‘Hope?’ she said.
Lynch elbowed past her. ‘Hope Cotter?’
Gilly moved to the bed. The girl was bound hand and foot, a piece of material tied around her mouth. As Gilly made to pull down the gag, she found herself drawn to the girl’s eyes. They were dancing around, bulbous, her head nodding in a direction somewhere behind Gilly.
She turned to see what had the girl so agitated. ‘What the …? Lynch, watch out!’ she yelled.
As if in slow motion, Gilly felt herself leap away from the bed and jump in front of Lynch, who was frozen to the spot, her mouth open in horror.
Someone dressed in white lunged again. Gilly held up her arm to shield her face as she dragged Lynch to the floor.
A cold sensation pierced her neck. She noticed a spurt of blood shoot into the air. Shit, Lynch! As she tried to see where the detective had been struck, a stabbing pain sliced through the back of her neck.
Someone was screaming. The girl on the bed? Lynch? Herself?
A door shut and then there was silence.
Gilly couldn’t keep her eyes open. They felt so heavy. She could hear a voice in the distance. Lynch? So far away. Getting further. She tried to open her mouth but it was full of something liquid. Eyes. Tired. Her lids drooped shut, and she thought of Kirby.
Eighty
Lottie asked Paul Duffy if he wanted to see the duty doctor, but he refused. From what she could see, he didn’t appear to have any injuries other than dark-ringed eyes from being tied up in the boot of his car all night, and most probably a huge bump on the back of his head.
After they had the formalities concluded, she got the interview under way. She started with a few preliminary questions.
‘Mr Duffy.’ She did not give him his title. ‘You have been arrested for the murders of Mikey Driscoll, Kevin Shanley and Rory Butler. Do you have anything to say?’
‘I did not kill those boys.’ The man appeared to have shrunk since she’d last seen him.
‘I don’t believe you. Admit it, you killed them.’
‘I did not.’
‘Was your son involved?’
‘My son? Barry? What are you talking about?’
‘He lured the boys for you and you abused them, isn’t that correct?’
Duffy shook his head. ‘Barry? No way. He just lost his head last night. I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt anyone.’
‘Your wife, Julia, gave you alibis for the nights Mikey and Kevin were taken, but I’m confident that when we find her and she hears what you’ve done, she will change her statement.’
‘You know nothing about my wife.’
‘Where is she?’
‘I don’t know. I want to see my son.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s got it all wrong.’
‘Got what wrong?’
‘I did not kill anyone.’
Lottie snorted her derision. ‘Oh, so Rory Butler beat himself up and then stabbed himself, did he?’
Duffy shook his head. Sank his chin into his chest and clamped his mouth shut.
‘Look, Mr Duffy, you can have your solicitor and speak to your son all in good time. My main concern at the moment is finding Toby Collins. Where is he?’
‘Toby?’ Duffy looked genuinely confused.
‘Yes. Where have you put him?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I have a witness who claims that you picked him up yesterday evening from the clubhouse. Where did you bring him?’
Duffy swallowed hard, bit his lip and lowered his head. ‘I brought him to my house. Fixed up his ankle. It was just a sprain. He was fine when he left.’
‘He left of his own accord?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was he able to walk? It’s quite a way from yours to Munbally Grove, isn’t it?’
Duffy remained silent.
‘Is Toby dead?’ Lottie said.
‘You’re out of your mind.’
‘Right now, I am in full control of my faculties, but if you don’t answer my question, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.’ Shite talk, but she had to find Toby. He could be lying injured somewhere. Or dead. ‘Where is the boy?’
‘Julia said she’d bring him home. That’s all I know.’
Lottie leaned back in the chair and shook her head. How many lies could she listen to?
The sound of running feet outside caused her to look at Boyd. Suddenly the door burst open. Acting Superintendent McMahon beckoned Lottie out of the interview room. He was flushed and wringing his hands.
‘We have a report in of a stabbing out at Swift House. Rory Butler’s place.’
