Page 38 of Hidden Daughters

‘What were you doing up at the old convent?’

She didn’t think it would do any harm telling him why she’d been there. Yet she was apprehensive. Too soon for confessions or revelations.

‘I don’t think my reason for being there is relevant to your investigation. It was a private excursion. Curiosity. You know yourself.’

‘But it’s a coincidence, and I don’t like them.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We’ve learned that Imelda Conroy was making a radio documentary about the laundries.’

She digested his words. According to Mickey Fox, Imelda, aka Mel, had been at the convent the previous week. Should she inform Mooney? Perhaps she’d wait a while. ‘There’ve been loads of podcasts, television shows, documentaries made over the years. I don’t see what any of it has to do with me having a gander around an old convent.’ But then she felt the hairs stand up on her arms. She knew what he was going to say before he said it.

‘Imelda was making a documentary with particular emphasis on the Sisters of Forgiveness.’

‘Who are they?’ She stood, then sat again, trying to get her thoughts in a straight line. She wasn’t any good at lying. And it wasn’t right to keep information from Mooney, but she was loath to divulge what she’d learned.

He said, ‘The same nuns who ran the convent you were at earlier.’

‘Okay. But why did you ask me here?’

‘The post-mortem is taking place shortly. I’d like you to observe with me.’

‘Is that even allowed?’

‘It is now.’

25

Professor Jane Dore had had to deal with her fair share of unusual deaths over the course of her career. As the country’s state pathologist, she handled unexplained fatalities. Murders. Grisly cases. Torn bodies. Crushed bones. Also, those that at first appeared to be unexplained. A perfect body. Unblemished. A mystery contained within the shroud of skin. Those were the cases she craved, where her skills as a pathologist thrust her into the heart of an investigation.

Today she was in the mortuary at Galway University Hospital. The location was familiar to her, as she’d worked on suspicious deaths there before. She was in Galway to speak at a conference, and her assistant was covering for her in Tullamore. Being in the locality, she felt obliged to accede to the Galway gardaí’s request.

The body laid out on the stainless-steel table told its own story before the pathologist even took up the cold scalpel in her gloved hand. Lottie suspected that Jane was a little surprised to see herarrive with Mooney, even though she’d been given permission to be present. She eyed the pathologist and waited anxiously until she spoke.

‘Age is hard to determine. Like I told you at the scene I’d say this woman was somewhere in her fifties. You can verify it once you identify her. The hands were thrust into boiling water.’ Jane paused before continuing. ‘Skin is blistered, and in places it’s slid off. Third-degree burns. Her face has suffered similar injuries.’

‘Is that what killed her?’ Lottie asked.

‘Short answer – I don’t know yet. The shock could have led to a heart attack, but until I open her up…’

‘What can you tell us now?’ Mooney asked.

Lottie studied the unfortunate victim, avoiding the face, and felt her breakfast rise from her stomach to her throat. She swallowed down the acidic taste, but it lingered in her mouth.

The scene she’d encountered in the bathroom of the cottage was one of the most horrific she’d ever walked into. And looking at the victim laid out on the steel table, it was difficult to figure out if the woman had been flayed or scalded. Blisters had sprouted in places, but in others the skin had sloughed off completely. No identifying features. No eyebrows or lashes. The pathologist would have to determine the cause of death; SOCOs would forensically sweep and analyse the scene. Then Lottie could… No, she couldn’t do anything. It was Mooney’s investigation. But he’d asked for her help. That was something at least.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the woman’s hands. Long, slender fingers. Blistered where the skin remained, otherwise they were skinless. Just bone and sinew.

‘You okay?’ Jane asked her.

‘Not really. How could someone do this to another human being? This was torture.’

‘You think?’

‘Do you not?’ Lottie raised an eyebrow.

‘I have no idea what happened to this unfortunate woman. But it was painful, that’s for sure.’

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