Page 74 of Hidden Daughters

Bryan shrugged.

Mooney sighed. ‘Okay. I’ll tell you what it is.’ He indicated the page. ‘We found this DNA profile at the holiday cottage. It’s a match for you.’

‘Sure didn’t I help renovate that place a few years ago.’

‘No comment,’ Norah hissed between her teeth.

The smile on Mooney’s face told Bryan he’d made a mistake.

‘You told me yesterday when we had our chat that you’d never set foot in it.’

‘You misunderstood me. I was talking about recently.’

‘Will you stay quiet? Please?’ Norah said, like an irritated schoolteacher.

‘Ah sure, let the man speak,’ Mooney drawled. ‘We might get to the bottom of this “misunderstanding” quicker.’

‘My client has explained he was in that cottage at some stage.’

‘Okay, let’s say I accept that. Now look at this.’ He slid a second page across the table. ‘This is another DNA profile taken at the scene.’

‘Go on,’ Norah said, and bit the inside of her lip. Bryan was beginning to think she was sorry she’d been landed with him.

‘It belongs to a woman called Imelda Conroy. The documentary-maker who was in Galway doing some sort of thing about the laundries.’

‘And?’

‘And she rented the holiday cottage.’

‘What has this got to do with my client?’

Pushing the two sheets of paper side by side, Mooney then laid a third on top. ‘Our preliminary analysis shows that Imelda Conroy and Bryan O’Shaughnessy may be related.’

Bryan felt his jaw drop and forgot all about his solicitor’s instructions to keep his mouth shut.

‘What the hell are you saying? That’s totally untrue. I don’t know the woman. I don’t know either woman.’ He felt such a surge of anger that he couldn’t stop himself lunging across the table at Mooney. ‘You’re a fucking bollox. You’re making this up. Trying to frame me.’

He sat back down at Norah’s insistence. Luckily Mooney had leaned back and no contact was made, but Bryan caught sight of the flashing red light up high on the wall in the corner. He was on camera. Shit.

‘DNA does not lie,’ Mooney said, calm as you like.

‘What sort of relative are you talking about here?’ Norah asked, and Bryan noticed some of her stern composure slipping away.

‘Could be father and daughter. Brother and sister. The lab is carrying out further analysis as we speak. So, Mr O’Shaughnessy, tell me this. Where is Imelda Conroy?’

‘How would I know?’ His mind was a riot of questions. One kept leaping to the forefront. Could Imelda be his and Mary Elizabeth’s child? ‘What age is this Imelda?’

Mooney ignored the question. ‘We extracted DNA from the blood on the piece of timber, the one you handled. It’s a match for Ms Conroy.’

‘How did you determine her DNA?’ Norah asked.

‘I don’t have to answer that, but I will.’ Mooney folded his arms. ‘We initially got DNA from a laptop cable and a phone charger at the cottage. Then we extracted some from clothingleft in a rucksack with her name on it. Mr O’Shaughnessy, where is Imelda Conroy?’

Bryan was speechless. He felt a nudge on his elbow from his solicitor. He turned to look at her and read her lips.

‘No comment.’

‘Have you enough to arrest my client?’ she asked.

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