McGlynn took a deep breath and exhaled into his mouth mask. ‘My gut has nothing to do with this. But you and I can both see that this baby has been in the canal. He was either already dead, or he drowned. There are marks on his neck, but that could be from the birth.’
Lottie said, ‘This is awful. The poor little thing.’ Her stomach heaved and she was glad she had left home this morning without having eaten any breakfast. ‘Jane should be here soon,’ she said. The state pathologist was based forty kilometres away, in Tullamore.
‘We’ll erect a tent. Not much evidence to collect, but I can see lots of loose wild flowers caught up in the reeds. Might be something. Might be nothing.’
‘Maybe I should call in the sub-aqua unit,’ Lottie said.
‘I’m waiting for the pathologist. You do what you have to do.’
‘Thanks.’ She rose and turned to Boyd.
‘What are we dealing with?’ she said.
‘Probably a young girl unable to cope with an unwanted pregnancy. Came down here to give birth. And the baby was either born dead or she … you know. Killed him.’
She thought of the girl who had arrived that morning at the station covered in blood. ‘What did she use to cut the cord? I can’t see any sign of a knife or anything sharp. Can you? The vicinity needs to be searched.’ She swept her hands around, indicating an area to be cordoned off. Then she thought of Sean. A rush of panic sped through her chest. ‘Did Lynch leave with the boys? And what were they doing down here in the first place?’
‘Fishing,’ Boyd said as he picked up the discarded bags and tackle.
Lottie watched as he handed them over to a uniformed officer. ‘That’s Adam’s old army bag.’
‘Come on,’ Boyd said. ‘You need coffee. You look like hell.’
‘I could do with something stronger.’
* * *
It had taken the state pathologist, Jane Dore, very little time to assess the scene, and once she had examined the baby’s body, she’d given the okay for it to be moved to the mortuary. She’d informally classed the death as suspicious.
What was Ragmullin coming to? Lottie wondered. The town was dying on its feet, caught in a mire of corruption, murder and abuse. She’d just about had enough of it. And she worried now more than ever for her children having to grow up here.
The incident room back at the station had one photo on the board. The unidentified newborn baby. Lottie glanced at it before seeking out her son.
Lynch and the boys were in the canteen. Lottie rushed over to Sean and hugged him tight to her chest.
‘What happened? Why were you at the canal? Who found the body? Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine, Mam. Honestly. Me and Barry were just fishing.’
Glancing over at the other boy, she said, ‘And who is Barry?’
‘Barry Duffy,’ Lynch said. ‘We’re waiting for one of his parents to arrive.’
Barry slumped in the red plastic chair, his pale cheeks flushing. His blonde hair was stuck to his scalp with perspiration. Why was he hanging around with Sean? Lottie didn’t think she’d seen him before.
‘I know Barry from school,’ Sean said quickly, as if reading her mind.
‘How old are you, Barry?’ Lottie asked.
‘Fifteen.’
Same age as Sean. ‘Where do you live? Is it your mum that’s coming for you, or your dad? We need to finish up here as soon as possible.’
‘Finish up what?’ the boy asked.
‘I have to find out exactly the course of events that led to you finding the baby.’
‘Can’t Sean tell you that? We were together.’
‘He will, but I want to hear what you have to say too.’
‘We were fishing and then … then Sean saw the body and rang 999. End of.’
‘I’m sorry, but I need a parent present in order to conduct a formal interview.’
‘I don’t need them here.’
Lottie noticed the colour reappearing in the boy’s cheeks, and with it, some of the bravado she associated with a cocky teenager. No harm in getting basic information, she thought.
‘Had you been there before? On that stretch of the canal?’
‘That’s where I fish. When I fish. Not every day.’
‘When were you last there?’
‘I’d nothing to do with that baby, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘I’m not thinking that at all. I just want to get an idea of how long the body might have been in the water.’ Lottie paused and looked at her son. ‘Did you see anyone else around? Before you arrived at that spot?’
