get out there and bring back your boss. In one piece. Right?’
‘Feckin’ right, sir.’
* * *
Keep her talking. I must keep her talking, Lottie thought. And even though the woman was brandishing a knife, its blade sharp and glittering, she felt no fear. A gentle calmness settled in her heart. She felt as if her soul was suspended above her, guiding her body. She could do this.
‘Do you blame O’Dowd for what happened to Carrie?’ she said.
‘Don’t make me puke. That pig only wanted what he could get for nothing. Abused my mother over and over again. He, and too many others, destroyed her.’
‘I heard she did that all by herself.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Drugs and drink. You must know she was self-destructive. O’Dowd and the other men facilitated her to do whatever she wanted to do.’
Was she justifying what she suspected were her own father’s actions? No. She had no proof he had had anything to do with Carrie King. Except, perhaps, being complicit with Tessa in having Carrie admitted to the asylum. The Moroney file might hold the answers.
Bernie said, ‘O’Dowd took advantage of an already damaged mentally ill woman. Tessa and Kitty, they committed the mortal sin. Punishable by death.’
‘So why kill O’Dowd if Tessa and Kitty were to blame?’
‘He got in the way.’
‘We thought he’d escaped on his quad. Where is that?’
‘Natasha drove it across the fields. It’s in the bottom of Lough Cullion.’
‘She was with you when you killed Emma?’ Dear God, what kind of monster was this woman?
‘You hardly think I hauled an unconscious teenager into that barrel all by myself? My daughter is my right hand. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?’
Lottie looked up as Natasha appeared on the top step.
‘Yes, Mum.’
Shaking her head, Lottie couldn’t fathom how Bernie’s insanity had wormed its way into her daughter.
‘And you contracted Cian O’Shea into your plans. How’d you manage that?’
‘Who? I don’t know anyone by that name.’
‘He… I thought he… Did you kill the Moroneys?’
‘No. And I didn’t contract anyone to do it either. But I’m glad to have the file.’
‘I don’t understand…’
Bernie stopped pacing and tapped the knife on the edge of the washer. ‘Have I missed something? You think I killed Moroney? Perhaps if I had known about the file I would have, but someone got to him first.’
The tapping ceased. Lottie held her breath. Was it time? She couldn’t make a sound. The can might scrape on the stone floor. How could she work this?
‘How come you were following me?’ she asked.
‘You called the other day when we were planning on leaving. Got me wondering if you were on my trail, though now I see I was wrong there. You really had no idea, did you?’
‘I had my suspicions.’
‘No you did not. You came snooping again yesterday and I decided to follow you, just out of curiosity. Little did I think I would come up with a surprise prize.’ She laughed loudly. ‘Oh, I think I just made a joke there.’
‘Mum?’ Natasha’s voice echoed from the top of the stairs. She flicked a switch to her left and the cellar filled with light.
The girl took one careful step forward. Another step.
‘I think we’re done here,’ she said.
A third step.
Four more to go, Lottie thought. Enough time to grab the can from behind her back and aim?
‘What are you talking about?’ Bernie said.
A fourth step.
A fifth step.
‘Go back, Natasha. You don’t need to see this.’ Bernie turned towards her daughter.
A sixth step.
‘You’re right. I don’t want to see anything you do any more.’
Bottom step. Lottie’s hand tightened on the can. Rising to her knees, she flung it with full force at Bernie. Too low. Caught her on the leg.
‘You bitch,’ Bernie yelled, springing forward, the knife tight in her hand.
Lottie held on to the hose, and as Bernie reached her, she whipped it across the woman’s ankles, trying to topple her. No effect. With a shriek, Bernie lunged, thrusting the knife downwards. Lottie ducked, threw her body sideways. Too late.
A scream pierced the damp air. Had it come from her own throat? She wasn’t sure, but the pain searing through her upper back caused her heart to palpitate in rapid uncontrollable beats. Blood rushed from her brain; gushed from her body. She heard her heartbeat slowing. Stars twinkled in the dark. Red, white… No, not yet, she thought. I have to see my children. I have to tell them I love them. I love them… love…
Falling prostrate on the stone floor, she glimpsed Natasha jumping on Bernie’s shoulders. She had picked up the can that Lottie had thrown, and now she brought it down on the back of her mother’s head.
