Page 67 of Her Last Walk Home

‘Suppose so. I can ask her friend. She would know.’

‘We can have a word with her, if you like?’

‘Yes. Please do.’ For the first time since he’d burst into Shannon’s empty room that morning, George felt his burden was being shared.

‘What’s her phone number?’

George checked his phone and rattled off Jess’s number. Thornton gave him a form to fill out and ushered him into a tiny room to the side. He put Davy on his knee, took the pen from the guard and began to enter what he knew about his sister. Hehoped it was all for nothing. He sincerely hoped Shannon was safe. But some strange feeling tangled up his gut and a veil of dread drifted over him. He’d felt the same way the morning his mother had died.

In his heart, George knew that Shannon was anything but safe.

It took an hour to get all the relevant personnel on site, and Lottie didn’t leave until Grainne and her SOCO team were in place. On the face of it, it seemed they could be looking for the same person who’d murdered Laura. That was based on the stab wound, and the fact that the victim had been left out in the open. But she hadn’t noticed defensive wounds or strangulation marks on the girl’s neck. Jane Dore said it would be at least another hour before she could get there. Lottie left Kirby in charge and headed back to the station. She grabbed a takeout coffee and a can of Diet Coke from the Bean Café on her way.

Boyd was at his desk. ‘I’d love a coffee. Smells divine.’

‘You can have the Coke. Where were you earlier?’ She was unable to mask her annoyance.

‘Calming the waters between Grace and Sergio. When I told her I had to go into work today, she wrote a list of chores for him and he rebelled. First time I’ve seen his temper. Then she wanted to bring him to Sunday Mass before threatening to head back to Galway. Anyhow, tell me about the body.’

‘It’s so sad, Boyd.’ She sat on the edge of his desk, coat still on, and sipped the coffee. ‘She looks about the same age as Laura Nolan, maybe a little older. We have no idea of her identity. No bag, or bank card in a pocket like Kirby found on Laura. No pocket, even. She was wearing a horrible grey dress.’

‘Wait a minute. Thornton sent up a missing person report that came in earlier.’ He tapped the keyboard and the scanned report appeared on the screen. ‘Shannon Kenny. Lives at Cairnbeg Terrace with her brother George and her nephew Davy. Last seen at eight last night before she went out. And?—’

‘Is there a photo attached?’ She placed her coffee cup to the side, jumped off the desk and leaned over Boyd’s shoulder. He smelled good.

‘Thornton has finally figured out attachments.’ He clicked the icon and the photo opened up.

‘I don’t think she’s the dead woman.’ Lottie didn’t know whether to be relieved or not. Identifying the victim quickly would have speeded up the investigation. On the other hand, this Shannon was likely to walk into her home any time soon. She hoped. Quickly reading over the report again, she said, ‘It says she’s done this kind of thing before.’

‘Yeah, but Thornton thought it best to take the statement, seeing as we now have two dead women in the same age bracket.’

‘Keep it on our radar, but she’s probably sleeping off a hangover somewhere.’

‘Hopefully that’s all.’ Boyd closed down the screen. ‘What do you want me to do now?’

‘Check in with McKeown and see if there’s anyone who can tell us something about Laura Nolan’s movements Thursday night. We need to get on top of that investigation.’

‘Do you think it’s the same killer?’

‘Hard to tell. Single stab wound but no strangulation. She was malnourished. It’s like… I don’t know…’

‘What?’

‘The way she looked, the way she was dressed. Not normal. It’s like she was starved. Does that sound ridiculous?’

‘I haven’t seen her body, so I can’t say.’

‘Head out there and see for yourself. Find out what Jane thinks. I’ve to meet John Morgan’s mother shortly.’

‘I think you should hand over his murder investigation to someone else. It might be muddying the water for us. We should concentrate on Laura and this new victim.’

‘You could be right. I’ll decide after I meet Mrs Morgan.’

51

Brenda Morgan had refused to set foot in the station. A compromise was reached to meet in the Joyce Hotel.

When Lottie entered the noisy bar, Brenda stood. Her face didn’t match her company website photo, which had given Lottie a false sense of the woman. She was no more than five feet tall, bone-thin, dressed in a dark navy dress that swathed her body in folds, like a shroud. Her skin was corpse-white, hands like birds’ claws, and platinum-grey hair to her shoulders, so straight she might have ironed it. Only fifty-five, but such was the sorrow on her face, she could pass for seventy.

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