Sean reddened. ‘We walked up and down the path and did a bit of fishing. We were just getting ready to move on when we noticed the body.’
As he spoke, she caught the whiff of alcohol on his breath.
‘Have you been drinking?’
‘No,’ Sean said.
‘Yeah,’ Barry said.
‘Just the one, that’s all,’ Sean said hurriedly. ‘When I threw the can into the water, that’s when I saw the little … the body.’
Lottie thought he was going to cry. She gave him a quick hug. He slithered out from under her arm. Embarrassed in front of his friend? She’d have to talk to him later.
Turning back to Barry, she said, ‘So when were you last there, at that particular spot?’
‘Two days ago, maybe. I was on my own. Not much fun alone, that’s why I asked Sean along today.’
‘Why him? You’re not best friends or anything, are you?’
‘Mam!’ Sean said.
‘I know he plays sports and I heard him say once that his dad used to fish.’ Barry picked at the skin around his short nails, his head lowered.
‘We meet up now and again,’ Sean said.
‘Okay. That’s enough for now.’ Lottie realised she wouldn’t get anything more. ‘Barry, you need to wait for your parents before you can leave.’
‘I don’t need to wait for them. I can go home on my own. Don’t need any guards either.’
‘You’ve been through a traumatic experience; it’s best to wait until someone comes for you.’
‘They don’t like to be disturbed. My dad will be at work.’
‘I think they’d like to know you’re okay. Have you phoned them, Detective Lynch?’
‘I called Barry’s mum. She said she’d contact her husband. Didn’t seem in much of a hurry,’ she added.
Barry took out his phone and tapped his finger on the contacts. He handed it to Lottie. ‘That’s my dad’s number. Paul Duffy.’
‘The doctor?’
‘Yeah. He won’t be happy having his day disrupted.’
‘And your mum?’
‘Julia. That’s her details beside Dad’s.’
Lottie wrote down both numbers, then asked Lynch to stay with Barry until he was collected. ‘We can do the formal interview later today or tomorrow morning. See what his parents have to say.’
‘Right,’ Lynch said as she wrapped a bobbin around her long fair hair and went to fetch soft drinks from the vending machine.
Outside the door, Lottie gave Sean another hug. ‘How did you hook up with him?’
‘Barry? Like he said, he called me. Asked me to go fishing. I’m so fed up at Granny’s house with the girls fighting all the time and Louis screaming. Anything’s better than that.’
‘And was it Barry’s idea to drink beer?’
‘Cider,’ Sean said with more than a hint of insolence.
‘You know what I mean.’ Lottie led him down the stairs and out to the front reception.
‘Only had one can. Not even a full one, so don’t go all Holy Mary on me, Mam. Where are we going now?’
‘Home.’
‘We don’t have a home,’ Sean said sulkily. ‘Are you coming too?’
‘Yes.’
‘You don’t have to. I’m fine. You need to find out what happened to the baby.’
‘I can get a squad car to drop you if you like. Is that okay?’
‘That’s grand. Honestly.’
She studied him, his blue eyes, his fair hair falling over his forehead. His chin showed an attempt at beard growth, but it was losing the battle. More fluff than stubble. Pale skin and bright eyes betrayed his youth. But she had to admit he was the image of his dead father.
He smiled up at her, and she could feel the warmth, the sincerity of it bleeding her heart dry. He was her son. She knew every hair on his head but had no idea of the thoughts that careened through his mind. He wouldn’t want her to know. But as his mother, wasn’t she entitled to understand what he was thinking? How his mind worked? Or didn’t work, as was the case when he suffered from anxiety and teetered on the brink of depression.
‘You sure?’ she said.
‘Was the baby murdered?’
‘I don’t know. It might just be a tragic case of a child dying as it was born and then being abandoned.’
‘Find its mother. Because I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep until you do.’
‘You and me both,’ Lottie whispered into his ear.
She kissed his cheek before he escaped down the steps and into the waiting car. She was sure that the girl in the hospital was most likely the mother of the dead baby. As soon as she was ready to be interviewed, the interrogation would begin, but first she needed to build up a picture of Hope Cotter.
