A question burned a line through Lottie’s brain. Could this woman have hanged herself? On first impression, it appeared likely. Had she been jilted? Or had she changed her mind and decided this was the only way out of a wedding? Lottie had a suspicion that all was not as the image projected. Garda Thornton was right. Something was off.
A knock on the door and Boyd said, ‘Can I come in?’
‘There’s no room in here. Wait until I come out. Call SOCOs. Ask for Jim McGlynn.’
She squeezed back out into the hallway. While Boyd made the call, she glanced around the living room again, searching for signs of a disturbance, but couldn’t see a thing out of place. A hat lay on the radiator as if it had been placed there to dry. She put her hand to the radiator, found it to be cold, and noticed a distinct chill in the air. A rug was draped over the back of the chair, and on the seat, she found a mobile phone. Without lifting it, she pressed the home button. No pin was required. The screen had an app for contacts, and icons for phone calls and texts. Nothing else. Lottie thought this a little odd. Everyone she knew had numerous apps. Even her mother used Gmail on her phone.
The only other furniture was a television on a stand, under which rested an ancient brown suitcase. In the kitchenette, everything was neat and tidy. No dishes in the sink or on the draining board. The fridge was well stocked. The carton of milk was in date, as was the tray of chicken fillets.
‘I can’t see a suicide note,’ she said. ‘I’m going to have another look in the bedroom.’
Boyd followed her.
On the bedside cabinet there was a black leather-covered book that looked like a bible. When she opened it, Lottie found that it was a prayer book. The pages were like feathers, soft and light to the touch, and she felt there was something soothing in turning them. She replaced the book and opened the drawer. It held a vial of sleeping pills and a packet of paracetamol. If Cara had wanted to kill herself, why hadn’t she taken the pills? Much easier.
She moved to the wardrobe with its open door. The smell of lavender wafted in the air. Hanging on a rail were jeans, shirts and blouses. A pair of black Nike trainers were on the floor. The plastic covering must have held the wedding dress, she thought.
Kneeling down, Boyd lifted the bedspread from the steel-legged bed and searched beneath it. ‘Nothing under here.’
Back in the living room, Lottie opened the side glass panel of the window. The room was immediately filled with the noise of life. Down below, the canal was frozen. A train eased out of the station with loud screeches. A canal boat was docked by the bridge and a car horn blew somewhere to her right, and she could hear the distinct sound of builders at work somewhere close by. She breathed in the freshness of the morning.
‘If I’d wanted to kill myself, and if I didn’t want to take an overdose, I’d have jumped out the window. What do you think?’ She turned to Boyd.
‘You don’t like heights,’ he said, folding his arms, ‘so you wouldn’t do that.’
‘I’m not afraid of heights.’
‘I’m speaking hypothetically. I thought that was what you were doing.’
‘This apartment is three floors up … Oh, it doesn’t matter.’ She closed the window and turned to Boyd. ‘Did you phone McGlynn?’
‘He’s on his way.’ He yawned and unfolded his arms. ‘Do we need the state pathologist?’
Lottie thought for a moment. Did they need Jane Dore? Everything presented itself as a suicide, but the lack of a note bothered her, as did the scratches on Cara’s neck. ‘Call her assistant. If my gut is wrong, I’ll deal with the aftermath.’
‘The door wasn’t damaged. Did she let someone in?’
‘If she did, then maybe she knew the person who killed her.’
Boyd sighed. ‘That’s if she was killed.’
Lottie shook her head and walked out past him. ‘I’m going to have a word with the neighbour. See if you can find anything that points to suspicious death – and try to get rid of that hangover, it’s making you sluggish. Okay?’
She left him there, his mouth hanging open, in the small cramped hall with a dead woman hanging in a wedding dress behind the door.
Chapter Five
The office was as stuffy as it usually was, but Beth wasn’t allowed to turn off the radiator. Her boss, chief news editor Nick Downes, was sitting with a scarf around his neck and his coat on his shoulders. That man was never warm, she thought.
