No Safe Place

Book 4: D.I. Lottie Parker

by Patricia Gibney

Genres: Police Procedurals; Crime Fiction; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

There's nothing more dangerous than a familiar face... As funeral mourners stand in silence at Ragmullin cemetery, a deafening cry cuts through the air. Lying crumpled at the bottom of an open grave is the bloodied body of a young woman, and Detective Lottie Parker is called in to investigate. Knowing the body can’t have been there long, Lottie wonders if it could be Elizabeth Bryne, a young woman who vanished without trace just days earlier. And with a new boss who seems to have it in for her, Lottie is under pressure to solve both cases quickly. As two more women go missing from Ragmullin, Lottie and her team fear there is a serial killer on the loose. And the disappearances are strikingly similar to a cold case from ten years earlier. Could history be repeating itself? As journalists begin to interfere with Lottie’s investigation, she fears the killer is about to strike again. Lottie is in a race against time to find the missing women, but the killer is closer than she thinks. Could Lottie be his next target? If you love Angela Marsons, Robert Bryndza and Rachel Abbott, you’ll love the latest pulse-pounding thriller from Patricia Gibney. No Safe Place will keep you guessing until the very last page. What readers are saying about No Safe Place: 'A brilliant read. Utterly captivating from the first page to the last… Everyone was so well and clearly written… A real mark of excellent and captivating character writing… I can’t over emphasize how much I enjoyed this book… it’s my read of the year so far and I think it will take some beating… Five of the strongest stars ' Goodreads Reviewer, Five Stars. 'The words that first spring to mind are Bloody Brilliant! I loved it. This book had me gripped right from the start, it was fast-paced, full of energy and the action kept coming… I am going to give No Safe Place a big fat 5 stars, it really deserves it, it’s an entertaining read full of edge-of-the-seat tension that you won’t want to put down. ' Bonnie's Book Talk 'I found myself completely hooked right from the first chapter and literally finished it in less than a day. The writing style draws you right in and the fast pace of the plot and the many many plot twists and constant action and new discoveries will keep you on the edge of your seat. ' It's All About Books 'WOW, I just loved it. It was gritty, fast-paced… WOW, this book is just brilliant. Patricia Gibney books just get better and better. If I could give this book 10/10 I would. ' Goodreads Reviewer, Five Stars. ' A totally gripping and unputdownable read. Keeps you wanting more right up to the end.' I Love Reading UK ' This one definitely didn't disappoint!!... Absolutely brilliant read… I honestly can't wait for the next one. Hurry please. ' Goodreads Reviewer, Five Stars. 'Shout it out loud, for everybody who loves good Police Thrillers, DI Lottie Parker is back… A compelling read that kept me turning page after page with an anticipation that bordered on addiction. ' Nigel Adams Bookworm 'I couldn't put down this fast-paced read… A roller-coaster of a read which I loved.' Beauty Balm 'Gibney does it again!... I hope I don't have to wait too long for the next book.' Goodreads Reviewer, Five Stars 'I thoroughly enjoyed No Safe Place which is a fast-paced procedural with plenty of twists and turns… [Lottie Parker] is a wonderful creation and one of the best characters in crime fiction for it. No Safe Place is a great read which I have no hesitation in recommending.' Goodreads Reviewer, Five Stars. 'Excellent police procedural ...I want to know all about Lottie! Can't wait for the next book in the series! ' The Book Nurse

Release date: March 22, 2018

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 440

Sample

Her bare feet stuck to the frost, but still she ran. She thought she was screaming, but there was no sound coming from her throat. Her elbow smashed into granite, the pain minimal in comparison to her fear.

Chancing a glance over her shoulder, she found it was as dark behind her as the blackness that stretched before her. She had unintentionally veered off the path and was now lost among the limestone and granite. Feeling cold stones cutting her soles, she tried to raise herself over the kerb she knew must surely be there, but stubbed her toe and fell head first into the next furrow.