Nine
Their mood darkened further when they entered Munbally Grove housing estate, where Hope Cotter lived. The location of many disturbances and call-outs, its reputation preceded it, and it was far from a good one. If you were born here, it was unlikely that you would travel far; indeed, only the gifted few made it out in one piece.
‘We should be wearing stab vests in this place,’ Boyd said.
‘You’re more of a drama queen than my Chloe,’ Lottie told him.
She had left the team working to try to establish the circumstances surrounding the death of the baby and decided to follow up on the name and address that she’d received from the hospital before she attempted to question the girl. Hope Cotter was under guard there and wasn’t going anywhere, was she?
They entered the estate from the wrong end and drove through the warren of roads meandering around the three hundred or so houses. At last the terrace containing number 53 loomed up in front of them. Dark red brick on the bottom half, and on the top, what had once been white pebble dash now appeared scuffed, patchy and discoloured.
‘Are those aluminium window frames?’ Boyd asked.
‘The original estate was built in the seventies,’ Lottie replied, not sure if that explained anything. ‘And more and more houses were added as time went by.’
‘That’s definitely a song.’
‘Don’t start.’
‘They were built to last,’ he said.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The houses. Oh, forget it.’
As she walked up the footpath to number 53, Lottie noted that the windows of the house to the left were enclosed in wire mesh, padlocks on either side keeping it in place. The door had a steel outer panel guarding the interior.
‘No chance of breaking in there.’ Boyd again.
‘We don’t need to go in there. Shut up, Boyd. You’re giving me a headache.’
She searched the door for a bell, then, not finding one, pounded the wooden frame with her fist.
‘This is a wild goose chase,’ Boyd muttered.
Lottie counted to five and hammered again, trying to drown out his complaints.
‘There’s no one in,’ he said.
‘I’ve a good mind to leave you here and let you make your own way back to the station. You’re acting like a spoiled brat today.’
The door creaked open slightly and a child of no more than four peeped through the narrow slit.
Lowering herself to eye level, Lottie said, ‘Hello, sweetie. Is your mum or dad in?’
The brown eyes widened and the mouth formed an oval. ‘No.’
‘Are you on your own?’ Lottie had no idea if the child was a boy or a girl. All she could see was the face, and thin brown hair in need of a wash.
The child’s eyes dipped, and milk teeth bit into its bottom lip.
‘Can we come in?’ Lottie said.
‘Get away from the door,’ a voice roared. The child disappeared.
Before she could rise, Lottie found herself looking at a pair of hairy white legs dressed in Bermuda shorts. She got to her feet and came face to face with a man about her own age. He emitted the dry smell of stale cigarettes and beer. His craggy face and bloodshot eyes gave credence to that observation. With his bald head, he looked like a caricature, and his stomach protruded over the top of his shorts, causing his black U2 T-shirt to roll up.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Lottie Parker and this is Detective Sergeant Mark Boyd. May we come in?’ Lottie said, regaining her composure.
‘No, you can’t come in. Now piss off, the pair of you.’
She stuck her foot in the gap just before he slammed the door. Pain shot up her leg but she managed to keep the wince from her face. Bastard, she thought. ‘I think you need to let us in.’
The door opened wide so quickly she almost lost her balance. Boyd steadied her and they followed the man down the dimly lit hallway.
There was no sign of the child as they entered the kitchen. To her surprise, Lottie noted that the room was clean and tidy. The man stood with his back to the sink, arms folded across the expanse of his chest, waiting.
‘We’ve introduced ourselves,’ Lottie said. ‘So who might you be?’
‘Robbie.’
‘Robbie Cotter?’
‘None of your business.’ He hawked mucus back down his throat and Lottie feared he was going to spit at her.
‘Who’s the little one who opened the door?’
‘None of your business.’ He unfolded his arms, spread his legs and secured his hands on his hips. ‘Are you going to tell me what this is about?’