Writing up her report on the official opening of the Christmas markets had taken her five minutes. She’d have to make up stuff to fill the four columns for the front page. Unless Ryan had taken a decent photograph, she was fecked. What else could she write? Distracted, she glanced at her phone. She’d better remember to bring a couple of bottles of water home, in case her dad hadn’t got the frozen pipes sorted.
As she was about to make a note, a text came up on her phone. She read it, then looked around for Ryan. She caught the photographer’s eye as he walked in the door.
‘Keep your coat on and grab your camera,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘We have a job.’ She turned to her editor. ‘Nick, we have a possible suicide. Okay to take a look and maybe grab a few photos?’
Nick swivelled his chair around, sucking loudly on the end of a pen, his beard swallowing up thin lips. ‘I don’t think it’s in the spirit of Christmas to be infringing on the privacy of a suicide victim’s family, do you?’
Beth stood in the middle of the cramped office, the sleeves of her jacket halfway up her arms, her bag between her legs. ‘What?’
‘You heard me. Have a little compassion.’
What the hell was he on about? ‘This is the second one in three weeks. There might be something fishy going on.’
‘Second what?’
Belligerent was a word she often used to describe her father, and now her editor was earning the same distinction.
‘Second suicide,’ she explained.
‘You caused enough of a stir with your report on the one a few weeks ago. I should never have okayed it,’ Nick said. ‘And who told you there’s been another one?’
Zipping up her jacket, keeping out of his eyeline, Beth bit back the expletive-ridden retort she wanted to shout and considered her position. She was on a six-month rolling contract. She needed the work and couldn’t afford to mess it up by angering her boss. But she couldn’t say it was an anonymous text.
‘I saw it on Twitter,’ she lied.
‘Show me.’
She scrolled through her phone. ‘Oh, it’s been taken down.’
‘What do you mean, taken down?’
He was a dinosaur.
‘Sometimes the Twitter administrators delete inappropriate content. You know, if a complaint is made.’
‘Aha! You see. And you wanted to spread inappropriate content on the front page of our next edition. Take off your coat and sit down. Finish the Christmas markets article. That’s what our readers want. A feel-good story on the front page. Don’t forget, later on you have to cover the switching-on of the lights.’
Beth did as she was told.
‘Are we leaving or not?’ Ryan said, looping the strap of his camera bag over his shoulder.
‘Shut up and sit down,’ Beth and Nick said in unison.
Trying to keep his annoyance invisible, Ryan Slevin shoved his rolled-up jacket under the desk and nudged the mouse to activate his computer. After linking his camera to the console, he waited and watched the screen as the Christmas market photographs he’d taken earlier loaded.
Chewing on his lip, he considered the images, deciding he would need to use Photoshop to make them newsworthy. Most were shady and dark, snapped underneath the canopies hanging over the huts lined along the street. He kept scrolling. At least he had captured a few with kids in them. Kids sold newspapers, Nick always said. Ryan hoped he could spell the names. Most of them had been on their way to the library. Without parental permission, he was winging it. Their teacher had said it was okay, s
o what the heck. Kids sold newspapers.
He felt a shadow at his shoulder while he worked. Then it flittered over his desk and clouded the screen.
‘Watching kiddie porn, are you, Ryan?’
He automatically hit the screen saver before looking up at Beth, with her wide smile, twinkling eyes and long, glossy black hair.
‘Feck off,’ he said.
‘I need a fairly large photo, or maybe four or five in a montage, to cover four columns on the front page.’ She sat on the edge of his desk. He felt like she was violating his personal space.
‘Why?’
‘Because I’ve feck all to write about. Anyway, kids sell—’
‘Newspapers.’ He laughed. ‘Leave it with me.’ As she moved back to her desk, he added, ‘Have you written the piece already?’
‘What’s to write? Some dude dressed up as Santa Claus singing Rudolph out of tune and pressing a dummy switch to light up the stalls. In the morning. For Christ’s sake.’
