‘And you didn’t notice anyone calling during the day while Jen was at work, or in the evenings when she was at bingo?’
The neighbour shrugged. ‘Not that I can recall.’
‘You go to bingo too, don’t you? How many nights a week?’
A short silence ensued. Dolores was staring at Jen for advice. Jen spoke first. ‘We go most nights. Nothing else to do here apart from the pub, and I don’t like the pub scene.’
‘So Mikey was alone a lot, is that correct?’
Jen nodded slowly. ‘But he spent a lot of time with Toby Collins.’
‘And did he know Kevin Shanley?’
Jen sat up straight, her eyes wary for the first time. ‘Why are you asking about Kev?’
‘I’m afraid we found his body this morning.’
‘Oh my God!’ Jen gasped. ‘Poor Victor and Sheila!’
Dolores rushed to her friend’s side. ‘Shush, Jen, it’s okay.’
The chime of the clock on the mantel pierced the air and Lottie jumped, knocking the cup of tea to the floor. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Leave it,’ Jen said.
‘I’ll get a cloth.’ Dolores rushed to the kitchen. Gilly stood up and followed her.
Jen curled into a ball on the chair and sobbed. ‘Kevin and Mikey. Why?’
Lottie said, ‘I’m doing my best to find out.’
‘You’d better do more.’
‘You mentioned the Shanleys by name. Do you know them?’
Jen clamped her lips together. Tears gathered at the corners of her mouth and dripped down her chin. ‘I thought you were asking me about Mikey.’
‘I’m trying to gain as much information as possible.’
‘Kevin and Mikey are … were in the same class in school.’
‘Was Kevin on the soccer team?’
‘I think he left it.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. Ask them.’
Lottie felt her workload was getting more complicated by the minute. ‘Can you tell me anything at all about the Shanleys?’
Jen turned her head away. ‘Not really. We didn’t know each other very well. Kevin and Mikey, they weren’t that close. Sorry, I haven’t any more to tell you.’
Dolores returned with a roll of kitchen paper and began to mop up the spilled tea. The room felt too small for them all.
Lottie moved towards the door. ‘Ring me if you think of anything that might help us find who killed Mikey.’
She left to the sound of Jen’s sobs. And realised she hadn’t broached the subject of Mikey’s abuse. The poor woman had enough to be concerned with at the moment.
Thirty-Eight
Kirby was pacing around the incident room with a phone to his ear when Lottie arrived back at the station. After the encounter with Jen Driscoll, she hadn’t the energy to face the Shanleys for a similar conversation. Later. Or tomorrow morning, maybe. Or she could send Kirby and Lynch.
Kirby hung up and filled Lottie in on his earlier conversation with Bertie Harris.
‘A twenty-first party?’ she said. ‘How many people were at it?’
‘That was Naomi Jones on the phone. It was her party. She reckons there were about sixty people there.’
‘They’ll all have to be identified and interviewed.’ Lottie pulled at her straggly hair, feeling in dire need of a shower. ‘We have dead bodies, a mountain of interviews to conduct and not one viable lead. Going around in circles, as usual.’
‘I got the security recordings.’ Kirby held up a disc.
Lottie rushed over to him. ‘Well?’
‘I’m not long back so I haven’t had time to scroll through it. Next on my to-do list. Along with the McDonald’s footage.’
‘You got that?’
‘And a complimentary Happy Meal.’ Kirby smiled.
‘Bump the CCTV job to the top of your list. Let me know if you find anything. Where did you get the clubhouse footage from?’
‘Bertie Harris gave it to me, but I have to say, I found him to be a bit shifty.’
‘Shifty? But he handed it over willingly, didn’t he?’
‘Might be his way of keeping below our radar. Especially as he had time to tamper with the footage.’
‘Or he was just being helpful,’ Lottie said.
‘Or he knows there’s nothing on it,’ Boyd chipped in, rolling up his sleeves.
‘I was just saying,’ Kirby said.
‘Check him out thoroughly,’ Lottie said. ‘After you’ve looked at the tape.’