‘Can we sit down?’ She pulled a chair away from the table, but his hand slapped down on top of hers. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by his manner.
‘Take your hand off mine, right now.’
He obliged, but said, ‘Leave that chair there. I’m giving you to the count of three. One—’
‘Okay, okay.’ Lottie held up her hands. ‘We’re here about Hope.’
‘Hope? I haven’t seen her. Left me with her young one. What’s the wagon done now?’
‘You can confirm she lives here, then?’
‘You’re here, so you know that already. Don’t be asking me stupid questions.’
‘Are you her father?’
‘You’re still asking stupid questions, lady.’
‘You’re not her father then.’ Lottie bit her lip. This was torture. ‘So who are you?’
He ran his hand over his bald head and sighed. It was like his whole body deflated in an instant.
‘I’m Robbie Cotter. Hope’s uncle. Her father’s brother. Her parents are dead. I was left to care for her, and now I’ve to look after her brat too.’
‘Her brat being the child who opened the door?’
‘Ah, Lexie’s not really a brat. She’s a good kid. Now, are you going to tell me what Hope’s done to bring the guards to my door?’
Lottie paused, wondering how much information she could divulge. ‘I’m not sure yet. I thought maybe you could help us.’
‘You’re like a fucking crossword puzzle,’ he said, pulling out a chair and plonking himself at the table. ‘Look, I haven’t seen Hope since yesterday evening. She hasn’t been home since then. Probably out whoring around. Though what with her being up against having a baby, I’m not sure anyone could get a leg over, if you follow me.’
‘So you can confirm that Hope was pregnant?’
‘Yes. Wait a minute,’ he said, realisation dawning. ‘Was? What do you mean?’
He was quick at connecting the dots, she had to give him that. ‘Mr Cotter. R
obbie. Hope arrived at the garda station this morning covered in blood. We brought her straight to A&E. According to the doctor there, she had given birth, but we don’t know where the baby is.’ She cringed inside, thinking about the body found in the canal. It was more than likely that it was Hope’s baby. Likely that she had killed him?
Robbie’s ruddy face paled. He clenched his hands into tight fists and kneaded them into his eye sockets.
‘Are you okay?’ Lottie asked, placing a hand on his arm.
He swiped it away and glared. ‘Hope is only seventeen. She had Lexie when she was thirteen. I’ve kept social services away from our door because I’m her legal guardian. I’ve tried my best to keep her right. The two of them. On my own. But it’s hard. Damn hard. Don’t get me wrong, Lexie’s no trouble. She’ll be going to school in September. Goes to the community crèche at the moment, three mornings a week. But Hope … Now, she is a troubled girl, I can tell you.’
‘In what way is she troubled?’ Boyd asked.
‘I don’t think she ever got over her parents’ deaths. Her father hanged himself when she was just eight years old. Then her mother, she did the same not a year later. I think it was all too much for Hope.’
‘Did she get counselling?’ Boyd said.
Robbie glared at him. ‘What do you think? You with your fancy suit and your giddy smirk. No, she didn’t get bloody counselling. Hard enough to get food on the table. I do my best by those girls. Honestly I do.’ He stood up and filled a kettle with water and switched it on. ‘Tea?’
‘If you’re making it,’ Lottie said. ‘Does Hope attend school?’
‘High notions for one so low down the pecking order. She wants to be a hairdresser. Made an attempt at doing a beauty course at the community college. Dropped out after a few weeks. Started a cleaning job and then got pregnant for the second time.’ Robbie was rinsing mugs under the sink, the water gushing out over the edge and down the front of the cupboards.
‘Do you know if Lexie’s dad is the father of Hope’s baby?’
He glanced over his shoulder, his big face sagging with dejection.
‘She never told me who Lexie’s dad was and I have no idea who she’s been whoring around with. She’s as quiet as a mouse when she’s at home, then she goes out and gets pregnant again.’ He returned his attention to the sink.
Tell Nobody: Absolutely gripping crime fiction with unputdownable mystery and suspense Page 4
