Broken Souls: An absolutely addictive mystery thriller with a brilliant twist (Detective Lottie Parker Book 7)

by Patricia Gibney

‘I’m afraid you’ll fall down a rabbit hole like Alice in Wonderland and be lost for ever.’

  ‘You wish.’ She smiled to herself as Boyd kept pace behind her. ‘Anyway, Alice got back out.’

  ‘Knew you’d have a smart reply.’

  ‘Wait up. Hold my torch. Shine it there.’ She paused at a break highlighted in the hedge.

  ‘This is ludicrous. Kavanagh is a solicitor, for God’s sake.’

  ‘All the more reason.’

  As Boyd held the two torches, she considered the tiny gap. Pulling aside bramble branches, she made an opening large enough to squeeze through. She held back the briars with the sleeve of her jacket over her hand for protection and watched Boyd grunt and grumble as he joined her on the other side.

  ‘This is totally illegal,’ he said, straightening up.

  Bits of dead leaves stuck to his hair and Lottie plucked them out. She slid her arm around his waist and leaned into him.

  ‘Not now, Lottie.’ He pulled away from her as if she’d scalded him with boiling water.

  ‘I can’t figure you out,’ she said, feeling a chill of rejection knot her chest.

  ‘That makes two of us. Come on.’

  Making their way stealthily, they came to the edge of what she supposed was a vast lawn. The torches guided them as they crept forward.

  ‘I don’t see his car,’ Lottie said, still irritated by Boyd’s rebuke.

  ‘Could be in the garage.’

  ‘Keep that beam low. You don’t want to alert dogs.’

  ‘Dogs?’ Boyd said. ‘You never mentioned he had dogs.’

  ‘I don’t know if he has or not. Just be careful.’

  ‘Remind me again why we’re doing this?’

  Pausing, she said, ‘Kavanagh’s been on to the station constantly demanding we find Lily, and yet he was seen by Beth at her father’s garage shortly before Christy’s body was found. I just want to see if he’s home or not.’

  ‘He didn’t open the gate for us. That tells me he’s not home.’

  ‘Maybe he is.’

  ‘Or maybe he’s out searching for Lily.’

  ‘Or he’s pretending to be mourning the death of a friend while trying to figure out how to deflect the blame away from himself.’

  ‘You think Kavanagh killed Christy Clarke?’

  ‘I’ll hold my thoughts until the post-mortem is completed and SOCOs have done their jobs.’

  ‘So we’re breaking and entering on one of your whims?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  They reached the house. It loomed up in the dark, as forbidding as it had been yesterday when she’d been here with Kirby.

  ‘Do you think I should ring the doorbell?’

  ‘Lottie, there isn’t one light on in the house. He’s not here. Come on, it’s time we went home.’

  ‘Give me a minute.’ Shining the torch along a pebbled pathway, she followed the beam around the side. She put one foot on the paving at the rear of the house and suddenly motion sensors triggered lights attached to the back wall.

  ‘Shit!’ She jumped backwards into Boyd, who leaped away from her.

  ‘Holy God, you scared the gizzard out of me,’ he gasped. ‘Now you’ve done it.’

  ‘I have, haven’t I?’ She stepped further forward and listened. ‘At least there’s no alarm going off.’

  ‘Bit useless out in the middle of nowhere.’ Boyd pocketed his redundant torch. ‘Do you even have an idea of what you’re looking for?’

  ‘Not really.’

  Peering in through the windows, she saw no sign of life. She tried the latch on the back door. Locked. She moved further along. Still nothing. As she went to make her way down the expansive lawn surrounded by hedges, every light inside the house suddenly came on.

  Colin Kavanagh stood at his back door.

  Lottie walked up to Kavanagh, straightening her shoulders, Boyd at her side.

  ‘Can we have a word?’ she said.

  ‘I’m calling your superintendent,’ Kavanagh said, rage filled spittle shooting from his mouth.

  ‘Acting superintendent,’ Lottie said.