‘It’s a DVD,’ Boyd said.
Lottie walked off without answering him. Her entire body was screaming for rest. But there were too many dead bodies for her to take a break.
She returned after a moment.
‘The two boys were sexually abused,’ she said.
Her words were greeted with pin-dropping silence.
‘Fuck,’ Kirby said at last.
‘And neither of the boys were murdered where they were found,’ Lottie said, letting the matter of the abuse rest uneasily in the minds of the team.
‘So we have to find a crime scene,’ Boyd said.
‘Any news from the school?’
‘I spoke on the phone with Miss Conway, the boys’ teacher,’ Boyd said, shuffling papers on the desk. ‘She retired in June, but she was very helpful. No mention of privacy or warrants for information, thank God. She’s going into the school to get the records. I’ve sent Lynch to pick them up. And then we can organise interviews with kids, parents and teachers.’
‘Come with me,’ Lottie said.
‘Where to?’
‘We need to have a chat with Rory Butler, the team coach.’ She fetched her bag. ‘Wait till you hear where he lives.’
‘I was going to grab some food,’ Boyd said. ‘I’m starving.’
‘That can wait. And you’re driving.’
Barry kept asking Toby questions about Mikey. Toby kept shrugging his shoulders. He couldn’t talk about it. Couldn’t talk at all.
‘Do you play online?’ Sean asked.
Toby nodded.
‘FIFA?’
Toby nodded again.
‘What else?’
A shrug.
‘Jesus, you don’t say much, do you?’
An incline of his head to one side. Even if he could talk, he didn’t want to.
‘I play Call of Duty,’ Sean said.
‘Me too,’ Barry said. ‘When we’re not fishing babies out of the canal.’ He laughed.
Toby didn’t think there was anything funny about that.
‘Shut up, Barry,’ Sean said, and turned to Toby. ‘Are you okay?’
Toby kicked the ball and ran after it. He wanted to get as far away from Barry as he could. He heard feet running behind him and looked over his shoulder as Barry slide-tackled him, knocking him to the ground. He twisted around on the freshly mown grass and tried to push the older boy off.
‘Scaredy-cat.’ Barry thumped him on the shoulder.
Sean tried to pull Barry away. ‘Will you stop acting like a dick? You’re scaring him.’
‘Watch yourself or you might be next,’ Barry whispered into Toby’s ear before standing up and brushing grass off his clothes.
‘What are you on about, Barry?’ Sean asked, putting out a hand to drag Toby to his feet.
Yeah, what are you on about? Toby thought. He caught Barry looking around before leaning in.
‘First it was Mikey Driscoll, then Kevin Shanley. Two friends of yours, weren’t they, Toby boy?’
‘Another boy’s been murdered? Is that what you’re saying?’ Sean said.
‘Yeah, last night. He was found out at Ladystown Lake. Heard it on the car radio with my mother this morning.’
‘Was his name mentioned on the radio?’ Sean said.
Barry touched his finger to his nose. ‘For me to know and you to find out.’ He grabbed the ball and kicked it down the field.
Sean took off after him. ‘You’re cheating. I wasn’t ready.
’
Toby slumped down on the ground and tugged a dandelion out of the grass. His breath caught somewhere in his throat and he couldn’t breathe. He tried not to freak out, but it was hard.
Was it true? Was Kev dead too? Was it because of what had happened? And would he be next?
He didn’t see the ball coming at him hard and fast, until it hit him smack in the face.
‘Next goal wins,’ Barry shouted.
Hope pushed Lexie on the swing in the overgrown garden. Houses on either side and to the rear. As much as she hated Munbally Grove, she wished she was back there. Away from Jacinta and her weed and booze. Home in her own bed and Lexie in hers. What had Robbie been thinking when he’d brought her here? He was afraid of the guards, he’d said. But why? She had done nothing wrong. Or had she? She’d run out of the hospital in a state of panic because she had no memory of what happened to her baby. But what had brought her to the garda station in the first place?