‘Oh no. It’s Toby. We’re too late. Duffy already killed him.’
‘No, Inspector. This has just happened. Neither Paul nor Barry Duffy had anything to do with it. Get yourself and Boyd out there. Kirby called it in.’
There was something he wasn’t telling her. She stood her ground. Eyeballed him. He looked away.
‘It’s one of our own.’
Eighty-One
My plans have gone a little off kilter. I hurriedly wash the blood from my hands, but I have no time to wash my feet or change my bloodied clothing. I return to my easel. I cannot quell the thundering beat of my heart or the buzzing in my head.
I watch the boy. He should be a perfect specimen of virtue. Alas, he was violated like the other two. Touched by man. I must hurry to quash the evil from his soul, and in so doing I will absolve all sin.
I can hear water. It is so soothing. I feel myself sway in rhythm to the flow. But it must be my imagination. I’m not that close to water. Then again, maybe I am.
The drug is wearing off, because the boy says something. I cannot hear what it is. My ears are now deaf to the ways of this world. I am transported to a place where no one can touch me. No one can touch the boy. I was too late for the others. But this boy, Toby, I can save him. And save myself.
I eye the bloodstained knife lying on the palette of muddy colours. I really should wash it. The palette. I can hardly make out the blue any more.
And then I wonder, Why is the air around me so still? So quiet?
Eighty-Two
Kirby radioed for help. Ambulances – the whole shebang. He had no thought for forensics as he crashed into the room.
His breath slid down his throat as he took in the scene before him. The girl on the bed, Hope Cotter, was tied to the headboard, her head hanging forward, shoulders heaving. The blood that spattered her body looked to him like arterial spray. But it had not come from her. He dragged his eyes downwards and gasped. Two bodies on the floor. Neither appeared to be moving.
Falling to his knees, he reached out to the first woman. Felt for a pulse. Blood, there was so much blood. A strong beat beneath his fingers. Her eyes opened.
Lynch whispered, ‘Gilly …?’
Only then did Kirby allow his eyes to turn to the young garda. His Gilly. Lying face down on top of Lynch. Reaching out his hand, he wiped her short hair, matted with blood, from the back of her neck. Saw the gaping wound. He put his hand to her throat. Feeling for a pulse. Please, God, please let her be alive.
‘Is she …?’ Lynch said, her voice faint.
Kirby kept his fingers pressed to his girl’s neck. Fat tears fell from his face. He turned her over and looked into her open green eyes. A trickle of blood had snaked from her mouth and dried. He pulled her lifeless body to his chest and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her hair.
‘Kirby?’ Lynch again.
He shook his head. Again and again. He kept on shaking his head and he kept on crying.
Lottie stood in the doorway, Boyd crushed beside her. She moved to one side as the paramedics eased out with Lynch on a gurney. Hope Cotter was already downstairs, being comforted by a uniformed officer. She would get to her soon enough.
‘I’m fine,’ Lynch protested.
‘You need to be checked over,’ Lottie said. ‘And the baby, to make sur
e it’s okay.’
‘It’s kicking like mad. It’s fine. But Gilly …’
Lottie nodded and moved towards Kirby as Lynch was wheeled out.
She knelt down beside him. She didn’t care that they were in the middle of a crime scene. Nothing mattered now.
‘Kirby?’ She rested a hand on his trembling shoulder, his shirt damp beneath her fingers. Her big burly detective, the life and soul of the station. And she had no idea what to say to him as he held on to Gilly and wouldn’t let go.
‘She’ll be fine, boss,’ he said. ‘She’s so young and there won’t be a bother on her in a few days. Just you wait and see.’
Lottie gulped a sob, tears blurring her eyes. ‘Kirby, I think you need to put her down now. SOCOs have to get in. We need to find out who did this.’
‘Leave her be,’ Kirby said. ‘Just a little while longer. Wait and see.’
Lottie glanced at Boyd, pleading silently for help. He crouched down beside them.
‘Hey, bud,’ he said. ‘There’s a doctor here. Needs to have a look at Gilly. Will you come outside for a smoke? I think you could do with one. I know I could.’