  ‘I’m calling the Garda Commissioner. The Minister for Justice, or whoever I can lay my hands on, will learn of your trespassing. You will be arrested for this.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ But she wasn’t. ‘When you didn’t answer the intercom, we thought something dreadful might have happened to you, so we decided to conduct a search of the area to see if access could be gained another way. Did you know there’s a gap in your defences?’

  ‘Do you think I came down in the last shower of rain?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Boyd interjected. Lottie caught his glare and turned her head. ‘We’re sorry for having disturbed you. We’ll be on our way now.’

  She squared up to Kavanagh. ‘Why didn’t you let us in?’

  ‘I’ve just arrived home.’

  ‘Oh, where have you been?’

  ‘None of your goddam business. Now leave, or my first call will be to your superintendent.’

  ‘Acting superintendent,’ Lottie reminded him again.

  ‘I’m adding arrogance and ignorance to my opinion of you.’ Kavanagh’s face flared under the back-door light. The whole area was lit up like a Christmas tree, and Lottie thought he looked like Santa Claus. He just needed the beard.

  ‘Can you account for your whereabouts this afternoon?’

  ‘Huh! Not to you I won’t.’

  ‘When did you last see Christy Clarke?’

  ‘He was here this morning, if you must know.’

  ‘Why was he here?’

  ‘He called for a chat.’

  ‘Oh. And what was the chat about?’

  ‘Inspector Parker, that is nothing to do with you. It would answer you better to find my daughter.’

  ‘Why were you at Clarke’s Garage today?’

  ‘No comment.’ He stepped closer, and Lottie could smell a sweet, tangy odour coming from his body. ‘Tell me, what exactly are you doing to find my daughter?’

  ‘We have a dedicated team working to locate her. Which reminds me, I will need a detailed itinerary of where you were all day yesterday and what you were doing.’

  He straightened his back, towering over her. ‘What are you accusing me of?’

  Lottie was not easily intimidated. ‘I’m asking pertinent questions that I’m sure you as a solicitor would agree with. What do you keep in that cabin?’ She pointed to a shed-like structure under the trees at the end of the lawn.

  ‘If you were doing your job, you’d know that your people have already searched my property. Leave. Now.’

  ‘I’m certain you already know, but Christy Clarke was found dead this afternoon. I’d appreciate it if you could come to the station tomorrow morning for a formal interview. No need to bring a solicitor. I’m sure you can advise yourself.’

  With that, she grabbed Boyd by the sleeve and steered him around the side of the house and onto the gravel avenue.

  ‘His car is there now,’ Boyd said. ‘He was telling the truth about being out.’

  Lottie kept moving at a gallop. ‘Let’s see what we can get out of him tomorrow.’

  ‘You won’t get a chance. He’ll have McMahon whipping your arse.’

  ‘I’d really like to know where he was before he arrived home just now,’ she said, clipping in her seat belt as the gates slowly slid closed and Colin Kavanagh’s house was plunged into darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The incident room was abuzz when they returned to the station.

  ‘Why all the phone activity?’ Lottie said.

  ‘Kavanagh’s just offered a twenty-thousand-euro reward for information about Lily,’ Kirby said.

  ‘Shit. All the cranks and crazies will be out now.’

  She shook off her coat and moved to the head of the room, each footstep imprinting her anger on the floor. She had no idea how to obstruct her daughters’ plans to go away for Christmas. If she kept working, she might be cal
m enough to have a half-decent conversation with the girls when she got home.

  Appraising the incident boards, she noted the victims’ photographs and wondered if Christy Clarke’s picture was about to join them. It was piercing her chest like a thorn bush, the feeling that Clarke’s death had not been by his own hand. Or if it had been, had someone coerced, blackmailed or threatened him into killing himself? On the second board, the photo of Lily Heffernan.

  She faced the room.

  ‘Listen up, guys. Come on,’ she cajoled. ‘It’s late and I’ve a home to get to, and I’m sure you all have too. First of all, I want to update you on the recent death of Christy Clarke in Ballydoon village.’ She filled them in as best she could, then, having determined that there was still no sighting of Lily, she continued, ‘Where are we in relation to the investigation into the death of Cara Dunne?’