‘Mummy, please slow down. I’ll fall off.’
At the sound of Lexie’s high-pitched squeal, Hope pulled the swing to her chest. She scooped up her daughter in her arms to return inside. Robbie stood blocking the door.
‘What?’ she said.
‘You’re on the news. Come inside, quick.’
‘On the news?’ She let Lexie slide to the ground and rushed in past her uncle. ‘What are they saying?’
‘You’re a murderer now,’ Jacinta drawled, smoke escaping from her lips like the tendrils of an evil spirit.
Hope stood on the threshold, mouth open, ears pinned, listening as the reporter streamed live news feed from outside Ragmullin garda station. A press conference had been held earlier that morning.
When the reporter had completed her ninety-second slot, Hope looked at Robbie, who was holding Lexie by the hand.
She said, ‘I have to go home.’
Thirty-Nine
Swift House was situated in an area that looked like something out of a Constable painting. Lottie surveyed her surroundings. Could someone have accessed the lake shore this way? She was certain this was close to where Kevin Shanley’s body had been found.
Roses in full bloom threaded the hedges and the air throbbed with a floral scent. The house was three storeys high and a series of indents along the eaves gave it the appearance of a castle, with a turret on both ends. The brickwork on the outer walls looked ancient, but the windows were modern.
‘I’ve lived in Ragmullin most of my life, and I’ve never seen this place,’ she said.
‘That’s because it was almost a ruin up to a few years ago. I reconstructed it.’
Lottie turned on her heel. The voice had come from behind her. A head of dark brown hair had appeared over the top of a rose bush, followed by a face ringed with a trim beard. What Boyd called designer stubble. The man stood up, pulled off gardening gloves and made his way towards her, clad in a dirty white T-shirt and cargo shorts. Lottie thought he looked quite fit.
‘Rory Butler.’
His hand was like a garden fork, with long, slender fingers, neatly clipped nails. All clean.
Lottie introduced herself and Boyd. Butler was in his thirties, and where there was no beard, his skin was clear. He had glittering blue eyes.
‘You’re a bit younger than I was expecting,’ she said without thinking.
‘And what were you expecting?’
‘I don’t know … An old man in a tweed suit with a rifle slung over his shoulder ready to go pheasant shooting?’
He laughed, and she felt like smiling, despite the horrors she was dealing with.
‘You’d be thinking of my grandfather, then. My mother’s father. Called Rory too. Rory Swift.’ His eyes lit up when he smiled.
‘And does your mother live here?’
‘No. My father never took to the land. Pair of them hightailed it off to London first chance they got. I returned when my grandfather died three years ago and put my money into the place.’
‘It looks great,’ Lottie said, and wondered how she had been drawn into chit-chat. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk? Out of the sun, maybe?’
‘Forgive me, I forgot my manners. Come this way.’
He led them around the side of the house. A paved courtyard spread out before them, and Lottie marvelled at the expanse of modern equipment and furnishings.
He must have caught the expression in her eye. ‘I like entertaining. Top-of-the-range barbecue. Good weather for it at the moment.’
‘Gosh, you could fit a hundred people out here,’ Boyd said.
‘Slight exaggeration, but forty is comfortable.’
Rory directed them to a table with a parasol overhead, and Lottie flopped down on a cushioned chair. Her bones ached, and when Butler offered coffee, she hoped he’d bring out a sandwich or a few biscuits with it. But instead of going into the house, he sat himself down beside them and pressed a gold buzzer on the table. Boyd raised an eyebrow and she hoped he wouldn’t blurt out a smart comment.
A young woman in jeans and white apron appeared and Butler asked her to make a pot of coffee. ‘And see if you can find some cake.’
He turned back to Lottie. ‘Now, what do you want with me?’
She decided to get straight to the point. ‘You’re the coach of the under-twelves soccer team, is that right?’
‘Yes. Terrible about poor Mikey.’
‘We have yet to interview you about Sunday night.’
