Page 160 of The Altar Girls

‘My mother didn’t deserve any respect. You’re good at making up stories, and that old lady is as batty as they come.’

Lottie figured Phyllis Maguire was saner than the woman sitting in front of her. ‘That confirms you do know Father Maguire’s mother.’

Zara squeezed her lips shut.

‘We’ve been to your workshop.’ Lottie hoped that by flipping around different topics, the woman might inadvertently let something slip or make an admission.

‘I’m sure they came off a production line. It’s not like a one-off, is it? And what has my workshop got to do with a shitty, substandard rosary?’

‘It’s where you work. Where you now make shitty, substandard pottery.’ She couldn’t help herself. Zara had crawled under her skin, pulsing there like an abscess.

‘You have some cheek. For my pottery, I work with clay, a product of the earth. I admit I’m new to the process, but we’ve been gifted this land to cultivate without destroying it. I do my best to be sustainable—’

‘Stop the sermon, Zara. There’s a team of SOCOs presently combing your workshop, inch by inch. They’re paying particular attention to that small fuel-burning kiln you have installed there.’

‘So what? I couldn’t afford a new-fangled electric one.’

‘You were struggling financially and still installed it. What do you burn in it?’

‘Wood.’

‘Anything else?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Lottie flashed a sweet fake smile. ‘We will find what we’re looking for.’

‘I don’t understand. It’s where I work, that’s all. It’s nothing more than a shed. All I can afford. There’s nothing there to interest you.’ Zara shook her head frantically, as if trying to dislodge a thought. ‘Why aren’t you arresting that priest for killing my daughter? That’d be more in your line.’

Ignoring the comment, Lottie said, ‘It’s hard to burn buckles and zips. They’re not made from sustainable materials.’

‘You’ve lost me.’

Her face told a different story. Lottie had her rattled.

‘Willow and Naomi’s school bags had buckles and zips.’ She let the sentence float in the air and concentrated on Zara’s body language. The woman had stiffened, her shoulders rigid. The only part moving was her eyes. They shot to the door and back to Lottie and Kirby.

‘It was the priest.’ Her voice was low, before it swelled with each word she uttered. ‘It was Keith Maguire.’ She paused, as if realising Lottie was no longer buying that. ‘Or the boy. Didn’t Alfie Nally take another child? He’s troubled. Or maybe even Ruth Kiernan. She beat her kids, didn’t she? And her husband was sent to jail. A dysfunctional family. It must be her.’

‘It can’t be everyone, Zara,’ Lottie said softly. ‘I think it was you.’

95

Martina peered in through the slot in the holding cell door. Julian Bradley was standing in the corner, facing the wall, his hands behind his back, as if he was a statue made of granite.

She sensed movement at her shoulder and turned to find McKeown there.

‘He didn’t kill those two girls, did he?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know, but the boss and Kirby came back with Zara Devine. Seems Harper was drugged and is gone to hospital. Father Maguire, too. He was allegedly struck with a hammer.’

‘Really?’ Martina tried to get her head around that. ‘Naomi’s post-mortem stated she was hit with an implement that might have been a hammer.’

‘I know. And now this.’

Detective Maria Lynch joined them in the cold, narrow corridor. ‘I can’t believe it, Martina. You and I were in the Devine house and never considered Zara could have harmed her own child, let alone another. I put her fluctuating moods down to grief.’

Quick steps sounded on the stairs behind them. Garda Lei rushed over. ‘The boss wants Bradley upstairs for an interview.’

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