With her mind void of all thoughts except reaching safety, she hauled herself onto her bleeding knees and listened. Silence. No twigs breaking or leaves being thrashed. Had he left her alone? Had he abandoned the chase? Now that she’d stopped running, she shivered violently in the freezing night. A light down the slope to her right caught her eye as she scanned the near horizon. An enclave of bungalows. She knew exactly where she was. And in the distance, she saw the amber hue of street lights. Safety.

A hurried look around. She had to make a run for it. Silently she counted to three, getting ready to make her final dash to safety.

‘Now or never,’ she whispered, and without a care for her nakedness, she stood up, ready to run like a panther. That was when she saw the breath suspended in the frost of the night.

She felt his arm encircling her throat, crushing her windpipe, and her body being dragged against his jacket. The sweet smell of fabric softener mixed with the sour scent of anger clouded her nostrils. With one last bout of adrenaline, she jabbed her elbow backwards, thrusting it deep and hard into his solar plexus. A gasp of wind escaped his mouth as he loosened his grip, and she was free.

She screamed and ran. Banging and crashing into granite, leaping over frozen stones and low kerbs, she tumbled, still screaming, down the slope towards the light. Almost there. She heard his booted footsteps gaining on her.

No, please God, no. She had to get off this path. Veering to her left, zigzagging, she was almost at the wall when the ground disappeared beneath her. Down she fell, six feet into the cavern, stones and clods of clay tumbling with her.

Excruciating pain shot up her leg, and an agonised scream exploded from her mouth. She knew that the sound she’d heard had not been the breaking of timber but the bone in her left leg shattering with the fall. Biting hard into her knuckles, she tried to be silent. Surely he couldn’t find her here, could he?

But as she looked up at the night sky with its twinkling stars heralding further frost, his face appeared at the edge of the hole. All semblance of hope disappeared as the first clatter of clay fell onto her upturned face.

And as she cried, big salty tears mingling with the dirt, she understood with terrible clarity that she was going to die in someone else’s grave.

Mollie Hunter settled into her seat. She placed her laptop bag on the table, then rolled up her cotton scarf, scrunched it against the window and rested her head. Her eyelids slid closed, blocking out the impending breakthrough of dawn. Earbuds pumped soft music into her ears, muting the shuffling of her fellow commuters. As the train shunted out of Ragmullin station, she fell back into the sleep she’d risen from just thirty minutes earlier.

Her dreams resurfaced with the rhythm of the wheels, and unconsciously, she smiled.

‘What’s so funny?’

Mollie heard the question through the haze of sleep, and opened one eye. She hadn’t noticed anyone sit down opposite her. But he was there. Again. The second morning in a row he had ignored other empty seats and occupied that one. Straight across from her. Slowly she closed her eyes again, determined to ignore him. Not that he was bad-looking. He appeared to be fairly ordinary, though his mouth wore a smug grin. He was maybe a little older than her twenty-five years. A mental image flared behind her closed eyes and she found herself awakening fully and staring at him.

Who the hell was he?

‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

The cheek of him! There was an unwritten protocol on the six a.m. commuter service. No one annoyed anyone else. They were all in the same predicament. Up at all hours, half asleep, coffee hastily prepared and poured into travel mugs. Phones, earbuds, laptops and Kindles the only accessories of this tribe. So why the hell couldn’t he shut up and let her sleep? Once they reached Maynooth, the carriage would begin to fill up and she could ignore him totally. For now, though, she couldn’t.

His eyes were a cool blue. His hair was concealed under a knitted beanie. His fingernails were clean. Manicured? She wondered for a moment if he was a teacher. Or maybe a civil servant or a banker. She couldn’t tell whether there was a suit jacket or a sweater under his heavy padded jacket, but she knew from previous mornings that he wore jeans. Blue, with an ironed crease down the centre of the legs. God, who did that any more? His mother? But he looked a little old to be still living with his mother. A wife, then? No ring. Why was she even thinking about it? A tremor of unease shook her shoulders, and immediately she felt afraid of him.

