Page 36 of Hidden Daughters

‘Did Mel get what she deserved?’

‘What do you mean? She was satisfied once I showed her the basement laundry. And off with her she went.’ He hesitated as if he’d caught the unspoken words in her question. ‘Did something happen to her?’

‘You could say that, Mr Fox. Good day to you.’

She sidestepped, needing to get away from him. To put a physical space between them.

With a final glance at the oppressive building, the walls leaning over her, she scooted by him.

She had to talk to Detective Mooney.

24

Walking quickly to her car, Lottie was glad to escape from the desolation she’d felt oozing from the convent walls. A prison. That was what it reminded her of. Not a modern one like Castlerea, with stainless-steel fittings and plastered walls, but something from the novels of Dickens. Newgate or Dartmoor. Or the old Irish prisons like Spike Island.

After driving down the weedy avenue, she turned onto what constituted the main road. It was little more than a lane. At last she could breathe normally. Mooney. She had no contact number for him. Damn. He was probably based in Galway city. Bryan might know him. Then again, Bryan O’Shaughnessy was a Connemara sheep farmer, so how or why would he know Mooney?

Her phone blared loudly in the silent car, and she leaped in her seat. Unknown number. She pressed the hands-free button and waited without speaking.

‘Is that Detective Inspector Lottie Parker?’ A semi-familiar gruff voice.

‘I was just thinking of you, Detective Sergeant Mooney.’

‘Great minds and all that.’ He laughed, and it was a joyous sound compared to Mickey Fox’s raspy tones.

‘How can I help you?’ She drove on a little before stopping at the side of the narrow road, at a field gate. ‘Just pulling in the car. The audio’s coming and going. Bad coverage.’

‘Lucky to get any coverage at all out here.’

‘Are you at the scene?’

‘Just came back to it an hour ago. Look, I could do with your insight. This is more complicated than I first thought.’

‘Being scalded by kettles of boiling water in a bath isn’t complicated enough?’

‘It is, but there’s more. Can you come by the holiday cottage?’

‘Sure. I can be there… Shit, I actually don’t know where I am. I’ll have to get my bearings.’

‘Give me some idea of your location and I can direct you.’

‘I’ve just left a convent. Used to be a laundry. One of those?—’

‘What were you doing there?’

‘Doesn’t matter. Where do I go?’

He established her general whereabouts and spouted directions.

‘See you in fifteen minutes,’ he said. ‘Oh, and by the way, you’re still only here in an advisory capacity.’

‘Got it.’

She drove on, and the call dropped.

A thick mist rose from the sea, giving an eerie atmosphere to the three whitewashed stone cottages. She had to park a good way down the tree-lined lane, such was the number of parked garda cars and the forensic technical van.

Delaney, the clipboard guard, had been replaced by an enthusiastic young female garda, who allowed her through once she’d checked with Mooney. The only proviso was that she wasn’t allowed to enter the cottage.

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