* * *
Lottie rushed home and quickly changed into dry clothes. She checked in on Chloe but she was fast asleep.
Milot was sitting on Katie’s knee in the kitchen, eating chicken nuggets. Lottie sat down and looked at her daughter. She thought how it was only a few short years since Katie had been a child herself, and now she was just a shadow. Jason’s death really had hit her hard.
‘Granny went home,’ Katie told her. ‘I found these nuggets in the freezer and threw them in the oven. He seems to like them.’
Milot smiled and a chunk of chicken fell out of his mouth.
‘I’ve tissues somewhere.’ Lottie opened up her deep leather bag. She set aside the photo of Mimoza and Milot she’d got from Russell. It needed to go up on the incident board. Fishing around for the tissues, she pulled out till receipts and chocolate bar wrappers.
‘It doesn’t matter, Mam.’ Katie found a kitchen roll. She tore off a piece and wiped Milot’s mouth.
Lottie crumpled up the receipts. Her bag could do with a good clean-out. She glanced at the clock and scrabbled around in the mess. Pulling out a bundle of post, she scanned through it: mainly bills. She crumpled each one up, trying not to think of her depleted bank balance. Her hand stopped and she stared. The envelope that had held Mimoza’s note. Suddenly she recalled that there had been something besides the letter in it. With everything that had happened, she’d totally forgotten about it.
‘Mam, what are you at?’ Katie tidied up the table and took Milot by the hand.
‘It’s such a mess,’ Lottie said. ‘Is Milot okay?’
‘We’re going to watch some television, aren’t we, Milot?’
‘Keep an eye on Chloe. I’m worried about her.’
‘Whatever.’
Katie brought the child into the sitting room and Lottie heard the sounds of The Lion King blaring. I’m right to keep him here, she thought. Now I just need to find his mum.
Throwing everything else back into her bag, she opened Mimosa’s envelope and took out the material that was lying in the bottom fold. It was a narrow piece of green canvas about two and a half centimetres in depth and maybe fifteen centimetres in length. Velcro on one side. She turned it over. Deep green stitching embossed the edges. Her bag slid from her knee to the floor and she gasped as she realised what she was looking at. An army badge. Perfectly spaced capital letters, embroidered down the centre, spelled out a name. PARKER.
‘What’s that?’ Katie asked, coming back to the kitchen and opening the refrigerator.
Before her daughter could see it, Lottie picked up her bag and shoved the canvas badge inside.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Nothing at all.’
Her hands shook fiercely and her legs twitched up and down. She took deep breaths, staring at the ceiling and trying to focus her thoughts. Why had Mimoza come to her house? What was her note all about? And how could she be in possession of Adam’s army name badge? Was it really Adam’s? Logic told her it had to be.
Her phone beeped a text from Boyd. Meet at Weir’s yard.
Mimoza. She had to find Mimoza.
Only then could she find out the truth.
FIFTY-ONE
Lottie rushed through the taped cordon at Weir’s depot. The rain had ceased but its aftermath failed to lift the mugginess from the air.
Trying to keep her mind off the army badge burning a hole in the bottom of her bag, she looked at the white van with its door hanging off. It sat on top of two squashed cars and another appeared to totter precariously on top of it. Weir had assured them it was secure. She didn’t know whether to believe him or not.
‘What have we got here?’ she asked.
‘Small van. White. Ready for crushing,’ Boyd said.
‘You know what I mean. What am I looking at?’
‘Blood trace on the floor, near the rear door.’
‘Animal or human?’
‘Samples have been taken by SOCOs. God knows when we’ll get a result.’
‘I don’t care about God. When will I know?’ Lottie scanned the area. ‘Has everything been examined? Nothing else found? What have you been doing? Jesus.’ She paced around in small circles, then turned to face Boyd.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ he said. ‘Calm down.’
She shifted up close to him. ‘Do not tell me to calm down. Do you hear me?’
‘Loud and clear.’
Pacing again, she said, ‘Check Weir’s records. Find out who owned the van, who brought it here and when.’