Closing her eyes, she allowed the music to invade her consciousness and the chug of the train to comfort her, hoping for sleep to help her through the next hour and ten minutes. And then she felt his foot touch her boot. Her eyes flew open and she drew back her leg as if scalded.

‘What the hell?’ she croaked. The first words she’d uttered since awakening that morning.

‘Sorry,’ he said, his eyes piercing blue darts. His foot didn’t move.

And Mollie knew by the tone of his voice that he was anything but sorry.

He looked kind of cute, Grace thought. The way he bugged the woman who just wanted to sleep. She couldn’t help smiling at him. He didn’t notice her. No one did. But she didn’t care. She really didn’t.

She curled her fingers in her childish-looking mittens and shrugged her shoulders up to her ears, wishing she could pretend to sleep. But she was never any good at pretending. What you see is what you get. That was what her mum always said about her. And now she was stuck living with her brother for a month. Not that he was around too often. Thank God, because he was awfully fussy.

She looked down at the empty seat beside her to make sure her bag was still there. No one ever sat beside her until it was standing room only. I’m not going to bite you, she wanted to say, but she never did. She just smiled her gap-toothed smile and nodded. A nod usually put them at ease. You’d think I was a serial killer, the way some of them look at me, she thought. She couldn’t help her anxious fidgeting, and she didn’t care about what anyone thought, one way or the other.

I am me, she wanted to shout.

She remained tight-lipped.

‘Chloe and Sean! Do I have to make myself hoarse every single morning? Up! Now!’

Lottie turned away from the stairs and shook her head. It was getting worse rather than better. At least next week they would be on mid-term break and she could escape to work without ripped vocal cords.

She unloaded the washing machine. The laundry basket was still half full, so she threw in another load and switched on the machine, then lugged the damp clothes to the dryer. At one time, her mother, Rose Fitzpatrick, used to do a little housework for her, but that relationship was more strained than ever before, and now Rose was feeling poorly.

Sipping a cup of coffee, Lottie allowed it to soothe her nerves. She swallowed three painkillers and tried to massage her back where the stab wound was doing its best to heal. Putting the physical injuries aside, she knew the emotional scars were embedded on her psyche forever. As she gazed out at the frosty morning, she wondered if she should fetch a sweater to keep out the cold. She was wearing a black T-shirt with long sleeves, frayed at the cuffs, and a pair of black skinny jeans. She’d dumped her trusty Uggs last week and was wearing Katie’s flat-soled black leather ankle boots.

‘Here, Mother,’ said Chloe, strolling into the kitchen. ‘I think you might need this today.’

‘Thank you.’ Lottie took the blue hoodie from her seventeen-year-old daughter. She noticed that Chloe was wearing pale foundation and a smoky eyeshadow with thick black mascara. Her blonde hair was tied up in a knot on top of her head.

‘You know you’re not allowed to wear make-up to school.’

‘I do. And I’m not.’ Chloe fetched a box of cornflakes and began shovelling them into her mouth.

‘And that’s lip gloss. Come on. You don’t want to get into trouble.’

‘I won’t. It’s not make-up. Just a soft sheen to protect my skin from the cold air,’ Chloe said, picking cornflake crumbs off her sticky lips.

Lottie shook her head. Too early for an argument. She rinsed her mug under the tap. ‘I’m just warning you in case the teachers notice.’

‘Right!’ Chloe said and turned up her nose. So like her father, Lottie thought.

‘I worry about you.’

‘Stop fussing. I’m fine.’ Chloe picked up her rucksack and headed for the door.

‘I can give you a lift if you like.’

‘I’ll walk, thanks.’

The front door shut loudly. Lottie wasn’t at all convinced her daughter was fine. Being called Mother still rankled. It grated on her nerves, and Chloe knew it. That was why she did it. Only in times of extreme tenderness did she call Lottie Mum.

‘I’d love a pancake,’ Sean said, entering the kitchen holding out his school tie.

‘Sean, what age are you?’ Lottie looped the tie round her neck and began making a knot.

