Page 114 of Hidden Daughters

‘I’ve been called that countless times.’ Grinning, he sat by the desk situated under the wall-mounted television and took a long, thirsty gulp before refilling his glass. ‘A bit warm, but it’s thirteen per cent alcohol, so I won’t say no to it.’

She figured he should have got himself two bottles, or perhaps forked out for the brandy. She pushed her own glass away untouched and sat on the bed, stretching out her jeans-clad legs before crossing them at the ankles and resting her hands behind her head.

‘This case is a bit of a mess,’ she said.

‘What case? You’re on holidays. You don’t have a case. Well, maybe your suitcase there on the floor.’

‘Funny ha-ha,’ she said glibly. ‘I feel like I’m in hell, not on a holiday. Tell me what Mooney has. He isn’t sharing much with me.’

‘He hasn’t got a lot, from what I can gather. I was provided with a synopsis of his investigations, but the evidence seems to be sparse.’

‘Let us assume the killer is a he for argument’s sake. He is slick and must be working to a plan.’

‘What plan would that be?’

‘If I knew that, I’d be able to get ahead of him. We have to figure it out before he kills again. Because I’m certain he won’t stop until he gets them all.’

‘Gets who?’ Kirby looked askance, scratching his head of curls.

‘Whoever is next on his list. My theory is that he got his hands on the nuns’ records, or else he has a photographic memory. He spent years locating all his victims, maybe even keeping an eye on them, but when Imelda Conroy started her documentary, he knew he had to act.’

‘She could be the killer.’

‘She could be, but… I don’t know, Kirby.’ She looked around the room. ‘I wish we had an incident board.’

‘I can go buy a set of Sharpies if you want,’ he said, following her gaze around the white-painted walls.

‘God, no. I just mean it makes it easier to follow when things are visible.’

‘It’d be easier if you were legitimately working the investigations.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘Okay, I will,’ he said. ‘Ann Wilson was reported missing by her husband this evening.’

‘Sure I know that. Mooney told me. I should ring him to see if she has turned up. She was in the convent back then too, when Gabriel was murdered.’

‘Who is Gabriel?’

‘I told you already about what Ann told me on the beach.’

‘Oh, right. All these names are new to me.’

‘I have an idea. I just remembered I have Ann’s phone number.’

‘Mooney and her husband would have called it numerous times.’

She found Ann’s card and tapped the number into her phone. ‘No answer.’

She got off the bed and took the glass with the drop of wine Kirby had poured for her. She sniffed at it, hoping to relish a fine grape aroma, but a stale odour wafted to her nose. ‘How are you even drinking this shit?’

‘Needs must.’

Just then, her phone rang and Ann’s number appeared on the screen. ‘It’s her. Thank God. She must be okay.’ She put down her glass and answered the call. ‘Hello, Ann.’

‘Who is this?’

‘Lottie Parker. We spoke earlier today. Ann, are you okay?’

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