The metal was giving off so much heat it was like electric charges, as if the sun was testing just how far it could go before melting everything.
Lottie sighed, rubbing her hand through her hair. ‘I’m having a bad day, Boyd.’
‘When do you ever have a good one? Rhetorical question.’
‘Anything else in the van?’
‘SOCOs did a sweep. Clean. Too clean, really. Not a whisper of dirt. It’s like it got a good valeting. Why do that if you’re scrapping it? But whoever cleaned it missed the speck of blood.’
‘Maybe it was planted.’
‘What? Why would someone do that?’
‘I’ve no idea, but the van needs further examination. Arrange it.’
She took a few photos with her phone camera and noticed the time.
‘Oh Jesus Christ.’
‘What now?’ Boyd asked.
‘Sean had a counselling session. I was to pick him up from school. It’s too late now.’
‘You need to slow down, Lottie.’
‘You need to stay here and see if anything else turns up.’
* * *
Back at the station, she scooted up the stairs to the incident room. Ignoring the phone conversations going on around her, she pinned up the photograph of Mimoza and Milot given to her by Dan Russell earlier.
Sitting on a wobbly-legged chair in front of the board, she thought about the army badge. Not now, she told herself. A torrent of tiredness washed up over her, and she felt she was about to fall.
‘I’ll have to go home,’ she said to Lynch, who waved a hand from behind a mound of paperwork. ‘See you for a few hours tomorrow. Is that okay?’ she added.
‘Really? Tomorrow’s Saturday,’ Lynch said, looking up.
‘I’m well aware of what day it is, but we’re in the middle of two murder investigations and—’
‘Okay, boss, no need for the lecture. I’ll be here.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.’
‘Go home. You’re wrecked.’
Picking up her bag, Lottie hoisted it over her shoulder. She had no idea how she could keep her work from impinging on her home life. Five days back, and already the hectic pace was catching up with her.
She was glad to be going home to her family. She wanted to hug her three children. Tightly.
With a sigh, she headed down the stairs, waved at the desk sergeant and went home.
Boyd stormed into the incident room. His mood didn’t improve when he couldn’t find Lottie.
Glancing at the board, he noticed a new photo pinned there. He moved closer to get a better look.
‘Jesus Christ!’ He stared and touched the photograph before pulling his hand away as if it was burned.
‘What’s up?’ Kirby sauntered up behind him.
Sweat collected on the palms of Boyd’s trembling hands. He stuffed them into his trouser pockets. Nodding at the photograph, he said, ‘Who are they?’
‘Don’t know. Only just got back.’
‘Boss put them up,’ Lynch said, raising her head, phone clutched between chin and shoulder.
‘Where is she?’ Boyd asked.
‘Where I should be,’ Lynch said, gathering up an armload of files. ‘At home.’
Boyd hurried back to their office, Kirby in tow.
‘Spit it out,’ Kirby said.
‘It’s her.’
‘Who’s her?’
‘The photo.’
‘It’s gett
ing late and my brain is tired. What are you talking about?’
‘The girl in the brothel,’ Boyd said.
‘Shh. Will you be quiet? What girl in what brothel?’ Kirby whispered.
‘That den of iniquity you brought me to the other night. The girl in the photo is the one I saw there.’
‘That’s shite!’
‘It’s not shite. I told you I wasn’t with anyone. I remember waking up on the stairs. But I saw her before I left. I could never forget those eyes.’
‘You’re serious. Why has the boss got her photo up on the noticeboard?’
Boyd thought for a moment. What was Lottie on to? Who was this girl?
Kirby was breathing down his neck. ‘At least you got your wallet back.’
‘What? Yes.’ Boyd shouldered Kirby away from him and sat at his desk. He got out the wallet, opened it and slid out the piece of material he’d seen when he paid for his cigarettes. He spread it on the desk. Smudged writing. From what he could make out, it wasn’t in English.
‘What’s that?’ Kirby asked.
‘Don’t even ask. Go away.’
