'Oh, God. The small skull we found had a similar wound.’
‘The father was long gone, as was the son. The boy was the eldest of the family. Thirteen or fourteen, I think. We never found a trace of either of them.’
‘Fourteen, it says there.’
‘Must be that, so. The general consensus was that the father abducted the boy and went on the run. Or the boy escaped, and the dad took off after him. We never found them.’
‘And we haven’t found any mention of them on any missing persons file. Why?’
Corrigan ran his finger around the socket of his good eye, thinking. ‘That’s because it was a murder investigation, not missing persons. The father was a murder suspect and the boy a victim.’
She leaned her head back. ‘Did you ever discover why he might have murdered his wife and daughters?’
‘Not a fecking lot.’ He shook his head angrily, the eyepatch slipping slightly. ‘I took the case personally. Covered all angles, but there was nothing, except maybe … Oh, it never came to anything.’
‘What? Tell me.’ Lottie edged closer to her former boss, inhaling the distinct odour of mothballs.
He looked at her vacantly for a few moments. ‘There were rumours,’ he said at last. ‘But as far as I can recall, they led to nothing. But my mind isn’t what it used to be.’
‘Rumours of what? Come on, boss.’
‘Haven’t been called that in a long time.’ He smiled warmly and adjusted the patch on his eye.
She said, ‘I have no idea what I’m dealing with other than two, maybe three people were recently murdered in that house and it’s highly likely that two bodies were kept there in freezers for at least twenty years. So far, the house is the only thing connecting them. I am grasping for proverbial straws here.’
‘Two bodies kept in freezers? Could it be the father and son?’
‘No, one of them was a little girl.’
‘Oh. That’s terrible.’
‘And the girl’s skull was found in a different house. I can’t make sense of it all.’
‘Not much hope of me making sense of it then. But you know how these cases work. All it takes is for one piece of the puzzle to unexpectedly slip into place, and the rest comes together so quickly you can’t keep up.’
‘I’d give up a good night’s sleep this minute to find that one piece.’ She stifled a yawn, feeling as if it had been days since she’d put her head on a pillow. ‘Can you remember anything about those rumours you mentioned?’
He thought for a while. ‘There was talk that the mother had an affair years before the murders. It’s amazing how I can remember this now and I haven’t a clue what I was doing before you arrived.’
‘I’m like that most of the time.’
‘Well, we tracked down the man it was supposed to be, but he was out of the country at the time of the murders.’ He nursed his forehead.
‘If there was an affair, it might have given the husband a motive for murder. Can you remember the name of the man involved?’
Corrigan shook his head slowly. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing coming to me. But if I remember it, I’ll let you know.’
‘Please do, and thanks.’
She handed him page three from the paper, retrieved from the murder file, with a photograph of the family taking up the top half of the page.
‘Ah yes. They looked so pleasant. A picture-perfect family.’
‘Only they can’t have been,’ Lottie said. ‘It’s easy to paint a happy picture and at the same time hide the cracks. This seems to be similar to other cases of familicide. You and I know what people can do to the ones they love the most.’
He read out the names under the photograph, tracing each face with his finger. ‘The Doyle girls were so young. Nine and eleven,’ he read. ‘Angela and Annie. The mother, Sinead, a beauty. Not unlike yourself, Parker.’
‘Give over.’
‘You can be pretty when you’re not fecking scowling.’ He looked up at her. ‘I can say that now without a case being brought against me.’
‘You’ve said an awful lot worse over the years,’ she laughed.
‘I have, so I have.’
‘Does the photo jog any other memories?’ she prompted.
‘Poor young Karl. Hadn’t many friends, but don’t quote me on it. He wasn’t into sports or the like, but apparently he was good academically. How do I remember that?’ He shook his head, his spectacles sliding a little on his thin nose. ‘Wonder where his body is.’
‘If he is dead.’
‘The consensus was that he escaped the slaughter and the father took off after him. Probably caught up with him, murdered him and either buried his body in a bog or weighed it down in the canal.’
‘Was the canal checked at the time?’
‘Half-heartedly. If he was dead, sure what could we do? We operated on the assumption that the father had killed him and fled the country.’
‘Had he any money?’
‘I presume he had cash because I think their bank account wasn’t accessed. But check the file. He probably had a stash under a mattress.’
‘That would point to a planned kill.’
‘Most familicides are planned, aren’t they?’ He handed the page back to her.
Lottie stared at the photograph. ‘The father, Harry Doyle. He was rough-looking round the edges.’
‘Not one person had a bad word to say about him. Pillar of the fecking community and all that shite.’
‘Not a very stable pillar then. I wonder where he fled to?’
‘Most likely he changed his name and identity. Probably in the south of Spain with all the other gangsters, if he’s not dead.’
‘But if this article is to be believed, Harry Doyle wasn’t a gangster. He was a family man until he flipped and killed them. There must have been legs to the rumour of his wife’s affair.’
‘Look, Parker, I think you’re chasing the tail of a ghost with this angle. Find out who’s paying for the electricity to the house and that will be your biggest lead.’