He looked out from under his eyelashes. ‘I can’t wait to be fifteen in April. Maybe then you might stop treating me like a kid.’

‘I’ve shown you countless times how to knot your tie.’ She handed it back.

‘Dad never learned how to do it. I remember you always making the knot for him.’

Lottie smiled wistfully. ‘You’re right. And I’m sorry, but I haven’t time to make pancakes. You’ve been watching too many American TV shows.’ She flicked his hair out of his eyes and squeezed his shoulder. ‘See you later. Be good at school.’

She zipped up her hoodie, grabbed her bag and coat and escaped towards the front door.

‘Any chance of a lift?’ Sean said.

‘If you hurry up.’

She waited as he took a tub of yoghurt from the fridge and a spoon from a drawer.

Picking up his bag, he said, ‘I’m ready when you are.’

Lottie shouted up the stairs. ‘See you later, Katie. Give Louis a goodbye kiss from me.’ Then, without waiting for her eldest child to reply, she followed her son out the door.

Just another normal morning in the Parker household.

The train stopped at the university town of Maynooth. No one disembarked. Not unusual for the first Ragmullin to Dublin commuter train of the morning. No, the college students would crowd the seven a.m. train. The platform was full, though. Coffee steamed in the frosty air and commuters shuffled towards each other for warmth and seats as they boarded.

Mollie hoped the man sitting opposite her would get out. But she wasn’t going to be that lucky. Like the other mornings, he was travelling to Dublin.

With his arms folded and his face turned to the window, she studied him again. Though his eyes were averted, she could feel them on her. Yuck, she thought with a shiver. Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she tried to ward off the cold. But the feeling was something more than the open doors breathing in the outside air. The chill was emanating from the man sitting across from her.

She watched as he slowly turned away from the window and smiled. Thin pink lips turned up at the corners without the smile reaching his chill blue eyes with their dark pinprick pupils.

‘Did you study at Maynooth University?’ he asked.

His voice cut a shard into her heart. He sounded different from when he’d spoken earlier. Enquiring yet accusing. Gulping, she shook her head.

‘What college did you attend?’ he probed.

She really should tell him to bugger off. It was none of his business. Hell, she didn’t know who he was. He didn’t know her. Or did he? Furrowing her brow, she squinted at him. Was there anything vaguely familiar about him? No, she concluded. Nothing.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ That smile again. A smile that wasn’t a smile at all.

Biting the inside of her mouth, she wished she could get off the damn train. As far away from him as possible. You’re being irrational, her inner voice warned. He’s just being friendly. Making conversation. But no one made conversation on the early-morning commute.

Wanting to move away, she looked around, but the train was filling up and she might have to stand. She glanced across the aisle and caught the eye of a young woman sitting beside the opposite window. There was a spare seat beside her. Should she move over there? Would it appear odd given that there was still an empty place right next to her? But she didn’t know the man, so what did she care?

Pulling her black laptop bag towards her chest, she stood, grabbing her scarf before it hit the floor. She edged into the aisle and plonked herself down beside the young woman. But even as she exhaled with relief, she felt the cold air dissipate, to be replaced by the heat of an unspoken anger.

Blindly she stared straight ahead, hoping the girl wouldn’t try to strike up a conversation. No such luck.

‘My name’s Grace, what’s yours?’ The young woman flashed a gap-toothed smile.

Mollie groaned and scrunched her eyes tightly shut. It was definitely one of those mornings.

Two rows down, the man snuggled his chin into his scarf. He’d watched the young woman get up from opposite the annoying chatty man and sit over beside the gap-toothed girl. He knew it was a good thing that she was on edge. The guy had distracted her. Made her fearful. He smiled into the wool of the scarf. She was playing straight into his hands.

If that other bitch hadn’t escaped, he wouldn’t have need for her. But he always liked to be one step ahead of himself. His mother used to say that.