Kirby shrugged and strolled over to his own desk.
Boyd stared at the writing. Was the girl sending a message? How was he going to explain this to Lottie?
He placed the material into a small plastic evidence bag and slipped it inside his wallet. Leaning into his chair, hands interlocked behind his head, he closed his eyes. How was he going to talk his way out of this one?
FIFTY-TWO
Katie had attempted to cook dinner. Eggs, sausages and oven chips. Milot liked it anyway. Sean took his plate to his room and Chloe hadn’t appeared from her bedroom.
‘Later,’ she shouted from upstairs.
‘You’ll eat down here, miss. Downstairs. Now!’ Lottie shouted.
‘Did you contact anyone about Milot?’ Katie asked.
‘I left a message,’ she lied. ‘They’ll probably ring me tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow is Saturday.’
‘I know. I’ll try them again in the morning in any case.’
‘I hope you find his mum.’
‘Me too.’
Chloe refused to come down for dinner. Lottie was too tired to push it. But soon she would have to lay down the law and regain control. Soon.
When she was alone in the kitchen, she took the badge out of her handbag, turned it round and round in her hand. PARKER. It had to have belonged to Adam. But how had Mimoza got it? And then there was Dan Russell with his insinuations and threats. So many intrusive thoughts throwing up disturbing questions with no answers. Wandering around her kitchen, closing windows that had been open all day, Lottie knew she had to do something.
Her mother had boxed up most of Adam’s stuff after he had died. ‘You don’t want to be looking at this in the state you’re in,’ she had said. Lottie would have agreed to anything to get her mother off her radar so that she could drink away her pain. Those boxes were now in Rose’s attic. Could they hold the answers? Without rationalising her actions, she made her decision.
‘I’m going to Granny’s. Be back in a while,’ she called up the stairs and ran out to her car. She had to do this before she changed her mind.
* * *
The gate creaked as she pushed it inwards. No sign of life. Windows closed. Curtains drawn.
She rang the doorbell. No response. Her mother was probably out on her do-good chores with the homeless.
Lottie had her own key. She unlocked the door and entered the dusky hallway. It was hollow with silence. The aroma of coffee drifted towards her. In the kitchen, she held her hand to the kettle. Warm. A mug with a crescent of coffee in the bottom sat in the sink along with a plate and knife. The hum of the refrigerator the only sound breaking the silence.
‘Mother?’ Lottie shouted, her voice reverberating around the bungalow.
No reply. Good, she thought and went back to the hall. The attic was fitted with a fold-down ladder. Taking the rod from the top of the living room door, she placed it in the brass hole and pulled. The steps hit the tiled floor with a thunk.
Standing on the top step, she felt around and found the light switch. A cool yellow beam cast eerie shadows as she hauled herself into the confined area. No dust or cobwebs. Just oppressive heat. Boxes were stacked on shelves, colour-coded, and a clipboard lay on the floor in front of her.
The list was in alphabetical order, with a colour linked to each name. There were four with ‘LOTTIE’ in red. She noted one with ‘DAD’ in black, and another with ‘EDWARD’ in blue. Her heart flipped at the thought of her brother. She dearly wanted to root around in those, especially since her mother was not around. But she knew she would have to leave them for another day. Her immediate conundrum consumed her enough.
She drew her eyes back to the first entry on the list: ‘ADAM’, the colour green marked beside it. She only wanted to touch some of his things. To feel close to him again. To eradicate the misgivings Dan Russell’s insinuations had planted in her brain.
Bracing herself, she put down the clipboard and crawled further into the claustrophobic attic.
‘You took your time. Hope you weren’t trying to avoid me.’
Boyd locked his car and glanced over at Jackie, leaning against his apartment door, smoking a cigarette. She held a bottle of wine in her other hand and wore skin-tight jeans, with a black halter top accentuating her leathery tan. Boyd didn’t need Jackie in his life right now, but Lottie had tasked him to find out about Jamie McNally.
‘What do you want?’ He went to put his key in the door, thought better of it. Didn’t want her following him inside.