Kirby raised his head, sniffed back a sob and lifted a hand to Gilly’s face. ‘She’s gone, isn’t she?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Boyd said.
Kirby gently closed the young woman’s eyes. Their emerald green would never again light up Ragmullin station. The light that had been Garda Gilly O’Donoghue was now permanently extinguished, and something deep within Larry Kirby had broken into a million tiny pieces. Lottie knew it would be impossible for him to ever join them back together again.
‘I loved her, you know.’ With great care, he laid her back down on the floor, pooled with blood.
‘I know.’ Lottie put her hand under his arm, and together she and Boyd eased the big man to his feet. He walked like a wounded animal from the room, without a backward glance. Boyd went with him.
Alone in the scene of devastation, Lottie looked down at the young woman who had been so enthusiastic about her job. Who had yearned to be a detective. She knew Gilly O’Donoghue would have made a brilliant detective. She was one brave woman.
‘I’ll get the bastard, Gilly. Don’t you worry.’
She stood back to allow McGlynn and his team to enter. For once, the forensic investigator’s eyes did not challenge her. He nodded, and brought his hand to his head in salute. Lottie left the SOCO team to do their work.
* * *
Lottie snatched two pulls of Boyd’s cigarette before returning to the kitchen to see what Hope Cotter had to say for herself. She could have done with a couple of Xanax, but she didn’t have any with her. Maybe she could raid Butler’s fancy bar for a drink. No, she needed her wits about her.
Hope was shivering, despite the heat of the room and the foil blanket placed around her shoulders by a paramedic.
Lottie wanted answers. The most urgent one was: who killed Gilly? The remainder of the inquisition could wait.
‘Who killed my colleague?’ she said.
The girl stared, eyes red-rimmed. She was no more than a child, her shoulders too thin for the weight she was carrying in her heart.
One sound came from her lips. ‘Lexie?’
‘She’s fine. She’s with your uncle Robbie, though social workers are now involved.’ Lottie couldn’t even begin to think of the trouble ahead for Hope. Now, though, it was imperative for the girl to be as cooperative as possible. ‘Please tell me who murdered my friend and colleague.’
‘What was her name?’
‘Gilly.’
‘Gilly was so brave. She saved the other woman. So brave …’ Hope’s shoulders hunched further beneath the crinkling foil.
Leaning in towards her, Lottie put her finger under the girl’s chin and raised her head. ‘Look into my eyes, Hope. This is so important. There’s a little boy missing. His name is Toby Collins. I think whoever attacked you and my colleagues took him.’
‘Toby? Oh no.’
‘I have to find him. His life is in danger. Who was it? Who else was in that room with you?’
Hope swallowed a gulp. ‘The doctor’s wife. Julia. It was her. She was wild. Like a madwoman. Swiping and stabbing. And then she ran out. I don’t know where she went.’
Lottie blew out a sigh. ‘Thanks, Hope. One last thing. How did you get here? Who took you from the industrial estate yesterday?’
‘Rory. He … he was looking for Max, I think. I don’t know.’
‘Why did he tie you up?’
‘He said it was for my own safety. I was manic because he left Lexie alone in that place. Why did he do that?’
‘I don’t know.’ Lottie wondered if they would ever find out. ‘You’re being brought to the hospital to be checked over, then you have to be interviewed. Promise me something.’
‘Anything.’
‘That you won’t run away this time.’
‘No. I won’t. I just want to see my little girl.’
‘I can arrange that.’
When Hope had been brought out to an ambulance, Lottie joined Kirby and Boyd outside.
‘Who killed my Gilly?’ Kirby said.
‘Julia Duffy. Where the fuck is she?’