The thought of his mother caused his smile to slip, and he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets as the trembling began to shake his joints. It was cold, and the heat was always hit and miss on the train, but now he felt certifiably freezing. Shaking his head, he tried to dislodge the image of his mother and replace it with the girl gripping her laptop to her chest. She’d kept her jacket buttoned up and he wondered what she was wearing beneath it. Did she change her clothes when she arrived at work? He knew a lot about her, but he didn’t know what she did once she walked through the doors of the nondescript office building on Townsend Street.

The train stopped and started at all the fiddly suburban stations and the carriage warmed up considerably with the pressing crowd. The aisle was now full of people clutching bags and phones, the air clogged with the smell of feet and body odour. It was so crowded that he could no longer see her. He closed his eyes, conjured her up from memory and touched her straight dark hair with an imaginary finger, all the while stroking himself through the pocket of his coat. He couldn’t wait much longer. This evening he would see her again.

The train swayed and chugged, speeded up and then slowed down as it entered Dublin’s Connolly station. An air of anticipation rose with the heated breath of the passengers as they readied themselves to disembark. He’d have a long day ahead thinking about her, waiting for her. But it would be worth it. Come 6.30 this evening, she would be his.

At the garda station, Detective Inspector Lottie Parker climbed the stairs and made her way down the corridor. Her refurbished office was to the rear of the general area. The last piece of the puzzle that had involved three years of renovations and extensions. It even had a door that shut properly. But she couldn’t get used to it, so she sat down at her old desk in the main office. Detective Sergeant Mark Boyd was seated opposite her in the cluttered space he shared with Detectives Larry Kirby and Maria Lynch.

‘I can use it if you don’t want to,’ he said with a wink, indicating the empty office behind her.

‘Not on your life,’ she said. ‘It’s good to retreat in there when I want; to close the door and scream in peace.’

‘You scream out here most of the time. We’re immune to your outbursts.’ He lined pages up in a file and shut it.

‘What did you say, Boyd?’

‘I’m only expressing out loud what we’re all thinking,’ he muttered under his breath.

‘I know when I’m not wanted.’ She picked up her well-worn leather handbag, shrugged it onto her shoulder and marched into her new office, closing the door behind her.

At her desk, she tapped the keyboard and the computer pinged into life. She opened the page she had been viewing the day before, clicked and zoomed up the photograph of twenty-five-year-old Elizabeth Byrne. Not officially classed as missing because it was too soon. But it was a calm week in Ragmullin, so she’d tasked Boyd with taking a cursory look into Elizabeth’s suspected disappearance.

Crooking her chin in her hand, she studied the portrait picture, stared into the shining eyes of the young woman and wondered at the sheen on the auburn hair swept up behind her ear and hanging seductively across one brown eye. Instinctively her hand flew up to her own matted tresses. She needed a colour and cut. Payday was a week away, but she still couldn’t afford the eighty-plus euros it would cost.

‘Anything else you want me to do regarding Elizabeth Byrne?’ Boyd stood half inside, half outside the door.

‘I don’t bite,’ she said, trying to keep the smile from her lips.

‘Really? I thought that was you sharpening your teeth a few moments ago.’

‘Don’t be a smartarse, Boyd. Come in and sit down.’

He closed the door and sat on the grey fabric chair, which she had strategically placed at an angle, ensuring he couldn’t see what she was doing. Which wasn’t a whole lot, if she was honest.

‘Get anything from CCTV?’ she asked.

Rustling through the file on his knee, Boyd scanned his eyes over a page then placed a black-and-white image in front of her.

‘You know it’s not official,’ he said.

‘I know.’

‘It’s not yet forty-eight hours.’

She nodded. ‘Just tell me what you’ve got so far.’

‘What has you so cranky this morning?’

‘Boyd! Just tell me what I’m damn well looking at.’

He scrunched his shoulders and leaned over the desk. ‘That’s a screenshot of the CCTV from the train station. Taken as she purchased her weekly ticket, Monday morning at 5.55 a.m., before getting on the commuter train to Dublin. She works in the Financial Services Centre, an administrator at a German bank. According to her colleagues, she was there all day and clocked out at 16.25 in order to get the 17.10 train back to Ragmullin. I asked a friend in Store Street garda station to help. He trawled footage from Connolly station CCTV but as yet he hasn’t come across her.’