The cellar was filled with screams.
Sirens in the distance.
Car doors slamming. Footsteps running. Shouts.
Boyd?
I’m dying, she thought. You’re all too late. Too late, Boyd…
The world dimmed and went dark.
Ninety-Seven
Boyd crashed through the door and flew down the stairs with Kirby and Lynch behind him. He made straight for Lottie, with just a sideways glance at Natasha Kelly sitting on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, her mother lying at her feet.
‘Lottie?’ he whispered, turning her over on her side. He lowered his ear to her mouth. A faint breath. ‘Thank God.’
Tearing off his shirt, he used it to stem the flow of blood. Then he held her in his arms and waited for the paramedics to arrive. He watched Lynch handcuff Natasha and Kirby check Bernie for a pulse. The woman’s eyes snapped open. Kirby jumped back for an instant before he dragged her hands behind her back and handcuffed her.
‘She’s under the stairs,’ Natasha cried. ‘I think she’s still alive.’
‘Shut your mouth,’ Bernie groaned.
‘Who?’ Kirby asked.
‘Kitty,’ Natasha said. ‘Mum told me to shove her in there and lock the door. She stuffed seeds into her mouth. She wanted her to suffocate.’
Kirby started up the narrow staircase, but stood aside to allow two paramedics to descend.
‘They’re here now,’ Boyd whispered in Lottie’s ear. ‘You’re going to be fine.’ He thought he heard her murmur as he reluctantly allowed the paramedics to take over. He looked on helplessly as one of them applied an oxygen mask and another checked Lottie’s vital signs.
‘Is she going to be okay?’ he asked, rubbing his hands vigorously together, oblivious to Lottie’s blood staining them.
‘Appears to be substantial blood loss,’ one said. ‘Heart rate is slow. BP too low. We need to get her out of here now.’
‘What are you waiting for?’ Boyd shouted. Lottie couldn’t die. He needed her. Her kids needed her. He ran to help with a gurney.
Within a few minutes they had Lottie strapped on, a drip inserted and a monitor attached. Then they were gone.
Boyd looked around, biting his lip, trying to still his racing heart. Let her survive.
He helped Lynch bring the two women up the steps.
‘I need a doctor,’ Bernie said.
‘You need a fucking shrink,’ Boyd said.
Kirby met them at the top of the stairs. ‘I’ve called another ambulance. Kitty Belfield is barely alive. I don’t think she’s going to make it.’
‘May she rot in hell,’ Bernie spat.
‘I think she will have plenty of company,’ Boyd said, and shoved her through the door.
Ninety-Eight
Superintendent Corrigan was pacing the incident room when Boyd returned.
‘Any news?’ he asked.
‘She’s in surgery. Doctors will know more in a few hours. I dropped her mother and her kids at the hospital. They’re very upset.’
‘Understandable. This is a right feckin’ mess,’ Corrigan said. ‘Glad you got there in time.’
‘Just about,’ Boyd said.
‘Why don’t you go home and pick up a shirt?’
Boyd looked down at himself. ‘I think I’ve one in my locker.’
‘Did you find anything at Farranstown house?’
‘Kirby is there with a few uniforms. They should find the file that was stolen from Lottie.’
‘Moroney’s father’s file?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And still no sign of O’Dowd or Arthur Russell?’
‘No, sir.’
‘If this Kelly woman is responsible for all the murders, why have we got Cian O’Shea in the cells?’
‘I think he killed the Moroneys but I’m still trying to figure it all out, sir.’
‘Figure it out pronto. Once you’ve found a shirt, go and interview him again.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Boyd stood in front of the incident boards as Corrigan left the room. Nowhere could he see how Cian O’Shea fitted into the equation. If he continued to refuse to speak, forensics would have to do the job for them.
As he was heading back up from the locker room, Kirby came down the stairs.
‘Found it!’ He held up Moroney’s manila folder.