‘You never rang me. You promised we could talk.’
So he had.
‘It’s been a tough day, Jackie. Can we do this tomorrow?’
‘Every day is a tough day with you, Marcus. Never a good time to put me first. Will you ever change?’
‘Where you’re concerned, the answer is no.’
‘Narky boots. Let me in. Even if you don’t want to talk, I do.’ She stubbed out her cigarette.
Boyd turned the key and ushered her inside. For once, he hoped his phone would ring, summoning him back to work. Knowing how his day had gone so far, he doubted his luck would turn.
With his back to Jackie, he phoned Lottie. Maybe she could rescue him. No answer. He’d try again in a few minutes.
He sighed and looked at his not-yet-ex-wife. ‘Want a drink?’
Searching through the attic, Lottie found two plastic boxes with a green mark. Two boxes for Adam’s stuff. Not much to show for a lifetime, even one cut short. She double-checked. ‘ADAM’ was written in black marker on the side.
They were midway up the rack. A see-through crate of ceramic ornaments sat on top of them. Hefting down the heavy box, she placed it behind her. She blew out a breath and removed the first box of Adam’s things. Her phone vibrated in her jeans pocket; she ignored it.
Beneath the cracked lid she was faced with bundles of sympathy cards. Don’t look at them, she told herself. She hadn’t read them at the time; she wasn’t going to do so now. Placing them behind her, she knelt down to search through the remaining items.
A sheaf of bills, invoices and chequebook stubs. Funeral expenses. A pile of Adam’s ties and socks lined the bottom of the box. They’d been scattered through the house, she remembered, and after the funeral she’d gone around picking them up, determined to throw them in the bin. Her mother had stopped her. One day you’ll thank me, she had said. Maybe today was that day.
Lottie held a tie in her hand, still knotted. She’d regularly tied the knot for him. Adam could never get it right, always with the inside bit longer than the outside bit. Smiling, she laid it to one side.
She found two of his work notebooks and remembered how he was forever writing things down. Flicking through one, she gulped back a sob. His handwriting seemed so familiar, yet she hadn’t seen it in such a long time. Dates, events, names, vehicle registrations. Military work.
Every page was full. Adam hadn’t liked waste. Memories floated in front of her eyes. But no tears. They had already been shed, too many of them. She forced herself to focus. The dates were for the year before he died. Nothing any further back. No use to her now.
Pulling down the second carton, she noted it was lighter. Photograph albums. Old and well thumbed. Holidays. Sun and smiles. Years of family. Christmas, first day at school, hurling matches, fishing. A previous lifetime but all very familiar. She became so engrossed in the memories she didn’t realise how long she’d been looking at them until she heard the front door open and bang shut. She jumped involuntarily, and the albums on top of the pile slid to the floor.
‘Lottie Parker, what are you doing up there?’
‘I’ll be down in a minute.’
Hurriedly Lottie returned the albums to the box and gathered up the ones she had dropped. Beside them, a faded photograph lay on the chipboard floor. She picked it up.
‘Oh my God!’ she cried, looking at it in shock.
‘Lottie! What’s wrong? Are you okay?’ Rose shouted from the bottom rung of the ladder.
She had to get out of the attic. Without clearing up the mess she had made, she scuttled backwards on hands and knees and made her way down the steps. Ignoring her mother, she rushed out of the house and into her car, where she rested her head on the steering wheel. What the hell had Adam done?
FIFTY-THREE
Even though it was an hour to midnight, the sky still held a steely blue hue. The full moon cast an eerie glow, highlighting the leaves on trees at the bottom of the garden.
After she had fled her mother’s house, Lottie had flung herself into her kitchen armchair and slipped into an uncomfortable sleep. She was awakened by her mother phoning to see if everything was all right.
‘Yes, I’m fine. I was looking through Adam’s stuff. Something Chloe wanted for a project.’
‘Why did you run out like that?’
‘I saw a mouse. Sorry. It just frightened me.’
The Stolen Girls Page 20