Eighty-Three
I sit back and look at the painting. I have to admit, it’s not great. Not as good as the one Rory tore from my hands as he stormed from the house last night. I only wanted to gift it to him. To thank my own cousin for giving me the ice house to use as my studio. To tell him I forgave him for everything. For taking our grandfather’s house while I inherited nothing. But he couldn’t understand how I felt. He was like a soul demented as he swore at me and said Paul had taken his son from him. I had no idea who he meant. Surely Rory had no son? But then I realised it had to be one of the two boys. Mikey? Or Kevin? Doesn’t matter to me now; they have been set free.
My studio. My refuge. Away from the demons trawling the walls of my home. I can find peace here.
Turning to the boy lying on the table, I wonder if I am up to this last kill. I must do it. Otherwise I can never be free of the sin visited upon my family by my husband. He never would tell me why he favoured the flesh of young boys and girls over the supple tenderness of mine. I can never forgive him for that. This is the only way to atone.
Before I use the knife, I am startled by the flash of something in the boy’s eyes. Then I hear the sound of footsteps outside. They could not have found this place. My beautiful ice house that Rory promised no one knew of. He took pity on me when I told him, one night after a match, of the need for space away from the domination of my husband. And anyway, hadn’t I cared for our grandfather in his dotage, so maybe I should have something of his estate. The eejit had agreed. Maybe he just wanted to shut me up. I don’t know and I really don’t care.
I had the only key, he said. But he had another key in his hand last night. Before he stormed off in a rage. Maybe I’ll have to deal with him too if I am to keep this refuge.
There it is again. Soft whispers outside. The boy’s eyes are practically bulging out of their sockets. Then I realise he is trying to scream. To call to whoever is out there. I’m glad now that I stuck my painting rag in his mouth to blot out any words he might utter. Ah, that’s why I could not hear what he said a few moments ago.
Now the boy is fighting me. The drug has definitely worn off. But if I try to give him another sleeping pill, I will have to remove the gag. And if he is asleep, I will not see the last vestiges of life leave his eyes. I need to see the dimming of his soul so that I can be free. So that my family is free for eternity.
‘Goodnight, little one. Little Toby.’
I place my hands around his neck and squeeze.
Eighty-Four
The sun slid behind thick black clouds and the humid air heralded thunderstorms. Crashing through the undergrowth with Boyd and Kirby behind her, Lottie twisted and turned trying to find where Julia could have gone.
‘It has to be somewhere close by. Th
e car is still parked up the road.’
‘Slow down,’ Kirby groaned.
She had wanted him to return to the station. To go home. Anywhere but here. But he’d insisted and she hadn’t time to argue. Toby’s life was in her hands.
‘This is the way to the lake shore,’ Boyd said, brushing leaves from his hair. ‘Wait a minute.’
A crack of thunder halted Lottie. She stood up straight.
‘What?’ Boyd said.
‘I’m trying to listen. Shush.’
But she only heard the flap of wings as a flock of swans rose from the lake and headed away from the path of the storm.
‘Remember the map Rory Butler gave us?’ Boyd said. ‘There was a small building marked on it. And if I remember correctly, it’s down that way.’
Lottie turned right, following his pointed finger, and immediately noticed the trampled grass revealing a well-worn path.
‘This way.’ She started to run, ducking and diving beneath overhanging branches. Two minutes later, she came to a halt. ‘Looks like a stone hut.’
Boyd joined her, followed by an out-of-breath Kirby.
‘Take a quick look around,’ she instructed Kirby. He mooched off around the corner and she turned to Boyd. ‘Let’s go in.’
She put her hand on the handle and pushed down hard. ‘It’s locked.’
‘Out of the way.’ Boyd leaned back and lifted his leg, kicking out with all his might. The timber cracked, and with a second kick the door hung open.
Lottie stepped inside with Boyd by her side. The scene did not frighten her as much as the look of stark madness in the woman’s eyes. Her hair was matted to her scalp and her skin, dotted with blood splatter, appeared translucent.
Lottie said, ‘Step away, Julia.’
The woman raised a hand and in the swiftness of a blink grabbed a knife from a table beside an easel and held it above Toby.
Tell Nobody: Absolutely gripping crime fiction with unputdownable mystery and suspense Page 31