‘It was kind of dark.’ He knew his argument was lame.
‘Nice wide smiles on happy faces, Ryan. That’s all we need to keep the boss happy.’
He un-snoozed the screen and scrolled once again. That was when he saw it. In the photograph. He clicked the mouse, zoomed in. It couldn’t be. Could it?
‘Shit.’
‘What?’ Beth said.
‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t mess them up.’
‘I’ve been here a damn sight longer than you, so don’t be giving me orders.’ He was only half joking as he returned his gaze to the screen.
Tapping his foot nervously on the floor, he wondered about the image he’d taken, and a shiver raced down his spine.
Chapter Six
Eve Clarke’s apartment was in stark contrast to Cara Dunne’s. Deep hues of primary-coloured paint and bright furniture gave it an air of modernism. Eve poured two mugs of coffee from a carafe. The aroma distilled a smell Lottie recognised as an undercurrent of alcohol and cigarettes. She sat on a bright yellow chair with red cushions and took the offered cup.
‘It’s just awful about Cara,’ Eve said as she sat opposite.
The coffee was good. Lottie felt it warm up her toes. Eve was staring at her, eyes wide behind gold-rimmed spectacles. Her black denim jeans were pressed, her white shirt immaculate, with two buttons open at the neck showing a circle of wrinkles. She was stick thin, perhaps in her mid fifties. Her hands were the giveaway. A ravine of liver spots speckled the skin.
‘Did you know her well?’
‘Only to say hello.’ Eve’s face was closed. No sign of tears for her dead neighbour.
‘But you became suspicious that something had happened to her. Why was that?’
‘The walls in these apartments are paper thin. If my neighbour’s baby cries, on the other side, I can hear it. That’s the Cullens. I never hear a peep from Cara’s. Not even the television.’
‘So what alerted you?’
‘Raised voices, followed by nothing for about ten minutes. Then the door banged.’
‘Was it unusual for her to have visitors?’
‘In recent months, yes.’
‘And you’re at home all day, every day?’
Eve blushed. ‘I used to work, but then my marriage broke down. I went abroad for a number of years. Since returning to Ragmullin, I haven’t been able to get a job.’
‘How long have you been living here?’ Lottie cast a glance around the uncluttered apartment.
‘Just under a year.’
‘And Cara has been living next door all that time?’
‘She was there before I arrived.’
‘You live alone?’ Lottie thought the apartment lacked the appearance of anyone actually inhabiting it. Though on further thought, the stale smell countered that argument.
‘Yes.’
‘Can you tell me what Cara was like?’
‘Inspector, is this really necessary? I just found her body. I didn’t do anything to her.’
‘I need all the information I can get at the initial stages of an investigation.’
‘Investigation? You think she was killed, then?’
‘I didn’t say that. Has Cara any family?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Right.’ Lottie felt like this conversation was getting her nowhere. She placed her mug on the coffee table. ‘Had you ever been in her apartment before this morning?’
‘Never.’
‘How did you gain entry, then?’
‘She called to my door a few weeks after I moved in. Asked if I would hold her spare key in case she got locked out. I agreed. After that, we only ever spoke in the hallway when we bumped into each other.’
‘Let me get this straight. You heard voices and a door banging, so you went to investigate. What did you do exactly?’
‘I knocked on her door. There was no answer. I thought maybe she had gone out. I came back here, and that’s when it struck me that I’d heard two voices shouting. It seemed odd, you know, when normally I hear nothing.’
‘What happened then?’
‘I got my keys, went next door again. When I still got no reply, I said to myself that I had nothing to lose. I opened the door, called her name. Then I saw her coat hanging in the hallway. In this weather, no one goes out without a coat. I noticed the bathroom door slightly open. I thought, what if she’d fallen in the shower? I decided to have a quick look. That’s when … you know …’ She breathed out a long sigh after her speech.
Lottie thought it sounded rehearsed. As if Eve had spent the last hour reciting it in front of a mirror. For now, she let it pass. ‘What did you do next?’