Lottie was silent for a few moments. In the old days, Corrigan would have roared at her to get her act together and close the case. But he was now a shadow of the man she’d worked with.
‘I told you we found a child’s skull the other day too.’
‘That was on the news, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. The house is number 2 Church View. Owned by a Patsy Cole, now deceased, inherited by her nephew Jeff Cole. Mean anything to you?’
‘Not straight off. Sorry. I can’t recall it having come up in the familicide case, if that’s what you’re asking. But as I say, if I do think of anything, I’ll let you know.’
‘Good.’ Lottie stood and stretched before picking up her bag. She had the feeling she’d exhausted her old boss enough. ‘Thanks for your time. I really appreciate it.’
‘Lottie,’ he said. ‘You’re one of the good ones. Don’t let the job get to you.’
‘I think it’s too late for that.’
Sixty-One
Lottie sat in the car outside her house for a full ten minutes studying the black-and-white photograph under the dim interior light. She stared into Sinead Doyle’s eyes, trying to work out if there was any sadness or deceit in them, but she saw only a happy mother.
The girls, standing either side of her, wore matching dresses. She thought of how she used to dress Chloe and Katie similarly and how the girls chastised her whenever they looked at the family photos in their granny’s house. A moment of nostalgia swept over her tired shoulders as she thought of all they’d lost in the house fire. Then she looked back at the photo. This was the only evidence she had so far that this family had ever existed.
She’d phoned McKeown to run a search on the Doyles, but so far he hadn’t come back to her with anything. He was still waiting for Brandon Carthy to contact him with the names of people he’d let into the recycling centre after hours. She supposed he couldn’t beat it out of Carthy, much as she’d like him
to. She called him again and told him to visit the man at home. It was a concrete lead and she needed the names.
Her eyes travelled over to the father, Harry Doyle. His hand rested on his wife’s shoulder. The gesture appeared possessive. As if his fingers were digging into her bones, claiming her as his and his alone. The photo had been taken two or three years before the massacre, going by the ages of the children when they’d been murdered. Did Doyle know back then about his wife’s alleged infidelity? Could that one event have led to him taking a knife and butchering his family? Butchering. Her body convulsed in a spasm as she thought of the little girl’s torso and leg. It was too awful to think about the suffering the child had gone through. She wondered if the frozen mutilated bodies were linked to the Doyle family. If so, how? The date on the tag found on the torso was a few months after the family were murdered. Could they really be connected?
Her gaze landed on the boy sitting cross-legged at his mother’s feet. He appeared relaxed. A lazy smile curved his mouth, but his eyes came across as sad. What happened to you, Karl? she wondered.
Her front door opened, and she saw Sean standing there with Louis in his arms. The little boy was waving frantically, trying to escape from his young uncle. He should be in bed, Lottie thought as she put away her work and jumped out of the car. As if by magic, her weariness evaporated and she ran to take her grandson in her arms.
Boyd could see two of Grace when he sat on his couch. One of her was enough to deal with.
‘I’m phoning Lottie,’ she said.
‘Go ahead, see if I care.’
‘Mark, I can’t believe you are my brother. What were you thinking of, going out for the afternoon and getting drunk?’
‘Grace, I’m tired. I’ve another hospital appointment tomorrow. I need to sleep.’
‘You’ll be in some state.’
‘It’s my problem, not yours.’
‘You were doing so well. What if you can’t have any more treatment? What if you need a bone marrow transplant? Have you thought of that?’
‘We’ve been through this before.’
‘Yes, and you know I’m no use to you. You need to talk to Jackie.’
‘What has my ex-wife got to do with any of this?’
‘You never know, maybe she was pregnant when you kicked her out all those years ago. Maybe you have a son or a daughter. Someone who could be a match to you.’
‘I know I’ve been drinking, but have you?’ Boyd laughed until it hurt. ‘Grace, that’s the most absurd thing I’ve heard in a long time.’
‘Mam and I talked about it before she died. I think your illness was too much for her. Too big a strain on her heart.’
The laughter died on his lips. ‘So along with everything else, you’re blaming me for Mam’s death?’
‘Yes.’
Boyd had never sobered up so quickly in all his life. ‘Grace, you have deeply offended me.’
‘You sound like a priest.’
‘Maybe I need a priest. After all, I might be going to die too.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Make me a cup of tea, will you?’
He got up and went to the kitchen automatically. It was useless to argue with Grace. She was one of a kind. Only their mother could truly handle her. And now he was left to do it alone. It was hard enough even in full health, so how was he expected to deal with her now? Lottie would tell him off for feeling sorry for himself and she’d be right, but that didn’t make him feel any better.
As he flicked the kettle on, an awful thought skittered through his brain. He turned to look at his sister.
‘Grace? You haven’t, have you?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Oh, no, you have. How could you do this to me?’
‘Mark Boyd, I have absolutely no idea what you’re referring to.’ She moved his duvet to the end of the couch, sat down and folded her arms.
He had never known Grace to tell a lie, but now he was sure she was fibbing.
‘You contacted Jackie. How could you?’
