Page 37 of Hidden Daughters

Lottie signed in and stood on the stoop. Waiting was not one of her stronger points, but she couldn’t argue. It wasn’t her crime scene.

Mooney came out and, without divesting himself of his protective gear, wordlessly indicated that she follow him.

She trudged behind him as he rounded the cottage. The small, square garden was enclosed by low stone walls, greening patio slabs on the ground and a weatherbeaten wooden table with chairs. He pulled one out and sat. She did likewise, hoping SOCOs had examined them.

‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Nothing of note was found out here.’

He rustled a cigarette pack from inside the folds of his Teflon boiler suit, and a lighter appeared with it. Lighting up, he inhaled, then exhaled a cloud of smoke. He coughed but didn’t speak.

‘Look, Sergeant Mooney, I haven’t got?—’

‘Matt, call me Matt.’

‘What’s going on, Matt?’

‘It’s not her.’

‘Who’s not who?’ She scrunched her eyes. He had her confused. ‘The dead woman?’

‘Aye, it wasn’t Imelda Conroy in that bath.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘Hundred per cent. We checked online. Passport, driver’s licence, her website. All that shite. Wrong age demographic. Conroy is in her thirties, and according to the pathologist who attended at the scene, the dead woman is possibly in her fifties. It’s not her.’

‘Then where is Imelda Conroy?’

‘No idea.’

‘Car?’

‘She had a car. Registration number was on the cottage rental form. Matches vehicle licence records. But no car here.’

‘And it’s not her body. Shite, this is a curveball.’

‘You’re telling me.’ He stubbed out his cigarette under the sole of his shoe. Glancing over at her, he caught her staring. ‘Told you, it’s okay. SOCOs have been and gone from out here.’

‘And inside? Did they find anything?’

‘Apart from the lead for a laptop, they also found a phone charger plugged in beside the bedside locker. No phone, though, like I said. A few blank pieces of paper scattered around, giving me nothing to go on. A lone hoodie hanging in the wardrobe. Few bits of clothing in a rucksack. Other than that, zero.’

‘Fingerprints, DNA?’

‘All gathered and being analysed and fed into the system. Takes time for results.’

‘Any idea who the victim could be?’

‘No one reported missing. Not yet, anyhow. So no, I’ve no idea.’

‘You need to interview the neighbours, if there are any, and?—’

‘Being done as we speak. I’m not a total amateur.’

‘I wasn’t implying that. Sorry. I’m just working through what I’d do.’

‘Can I ask you a question?’

She knew he would ask anyhow. ‘Sure, fire away.’

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