‘I had a phone call from one of your detectives to come in to make a statement. I was planning on doing it later today. Is that why you’re here?’
‘That and another matter.’ Lottie dived in. ‘This morning we found the body of a boy on the lake shore at the area known as Tudenham Point. Hadn’t you heard?’
‘Oh God, no. Who is it? What happened?’ His face paled and he sat forward on the chair. ‘Tudenham Point is only a few hundred metres from here via the shoreline. Further if you take the road.’ He paused as if realisation had dawned. ‘Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with it?’
‘I’m not saying that at all.’ Lottie hoped the coffee would arrive soon. She was beginning to feel weak from hunger. ‘How did you become involved with the team?’
‘I volunteered. Needed something to do with my spare time. I play five-a-side soccer, and about a year and a half ago, someone mentioned that there was this team of youngsters from Munbally that needed a coach. I decided to give it a go.’
‘What did you get out of it?’
‘The satisfaction of seeing young lads out in the fresh air, playing as a team, competing and winning. It gave them purpose in their otherwise miserable lives.’
‘You coached Mikey Driscoll?’
‘I did. Great young footballer. And before you ask, I only knew him on the training ground.’
‘What about Kevin Shanley?’
‘Kevin? Is he the boy you found today?’
‘Did you train him?’
‘I did. But not recently. He only turned up now and again.’
‘When did you last see them?’
‘I saw Mikey on Sunday night. Haven’t seen Kevin in weeks. He might have been at the match, but I don’t know. It’s awful. Do you have any leads?’
‘We will have to conduct a formal interview with you.’ Lottie wasn’t about to give him any information. ‘We were wondering if you know of any private access points around here.’
‘Access points?’
‘You know. To the lake. The area where we found the body is locked up at night, with no access unless someone either uses a boat or has the gate code. Therefore, we’re looking for other routes that may have been used.’
He leaned back, as if his body was a spring uncoiling. The coffee arrived. He waited until cups were filled and cake was cut and they were settled again.
‘You think someone used a boat?’
‘That’s one theory. The other is that they used your private road.’
‘There are numerous mooring places around here.
I have an old map inside somewhere. I’ll root it out if you like?’
‘That would be great.’ Lottie sipped the coffee and savoured the aroma and taste. It was strong, just what she needed. ‘Have you noticed any unusual activity over the last few nights?’
‘Look around you,’ he said. ‘This place gives definition to solitude.’
‘And still you build a patio to cater for forty people.’ Lottie didn’t intend to be sarcastic, but that was how it must have sounded. Butler put his cup on the table with a clatter. Was that a slight tremor in his hand?
‘Inspector Parker, I am thirty-four years old. I left London but London didn’t leave me. I like the peace here but I also like to party now and again.’
Defensive? Hmm. ‘Forgive me if I was rude,’ she said, wondering why she was suddenly mirroring his mode of speech. ‘I was just making an observation. When was the last time you had people round?’
He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘A week ago, maybe ten days.’
‘Do you have a partner? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?’
‘I’m single. For the time being,’ he said, a disarming glint in his eye.
Lottie felt herself blush. ‘Is there anyone who can verify your whereabouts the last two nights?’
‘I doubt it. As you can see, I live alone. Except for Helen, who comes in during the day.’
She would have to delve deeper on his alibi, but for now she needed to see how close he lived to the lake.
‘We accessed your property via a local road off the main one. Does it continue to the shore?’
‘The local road ends at the entrance to this estate. Then it’s private. Doesn’t stop people using it, though.’
Here was a man with connections to both dead boys and access to the lake. Lottie wondered why she hadn’t got him in the station already.
‘Did you hear a car or any other sounds last night?’
‘I can’t say that I did. You might have noticed I’ve had triple glazing installed throughout the house.’
No, she hadn’t. After another sip of coffee, she glanced at Boyd, who was scoffing the last slice of cake.
‘Can I have a walk down to the lake shore?’ she asked Butler.
Tell Nobody: Absolutely gripping crime fiction with unputdownable mystery and suspense Page 14
