Page 142 of The Altar Girls

‘The medallion was crooked along the edges.’

‘Where is it now?’

‘I don’t have it any more.’

‘Why not?’ Lottie glanced at Father Maguire. He was stony-faced.

‘I gave it away.’

‘Why?’ Father Maguire asked.

‘To whom?’ Lottie asked.

‘Don’t all talk at once. You’re confusing me.’

‘Who has it now, Phyllis?’ Lottie asked gently.

‘Not sure. There was an old woman here a few years ago. Much older than me,’ she added, as if she was only forty. ‘I’ll have to think of her name. Her daughter gave me that rosary as a gift. Then when the old woman died… Darn, why can’t I remember her name? Anyhow, when she died, I gave it back to her daughter. Told her she should place it in the coffin with her mother. I’d like a drink of water now.’

Garda Lei jumped up and made himself busy with a jug and glass on a sideboard while Lottie leaned closer to Phyllis.

‘When was this?’

Lei brought over the glass. Phyllis handed the phone back and took the drink. Lottie wished she’d hurry up, but she knew she couldn’t rush her.

‘Let me see,’ Phyllis said, licking moisture from her lips. ‘It could have been four or five years ago. You must remember them, Keith. You seemed quite friendly with the daughter when you came to visit me.’ She turned to Lottie. ‘Not that he visited often enough back then. So it has to be longer than two years.’ Her eyes moved to her son. ‘Isn’t that when you moved to Ragmullin parish?’

‘I have no idea who you’re talking about.’

‘Course you do. The daughter had those deep brown eyes. Always wore freaky clothes and wild jewellery. Think she made it herself. Had a funny name, too. She brought in obnoxious food for her mother. Not that she ate it. The girl said it was healthy, her mam said it was animal fodder.’ Phyllis laughed softly to herself, water spilling from her glass onto the blanket. She didn’t seem to notice.

Lottie turned her attention to Father Maguire. His face was ashen. He bit his bottom lip so hard he cracked the dry skin.

‘You know who it is?’ she asked.

He nodded slowly.

She knew who it was too. But what did it mean?

87

Martina Brennan awoke with the worst hangover ever. She spent ten minutes in the bathroom puking before she could even look at the time. Eleven o’clock.

‘Shit.’ Flashes from last night flickered behind her throbbing eyes. She looked around wildly, but thankfully she was alone in her apartment.

‘Shit and double shit,’ she cried as memories came storming back. Bethany going missing. McKeown rejecting her. The Brook Hotel. Shit. She’d gone up to the hotel room with Julian Bradley. Had she slept with him? She was certain she hadn’t. But they’d talked and finished off half a bottle of vodka between them. No wonder her stomach felt like a sewer and her throat itched.

She stood under a cold shower for ages, flashes of memory here and there. What had they talked about?

Julian Bradley was a troubled man. Obsessed with keeping children safe. His fears for the Kiernan children. Something else. What was it?

She dried herself and with a towel wrapped around her trembling body fumbled through her underwear drawer. Then it hit her.

What Julian had told her about Father Maguire.

She had to get to the office.

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