‘Oh, that? No, I didn’t, but Mam did. Anyway, Jackie didn’t want to know.’
‘That figures.’ He turned away from her and leaned his forehead against the cool timber of the overhead cupboard. He could do without this. ‘Make your own tea. I’ve got to go and talk to Lottie.’
‘You’d better walk, because you’re in no fit state to drive.’
‘Would you ever shut up?’
He grabbed his jacket and keys and made sure he banged the door on the way out.
Sixty-Two
Marianne watched Kevin as he held the newspaper up to his face. She knew he was glaring at her from behind it.
‘Kevin, we have to talk.’
‘Now you want to talk?’ he said, shaking the newspaper.
‘There’s no need for that tone.’
‘Do you even know where I was for two hours this evening?’
‘I don’t know where you are any evening,’ she said.
He dropped the newspaper to his lap and folded it over once, then, unable to find the original crease, balled it up and flung it across the room.
‘Where were you?’
‘I was in the garda station.’
‘What?’ She felt her heart skip a beat then thump double-time. ‘I said nothing to her, I swear to God.’
‘You said nothing to who?’
‘Lottie Parker. Sean’s mum. She was here earlier.’
‘What was she doing here?’
‘I don’t really know. She was asking about poor Tamara and Gavin.’
‘Don’t feel too sorry for Tamara. She’ll sell her grief all over Instagram.’ Kevin gnawed at a piece of skin on his thumb and Marianne felt her stomach turn.
‘Why were you in the garda station?’
‘They were asking all sorts about the murders. Did you know that Aaron Frost, the estate agent, is dead?’
‘What?’
‘Yeah. He’s been murdered.’
‘Murdered? How? When?’ She hoped Kevin didn’t know that Aaron had been round this week. Last year he had hit the roof when she wanted to sell up and move. He’d put a stop to any valuation being made on the house. At the time, she’d thought he’d figured out she wanted the money to flee with Ruby.
‘How do I know?’ he said. ‘I didn’t do it.’
Marianne slumped back on her chair. That sweet young man who’d been here in the house only a couple of days ago. ‘When was he killed?’
‘I told you, I don’t know.’ He went to the dresser and poured himself a large drink. ‘They were asking me all sorts of odd questions.’
‘Kevin?’
‘What?’ He sat back down and kicked the newspaper to the side of the chair.
‘Where were you last night?’
‘Where were you?’
‘I was at Tamara’s. She didn’t know where Gavin was, and I sat with her for a few hours.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, really. She’s my friend. She was supposed to be on the television with Gavin this morning. I didn’t know the boy was dead until Lottie Parker called round.’
‘Why did she call here?’
‘To ask me about Tamara.’
‘Why, though?’
‘How do I know? Probably because I was over there last night.’ She stared at her husband as his cheeks began to redden. ‘You were in a flittering rage when I got in. I’m still aching. So, where were you?’
‘I was just out. Driving around. I’m under so much pressure at work. Unattainable targets. Nightmare clients. Lazy colleagues and a boss on my back. You don’t know the half of it. God, Marianne, I’m so tired, but don’t think you can fool me. I know all about you.’
‘What do you think you know?’
‘You and your toy boys.’
She laughed wryly. She wanted a drink but he hadn’t even offered her one. ‘You know nothing, Kevin.’
‘I know you had him in the house on Monday. That’s why you washed
the sheets. I was a little worried about it, but not any more, because now he’s dead. Suck that and see how it tastes.’
The look in his eyes was dark and demonic. Marianne pulled her feet up under her and tucked her chin down. She didn’t want him to see her cry over the young man who’d run away from her.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Aaron Frost. I found his card on the counter.’
‘You killed him,’ she said at last.
‘I didn’t, but if I’d known it was him, then yes, Marianne, I would have killed him.’
‘You are evil.’
‘I have done bad things, I will admit. I can’t tell you what they are, but if you keep this up, mark my words, I will kill you.’ He put his glass on the coffee table and picked up the newspaper. ‘I’m putting this out in the bin.’
She let out a strangled cry as he exited the room. When she looked up, her daughter was standing in the doorway, her face shrouded in a mask of hatred.
After a late dinner, Chloe and Katie surprised Lottie by telling her to watch television in the sitting room while they cleaned up. She didn’t need to be told twice.
Sean was watching a rerun of The Chase and shouting out the answers.
‘How do you know so many of them?’ she asked as she made herself comfortable in an armchair with Louis in her arms. Her grandson was dressed for bed in his colourful pyjamas.
‘This is the third time I’ve seen this episode,’ Sean said.
‘Watch something else. Scroll through the menu. I’m sure there’s something you haven’t seen before.’
‘Here, you scroll. I’m not bothered.’
Lottie took the remote control from her son. He was scrunched into the chair like an untidy pile of laundry waiting to be picked up. ‘What’s the matter, Sean?’
‘Russia.’
‘What?’
‘The right answer. That dope just went for Canada.’
Pressing the off button, Lottie waited for Sean to object, but he remained where he was, staring at the blank screen.
‘Peppa. Peppa,’ Louis shouted.
Buried Angels Page 28