  The door had been left open to allow air to circulate, and she noticed McMahon lounging against the door, his arms folded tightly across his waistcoated chest. His eyes were boring through her. Shite!

  Kirby said, ‘We have a history of Cara’s work life to date. A very simple work history if you want my opinion. When she finished college, she joined the Convent of Mercy primary school, where she taught for ten years. Her colleagues say she was a hard but fair teacher. Even the kids’ parents liked her.’

  ‘You need to find out about her life before she went to college.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘Anything in relation to Steve O’Carroll?’

  ‘He was an okay guy, according to Cara’s teacher friends. Their words, not mine. One said that Cara was so in love she tended to neglect her friends, and she was completely devastated when he broke it off.’

  ‘O’Carroll said she harassed him. Any reports on that?’

  Kirby shook his head. ‘No. The other things we already know. She found religion. Went to Mass daily. Visited the abbey nursing home weekly.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Lottie bunched her hands into fists. This was getting them nowhere. ‘Any mention of Father Curran?’

  ‘Give me a minute.’ Kirby licked his finger and flicked through the papers on his knee.

  ‘Why don’t you use an iPad?’ McKeown grinned. ‘You can take notes in your phone and sync it—’

  ‘Here it is,’ Kirby said, holding up a crumpled page. ‘Father Michael Curran. He gave her a reference for the job at the school.’

  ‘He must have known her or her family,’ Lottie said.

  ‘Will I interview him about it?’

  ‘Leave it to me.’ Lottie kept her focus on her team and avoided catching McMahon’s eye. Thinking about her chat with the priest, she decided to go for it. She looked at Kirby. ‘Anything to link the priest to Robert Brady?’

  ‘Not so far.’ His cheeks reddened and Lottie guessed he hadn’t done much investigating. He said, ‘I’ve just started, really.’

  She glanced up from under her lashes to the back of the room. McMahon was still there. She didn’t want to mention Colin Kavanagh because she sensed he was the reason her boss was lingering.

  ‘Anything further to report on Fiona Heffernan’s death?’ she said, bungling on into the abyss.

  McKeown said, ‘I’m finding it difficult to trace the wedding dresses.’

  ‘So much for your fancy iPad.’ Bitch was her middle name today. ‘Didn’t I ask for a second-by-second account of each victim’s movements?’ Vacant stares greeted her. She was losing control of her team. ‘Tomorrow, guys, I want reports on my desk.’

  ‘Right, boss.’

  ‘We have someone killing brides-to-be or ex-brides-to-be, and once the media get a handle on this, we’ll have headlines striking fear into the heart of Ragmullin.’ She glanced at the photo on the second board. ‘Fiona’s daughter, Lily. What’s been done to find her?’

  ‘I have uniforms scouring all the CCTV we’ve recovered from the area,’ McKeown said. ‘I’ve put out a request for dash-cam footage for the relevant time on Wednesday, and Colin Kavanagh has organised a TV appeal, so—’

  ‘Inspector Parker. My office.’

  Lottie caught sight of McMahon’s back as he exited with a swivel on the heel of his polished shoe. The onslaught was going to hit her at some stage; she might as well face it now.

  ‘Right. Be back here at seven a.m.’ She gathered her things and picked up her bag from the floor.

  ‘Do you want me with you?’ Boyd asked as she swept by him. ‘For moral support?’

  ‘Thanks, but I think one of us getting into trouble is enough for now.’

  Throwing her bag on the floor, Lottie leaned against the wall. McMahon’s office only had one chair. His own. She supposed it made him feel powerful making people uneasy. Well, feck him. She clutched the files to her chest and waited. He marched around his desk and sat, a squeal of air escaping from the leather beneath him. He ran his hand along the rim of his coal black fringe as if wiping perspiration from his brow, then looked up at her.

  ‘Colin Kavanagh,’ he said. His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

  ‘Sir. What about him?’

  ‘What did you do to him?’

  ‘Not a damn thing.’

  ‘You must have done something, because he’s been on the phone to me.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Exactly. Shit.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘Well it’s like this. I went to talk to him about the death of Christy Clarke, who was found in Ballydoon with his brains painted on the wall behind where his head used to be—’

  ‘Quit the melodramatics.’

