Page 33 of The Altar Girls

Lottie had scanned the file and it seemed cut and dried to her. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Bradley attempted to barge into my home. Tried to take Naomi from us without any evidence of wrongdoing. Accused me of abusing her, as if I could harm my little girl. I adored my daughter. I would never lay a hand on her. I don’t normally swear, Inspector, but I will now. Bradley’s a prick of the highest order.’

‘But the doctor who treated Naomi referred her case to child services and documented evidence of historical injuries on her body. Did you not agree with that?’

‘I couldn’t dispute it. She was five or six years old at the time. Do you have kids?’

Lottie nodded.

‘Then you know how they can be at that age. Always tumbling and falling and messing.’

This was much the same argument that his wife had given. Maybe the parents were right, but Isaac had still assaulted Mr Bradley. That was not right.

‘Are you certain there was no truth in the abuse allegations?’

He looked at her then with nothing but pure sadness written in his eyes, and Lottie felt her heart break for his decimated family.

‘Which of us can be certain of anything? Only the Lord with His all seeing eyes knows everything.’

That statement did not answer her question, but before she could ask him anything else, Isaac stood.

‘I want to go back to my cell now, to grieve alone. When you see Ruth, tell her I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to protect Naomi. I should have been there.’

‘Your solicitor has been in contact with my superintendent regarding an application to the high court to have you released on bond. You need to be with your family.’

He gave a slow nod, saying nothing.

‘I am truly sorry for your loss, Isaac.’

‘If that’s true, then hunt down the Lucifer who took her away from me.’

He moved slowly to the door. The bounce had deserted his feet and she could see that he was a broken man. Had he physically abused his daughter? She was torn, because she could not see it.

She sat alone for some moments in the white room, lost in a sea of uncertainty. She hated this part of her job. Breaking hearts that were already broken. The only way she could help was to find the truth.

She stood and pulled on her jacket. Her visit had left her with so many questions. Questions that she could not yet form into words.

24

Ragmullin was blessed with a second church, to the north of the town. St Patrick’s was modern and circular. Christy Reilly had been the caretaker since the church’s consecration thirty years ago. The building had aged better than Christy, but he refused to retire. Not that anyone other than his wife had asked him to, and she never shut up about it. Nag, nag, nag. Once she started, it was a sign to remove his hearing aid and stow it in his pocket.

Every December, Christy was tasked with building an outdoor crib on the small grassy mound behind the church. His grandson often helped him, but he was in Canada since last May, and Christy was too proud to ask anyone else for help.

After a week working in atrocious conditions, he was almost finished. On Sunday he’d got the star up over the wooden construction, but yesterday’s weather was so bad he hadn’t been able to leave his house. Now he just had to wire it up. Once that was done, the star would shine its light out over the town at night.

With his toolbox in hand, he lumbered up the snow-covered hillock, cursing his sciatica. Maybe this would be his last year. Seventy-two wasn’t that old to still be working, he consoled himself. He’d give it another year. Sure, he was doing no one any harm being here, and it saved his ears from Libby.

Whistling softly, he put down the box and gazed at the huge star. It had been a curse to put up and the ladder had skidded twice, but he had succeeded in the end. A wire dangled in the soft breeze, snow fell gently and he felt happy with the world.

As he grabbed the end of the wire to attach the plug to it, his eye was drawn to a dark corner of the empty crib. A flutter of material, so minimal he almost missed it. But despite many ailments, Christy was blessed with twenty-twenty vision. He was proud of never having the need to wear glasses.

‘What is that?’ he mumbled.

Had someone brought the statues down already? Father Maguire was always trying to help where he wasn’t wanted. Christy muttered away to himself as he dipped his head and walked inside the structure.

When he reached the prostrate object, he saw that it was clothed in a white robe. That must have been what he’d seen from outside. But…

He fell to his knees, confusion streaking through his mind. Not one of the crib figures at all. He had been at enough wakes to know this child looked like a corpse. Lying there as if she’d just fallen asleep. A long robe covering her body, her little face frozen white, her hands joined on her chest, a rosary of red beads intertwined around her fingers.

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