Page 160 of The Last Love Song
‘Mr Daly, are you telling me you didn’t know your wife was pregnant? I’m afraid I just presumed that—’
‘Sorcha was having a baby?’ He could hardly voice the words.
‘Yes. I’m so sorry, Mr Daly.’
‘No, no...I...’
Con rose from his chair and let out a howl of anguish. He stood up, left the room and began to run blindly down the corridor.
‘Con! Con, where are you going?’
Freddy was sat on a chair at the bottom of the corridor. He followed Con as he began to run down the stairs.
‘Con, please!’
Con stopped on the stairs and turned to look at Freddy. He saw tears were falling freely down Con’s face.
‘My wife...my baby...Oh, sweet Jesus...I killed my wife and my child...I killed them...I killed them.’
49
They came with their search warrant at half past eleven the following morning.
They took her house to bits, emptying drawers, pulling back the carpets, even tearing open the collection of toy animals that lay on the bed and removing their stuffing.
Helen sat out on the patio, unable to witness the destruction, hands clenched in her lap, thinking that perhaps she’d stepped into some horrible nightmare.
DI Garratt arrived after lunch. He joined her on the terrace, pulled out a chair and sat opposite her.
‘Sorcha Daly died in the early hours of this morning.’
Helen gripped the sides of her chair. She swallowed hard. ‘Then I hope you catch the bastard that killed her.’
‘Rest assured, I intend to.’ Garratt put a couple of transparent envelopes on the table, and a bulky brown one. ‘Helen, where do you usually keep your gun?’
‘I told you. In the locked drawer in my office.’
‘We found your firearms certificate there, but as you said, the gun was missing.’
‘I told you. It disappeared.’
‘Until we made a thorough search of Metropolitan’s premises.’
Helen raised her eyes and stared at Garratt coldly. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
Garratt pulled out a gun from the interior of the brown envelope. ‘Is this yours, Miss McCarthy?’
Helen leant forward to take a closer look. ‘It might be. It’s certainly the type I have.’
‘We’ve checked the serial number on the gun against your licence. It’s your gun. Could you tell me where it was found?’
‘Itoldyou. Last time I saw it, it was upstairs in the top drawer of my desk.’
‘So, can you think of anyone who would have used your gun to kill Sorcha Daly, then hidden it in the cistern of the ladies’ toilet in the basement of Metropolitan Records?’
Helen let out a short laugh. ‘No, Inspector, I can’t.’
‘Believe me, it’s no laughing matter. Your gun was the murder weapon. The bullets match those found in recording studio one. Your fingerprints were all over it.’