‘Okay,’ Boyd said. ‘Time to find out why two innocent people lost their lives.’
‘There’s more than two innocent people dead in all this mess.’
‘Don’t start, Kirby. Because I might just throw you down those stairs.’
He took the file and stormed past Kirby, who looked at him, slack-jawed.
* * *
The light was fading as Boyd finished reading the file. He rubbed his chin and leaned back in the chair. The historical events that had happened in Ragmullin were tantamount to depravity. No words could describe it, but Paddy Moroney, in his unpublished report, had done his best. Boyd could see why it had never been printed.
McMahon strolled into the office, hung up his coat and started to unplug his laptop.
‘You done here, sir?’ Boyd asked.
‘I’ll be back for Lorcan Brady’s court appearance, though the doctors say it will be months before he can attempt rehabilitation.’
‘Did Brady have anything further to add?’
‘Solved the mystery of Arthur Russell’s jacket and the receipt.’
‘Go on.’
‘It took a while to understand him but I got the gist of it. Bernie Kelly sent Brady to keep track of Arthur’s movements the evening of Tessa’s murder. She needed him to be the prime suspect. Brady watched Russell have his two pints after his shift ended. When he left, Brady lifted the receipt and put it in the new jacket Bernie had purchased. She left it hanging on the rack in the house later that evening.’
‘Conniving bitch,’ Boyd said. ‘By the way, Detective Inspector Parker is out of surgery. In case you were wondering.’
‘I was, actually. But she should have joined the dots before she nearly got herself killed.’
‘Hey, wait a minute there.’ Boyd stood up and faced McMahon. ‘If you’d been doing your job, you’d have known Bernie Kelly was in a relationship with Jerome Quinn.’
‘No need for insubordination, Boyd. For your information, her name never came up in relation to Quinn. So back yourself down off that high horse.’
Sighing, Boyd shook his head. He was too tired to go into battle. He wanted to visit Lottie. To see with his own eyes that she was going to recover.
‘I’ve heard from Mr O’Shea’s solicitor,’ McMahon said, zippi
ng the laptop into a black nylon bag. ‘He continues to claim he never laid a hand on the Moroneys.’
‘Maybe not, but once I have the forensic report back, it will tell us he laid a hand on the knife that was sticking out of Cathal Moroney’s chest.’
‘Ever think of doing a bit of drama?’ McMahon said.
‘What type of bullshit is that?’
‘You seem to love performing, once you have an audience.’
Boyd did a Lottie on it and counted to ten.
‘And just so you know,’ McMahon continued, ‘I’ve sent a SOCO team out to O’Dowd’s farm. Natasha Kelly insists her mother knocked him into the slurry pit and activated the agitator machine.’
‘Right, so,’ Boyd said, preventing himself from saying he wished he could knock McMahon into a slurry pit. He caught sight of Superintendent Corrigan entering the cramped office with his hand outstretched.
‘Great job, David. Thanks for coming to Ragmullin. Now drive safely on your way back to the city.’
‘Glad to be able to help,’ McMahon said, ending the handshake and picking up his laptop. ‘Whenever you’re thinking of retiring, give me the heads-up. I might be interested in coming down the country. I think I might be able to straighten out a few of your troops.’
‘Don’t you worry about us. We cracked this case and will stand with our heads held high. My troops are a credit to this force. And now you’d better be off, before another storm hits. What’re they calling this one, Boyd?’
‘Would you believe it,’ Boyd said, ‘it’s Carrie.’
‘On that note, I’ll leave you to it,’ McMahon said, pausing to put on his coat. ‘Give Detective Inspector Parker my good wishes.’
Corrigan waited until McMahon was down the corridor and out of earshot. ‘He’s a feckin’ arsehole.’
‘Agreed,’ Boyd said.
‘When you visit Parker, give her my good wishes and tell her that our Dublin friend has returned home.’
‘She’ll be happy to hear that, sir,’ Boyd said, but his mind was curdling with the thought of how Lottie would to react to the contents of the folder on his desk.
The Lost Child: A Gripping Detective Thriller with a Heart-Stopping Twist Page 32