‘Cameras on each platform?’

‘Mainly on the DART lines. Other than that, they’re focused on the general concourse and ticket offices.’

‘Damn.’

‘That’s mild coming from you.’

‘I’m cutting down on swearing. Katie says baby Louis will pick up on it.’

‘Ah, for Jaysus’ sake,’ Boyd laughed. ‘Any sign of her going back to college?’

‘What do you think?’ Lottie shook her head. ‘She’s hell-bent on heading off to New York to meet up with Tom Rickard, Louis’ grandfather.’

‘That might be a good thing.’

Mulling over Boyd’s words, Lottie was reminded of the trauma her family had suffered the previous year with the death of Rickard’s only child, Jason, Katie’s boyfriend. A few months later, Katie, then nineteen years old, had discovered she was pregnant with Jason’s baby. She’d deferred her college course, and now all her time was consumed with caring for her son.

Lottie had to admit that little Louis was a great tonic for the rest of the family. Chloe and Sean doted on him. But Katie was struggling, while stubbornly refusing all the help Lottie offered. She’d secured a passport for Louis, and was adamant she was heading to New York. There was still the conversation to be had about the cost. Tonight, maybe. Maybe not.

‘A trip away might benefit her,’ she said. ‘But I’m not sure.’

‘You’re afraid she won’t want to come home. Is that it?’ he said, seriousness furrowing his brow.

She watched as he leaned back and folded his arms over his pressed blue shirt and immaculate navy tie. His greying hair was cut short as usual, and his leanness verged on being too thin, but not quite. Mid forties suited him better than it suited her, she had to admit. She liked sparring with Boyd and she knew he liked her, but her life was too complicated to embark on anything serious.

‘I’m not sure about anything with regards to my children,’ she said.

‘One day at a time, eh?’

‘Sure.’ She picked up the CCTV image before Boyd began asking awkward questions. ‘A twenty-five-year-old disappears without trace from the 17.10 Dublin to Ragmullin train on Monday evening. Are we positive she actually boarded that train?’

‘She was a regular commuter. I talked to a few people leaving the station yesterday evening. Most said they saw her but then weren’t sure of the day, but two people swear she was on it. They remembered her standing in the aisle before she secured a seat after Maynooth. Neither of those witnesses can tell us anything further, though, because they both disembarked at the next station, Enfield.’

Lottie said, ‘But Elizabeth never arrived home.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Maybe she got off at Enfield too.’

‘Enfield station CCTV confirms she did not.’

‘So back to Ragmullin station. You have a CCTV image of her that morning. What about the evening?’

‘All the cameras are focused on either the ticket desk or the car park. But we know she has no car so she must have walked to the station Monday morning.’

‘She might have stayed on the train and ended up somewhere else.’

Boyd shook his head. ‘I’ve checked with all the stations up to and including Sligo, where the train terminates, and there’s no evidence she was on it other than the witnesses who think they saw her before Enfield.’

‘The media will be calling this “the girl who disappeared from the train”.’ She printed off the photograph and handed it to Boyd. ‘Tell me what you see.’

‘A young woman. Hair cut to her shoulders. A scattering of freckles across her nose. Dark brown eyes and full lips. Can I say she’s pretty?’

‘Boyd! I’m asking about her personality.’ She shook her head in exasperation.

‘It’s just a photograph. I’m not a psychic.’

‘Try.’

He sighed. ‘She looks sensible enough. No nose or eyebrow piercings. No visible tattoos, though it is only a head shot. Eyes appear clear and bright. Probably no drug use.’

‘That’s what I thought. Anything show up on her social media accounts?’

‘Nothing since Sunday night.’

‘What did that say?’

‘Just a Facebook post with a GIF of a drowned-looking cat and the caption “Don’t tell me tomorrow is Monday. Just don’t.”’

‘Do you think she did a runner?’

