Page 37 of The Guilty Girl

Lottie and Kirby had deposited Cormac O’Flaherty at the station for a DNA sample and fingerprints to be taken in order to rule him in or out of their investigation. She had mentioned the name Jake Flood in the incident room, and Garda Lei, a member of the cycling unit, knew of him and where he lived.

The estate was broken into various roads and avenues, as if the developer had tried to give the impression it was comprised of individual areas. But there was no getting away from the fact that whether you lived in Brinsley Terrace, Brinsley Road or Brinsley Avenue, it was still a web of closely built, similarly designed houses. A haven for poverty, antisocial behaviour and illegal dumping, and a breeding ground for gangs.

They were looking for 16 Brinsley Terrace to interview Jake Flood. At this stage, Lottie had Hannah Byrne firmly in the cross hairs for Lucy McAllister’s murder, but the fact that the girl might have been under the influence of an illicit substance caused her to have doubts about it being a cut-and-dried case. And then there was Cormac O’Flaherty. She couldn’t get a handle on him. First, though, she had to find the little scumbag drug dealer.

Once they were admitted inside the Flood house, she found herself pleasantly surprised. The kitchen was small, but neat and tidy. She inhaled and admired a floral smell, so unlike Cormac O’Flaherty’s fusty abode. Kirby pulled out a chair at the tiny round table and sat. Liz Flood busied herself filling the kettle, even though the detectives had refused her offer of tea.

‘I need one myself,’ she said, emptying an already half-full mug into the sink and rinsing it under the tap, hands visibly shaking. She eventually ceased fussing, dried her hands and leaned back against the counter. ‘How can I help you?’

‘We’re sorry to disturb you on a Saturday morning, but we’d like to have a quick word with Jake.’

‘Jake?’ The thin, drawn woman sat. Her face looked like someone had drained all the blood from her body. ‘Why? What has he done?’

‘Not sure, to be honest, that’s why we want to talk to him,’ Kirby said, making himself look important by placing his tattered notebook and pen on the table.

‘Jake isn’t here.’

‘Where might we find him?’ Lottie said, her stomach gnawing away with hunger. She hadn’t eaten a thing all morning. Hopefully she’d have time to grab a coffee and sandwich on the way back to the station.

‘I … I don’t know.’ Liz faltered and the kettle squealed. She stood and switched it off. ‘Can you come back? He’ll be home later.’

‘I’m afraid it’s urgent.’ Kirby tapped his pen noisily against the table leg.

A young girl, dressed in torn jeans, a ribbed black top and grubby pink runners – one without laces – walked into the kitchen. Hands on hips, a brazen look spread across her face. ‘What’s going on, Mam?’

‘Go up to your room, Shaz. It’s nothing to do with you.’

‘Why are you looking for Jake?’ Sharon said, not budging an inch.

Lottie hadn’t time to engage with the youngster; she wanted to talk to Jake. ‘Mrs Flood, we really need to find your son. You must have some idea where he is.’

‘He’s … out.’

Time to change direction. ‘Do you know about a gang of teenagers who cycle around selling drugs? I believe they operate on this estate.’

‘Never heard of anything like that,’ Liz said, stony-faced, but the little girl twisted her head, looking up at her mother.

‘You have, haven’t you, Shaz?’ Lottie said.

‘Have not. And I’m Sharon to you.’ The girl put her hands on her hips again, trying to be cool, Lottie suspected, but she just looked lost.

‘I think you know something. I could tell by your face when I mentioned it. What age are you, Sharon?’

‘Ten.’

‘You seem to be really clever for ten. It’s very important that you tell me what you know.’

‘Well …’

‘If you know something,’ Liz said, a puzzled look furrowing her brow, ‘tell them.’

‘I heard about them. But Jake has nothing to do with them.’

‘Where do they hang out?’ Lottie pressed.

‘How would I know?’

‘Manners, Shaz,’ Liz said.

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