  She suddenly wished she had somewhere to sit. The files in her arms weighed a ton. ‘A witness saw Kavanagh sniffing around Clarke’s Garage. I wanted to interview him. About that, and about Fiona and Lily.’

  ‘And you decided to sniff around Kavanagh’s property while he wasn’t there, is that it?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I had no idea if he was there or not.’

  He smiled, his teeth gleaming in the artificial light. ‘Good work.’

  Had she misheard him? ‘Good work?’

  ‘I’m being sarcastic, Inspector. His daughter is missing and you go rattling his cage. Have you no sense?’ He held up a hand. ‘No, don’t answer that.’

  She let out a strangled sigh. ‘Anything else, sir?’

  McMahon’s sardonic smile disappeared. ‘Kavanagh has offered a reward, and that tells the public we are incompetent. I’ve already had the commissioner on to me.’

  ‘Lily is our priority, but I’m also investigating two – possibly three – murders.’ Her stomach rumbled, filling the air in the room. She had to get out of here.

  ‘That’s beside the point. If you’re not up to the job, I can give it to someone else.’

  She took a long breath and moved over to his desk. ‘No, I can do it. I was just explaining all we’re dealing with. And Kavanagh’s reward has the phones hopping, taking more resources.’

  ‘Keep Kavanagh happy.’ He mussed his hair with long fingers and bit down on the side of his lip. ‘Can you do that?’

  ‘I will try, sir.’

  ‘And find his daughter.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She turned to leave, then chanced, ‘About Cynthia Rhodes. Has her report aired yet?’

  ‘What report?’

  ‘Oh, nothing. She must have binned the interview.’ Relief flowed through Lottie’s veins.

  ‘She did not bin it. It was an absolute mess, if you want to know.’

  She groaned. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I have enough to think about without Cynthia fucking Rhodes. You really know how to press my buttons.’

  ‘Right.’

  She rushed out of his office before he had a chance to explain which buttons she was hypothetically pressing.

  When Beth entered the house, the silence hit her immediately. It was more than the absence of sound. It was as if everything had been muted, and what was left behind was an empty hole.
She threw her keys on the table and dragged off her coat, suddenly aware that this was what would greet her from here on in.

  She stood in the middle of the kitchen and glanced around. Even when her father had been out in the yard, there was always hustle and bustle. Footsteps. Kettle. Phone. Coughs and shouts. Now? Just a big empty nothingness.

  Without moving a muscle, she listened intently. The pigs were squealing. The snow had started up again. It blew hard against the window pane. But despite the squeals and the near blizzard outside, the air was somehow calm.

  She turned from the window and surveyed her surroundings. There was some noise after all. The refrigerator hummed and the freezer buzzed. She moved to switch on the radio, but halted, her hand in mid-air. It was usually her dad who listened to the radio, while she followed the news on her phone.

  Slumping onto a chair, she bit her lip and buried a sob in her throat. She’d have to be strong. He’d expect that of her. But why had he done that to himself? To her? Had he found out what she had hidden from him?

  She leapt up off the chair and rushed to the living room. It was in disarray as usual. A single tear rolled down her cheek towards her nose. At the desk, she picked up a page scrawled with figures. Her poor father and his VAT return. Why hadn’t she helped him?

  ‘I’m sorry, Daddy,’ she said to the mess of a room, which now felt bare and vacant despite the clutter. ‘I’ve not been a good daughter.’

  She switched off the light. Closing the door, she made her way up the stairs to have a shower. Hoping against hope she could wash away some of her sorrow.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  After sorting out jobs for the skeleton night crew, Lottie went home to sort out her own lot.

  Her mother met her at the door. ‘I dropped off a casserole. I know what you’re like when you’re stuck in the middle of a case.’

  ‘Thanks. Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Did you convince Leo to buy me out of Farranstown House?’

  ‘You’re too nosy for your own good, young lady. I’ll say one thing, though. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Get some rest. You look like the wreck of the Hesperus.’