‘She lives at home and her mother says all her stuff is still in her room.’

Standing up, Lottie grabbed her jacket and bag. ‘Come on. Let’s have a look round her house and see if we can find out anything.’

‘It’s not yet forty-eight hours.’

‘Are you a parrot? You keep repeating yourself.’

‘Elizabeth is an adult. I think you’re being a bit premature about this.’

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, stop whingeing. Better this than being out in the freezing cold chasing boy racers or trying to get information about illegal bare-knuckle fights.’

‘God help me,’ he muttered.

She opened the door and looked back over her shoulder as Boyd slowly rose to his feet and joined her. Catching his soapy scent as he passed, she had to stop her hand from reaching out to his. She couldn’t do anything that might compromise the contented truce they were experiencing at the moment.

‘Why the sour puss?’ he asked.

‘None of your business,’ she said with a smile, and marched through the main office, leaving the jangle of cooling radiators in her wake. In the corridor, she walked straight into Superintendent Corrigan.

‘I was just coming to get you,’ he said. ‘My office. Now.’

Staring after his bulk, Lottie stood open-mouthed. She’d been good recently. Hadn’t she?

‘What did you do now?’ Boyd said, retreating to his office.

‘Nothing. I hope.’ She crossed her fingers as she took off down the corridor after Corrigan.

‘Sit down, Parker. You know it makes me nervous looking at you hopping from foot to foot.’

‘I’m not …’ Lottie clamped her mouth shut, folded her jacket over her arm and did as her boss commanded.

Superintendent Corrigan pulled his chair into his desk. With his belly suitably comfortable, he tapped a pen on the wood and looked up at her. She stifled a gasp as she noticed the worsening state of his eye. Last summer he’d sported a patch over it, and before Christmas he had declared it better. Better than what, no one asked, but now she thought it looked to have deteriorated considerably.

‘Will you stop staring at my eye,’ he said, rubbing it viciously, making it tear up and redden further.

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘Well, actually, it’s one of the reasons I called you in.’ He paused. ‘I had to visit another specialist. He didn’t like it. Sent me for a scan. Found a bastard of a tumour sitting on the optic nerve. And …’ His voice cracked and he stood up. She watched him walk to the window. Shit, this was bad news. And she felt there was worse to come.

‘I’m going to have to take a break from duty.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Will you stop saying sorry? It’s not your fault. One of the only things, I might add, that isn’t your fault around here.’ He turned around and she saw how much it was annoying him to have to leave work. ‘I’ve contacted head office and they’re sending a temporary replacement. No need for interviews or any of that feckin’ shite.’

‘Really? I thought it was obligatory to hold interviews for replacements, even short-term ones.’

‘I’ve no feckin’ idea how short or long my absence will be. My concern is focused on getting this bastard tumour out of my head.’

‘I understand. Sorry, sir.’

‘Jesus, will you give it up?’

‘Sor—’ Lottie stopped herself before she said it again. If they weren’t holding interviews, shouldn’t she get the temporary job of superintendent?

‘And before you say another word, you are not going to be my replacement. Apparently your reputation for ballsing things up has reached people higher than me. Much as I try to keep our investigations local.’ He took a breath before continuing. ‘And how are you feeling since you returned to duty? Better, I hope.’

He wasn’t just talking about her physical health. The injury she’d suffered at the hands of a killer had been the catalyst for astonishing revelations about Lottie’s family history. Revelations she still couldn’t deal with.

‘I’m fine, sir. A month at home nearly sent me loopy, but I feel grand now.’ She crossed her fingers that he wouldn’t dig any deeper.

‘That’s good.’

‘Who is deputising for you, sir? Anyone I know?’

‘Detective Inspector David McMahon.’

Lottie shot out of her chair, dropping her jacket and bag to the floor. ‘You can’t be serious. McMahon! Holy Mother of Jesus, give me a break.’ She just about stopped herself stamping her foot like an unruly child. ‘If he arrives here, I’m leaving.’

‘You’re going to do what he says, and you’re going to s. . .