‘I ran back here, got my phone and called 999.’
‘Did you check if she was dead?’
Eve’s features folded inwards. ‘I remembered there’s a doctor’s surgery on the ground floor. I ran down the three flights of stairs and got him to come up. He checked her and said to wait for the ambulance and guards.’
More DNA and fingerprints, Lottie thought. That was if it turned into a murder investigation.
‘Okay,’ she said, keeping her voice neutral.
‘Did I do something wrong?’
‘There’s no right or wrong. You did the correct thing in getting the doctor before the emergency services arrived.’
Eve exhaled, and a crease appeared on her forehead. ‘She looked dead. She is dead, isn’t she?’
‘She is.’
‘Oh, thank God.’ Eva blushed. ‘I don’t mean thank God she’s dead, just that I didn’t leave a dying woman hanging there.’
‘I know what you mean.’ Lottie stood. ‘Did Cara have a job?’
‘She was a teacher, as far as I know.’
‘Which school?’
‘I’ve no idea. Like I said, I didn’t really know her.’
‘One other thing. Her coat and hat were damp. Do you know where she might have been earlier this morning?’
‘Mass, probably. I think she went every morning.’
‘She was religious?’
Eve put down her mug and stood to lead Lottie to the door. ‘You’re not aware, then, are you?’
‘Aware of what?’
‘Cara was engaged to be married, but the last I heard it was all off. Since then, she’s not been to work, and she’s gone to Mass every day. I think she was praying for him to come back.’
‘Who?’
‘Her ex-fiancé.’
‘Who was he?’
Eve hesitated. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Are you sure?’
The woman looked uncomfortable as she nodded.
And Lottie knew she was lying.
Out in the corridor, Lottie was confronted by an irate-looking Jim McGlynn.
‘In my opinion, it’s a waste of time calling out SOCOs to suicides. We’ve enough to be doing.’ He was suitably attired for the job in hand. Above his face mask, a pair of emerald eyes bored holes into Lottie’s.
Ignoring his
gripe, she said, ‘Have you had a look yet?’
‘I’ve only just arrived. Will you give me a chance?’
‘I want to see the belt around Cara’s neck when you have it examined.’ Standing to one side, she let him pass just as another man came from the stairs.
He put out his hand. ‘You must be Detective Inspector Lottie Parker.’
‘I am.’ She shook his hand. ‘And you are …?’
‘Tim Jones. Assistant to the state pathologist. I believe you have a suspicious death for me to have a gander at.’
After checking his ID, Lottie indicated the open door to the apartment. ‘Cara Dunne. Hanged with a belt tied to a valve over the bathroom door. After assessing the scene, I’m not sure she could have done it herself. We need your expert opinion.’
‘Let me at her,’ Jones said, and followed McGlynn into the apartment.
Lottie caught Boyd’s eye where he stood by the emergency exit door at the opposite end of the hallway. He shrugged his shoulders.
‘Inappropriate turn of phrase,’ she said, joining him.
‘Nothing I haven’t heard from you before,’ he smirked.
She pointed at the door. ‘Have you been out there?’
‘Waiting for you.’ He pushed down on the steel bar and the door swung open. Concrete steps led both up and down. ‘I tend to agree with you, though.’
‘In what respect?’ Lottie followed him up the steps.
‘That the death looks suspicious. If you take into account the victim’s short stature and the fact that that stool was low, it doesn’t tally. I think someone murdered her.’ He pushed through another door out onto the roof, making sure to leave the door ajar.
Lottie leaned on the iron railing and looked out over the frosty canal and railway tracks. A train shunted into the station; mist stilled the air in its wake. ‘She was a teacher. We need to find out where she taught and talk to her colleagues, and find her friends.’
‘Right.’
‘She had an engagement broken off recently.’
‘Interesting. Places in a new light the fact that she was dressed in a wedding dress.’
Broken Souls: An absolutely addictive mystery thriller with a brilliant twist (Detective Lottie Parker Book 7) Page 3
