Page 132 of Final Betrayal

‘You need to come with me to Dowling’s house. I want you to talk nice to Vera. Make her tea or whatever while I have a snoop in the garden shed.’

‘Are you crazy?’ He leaned wearily against the door jamb. ‘I think you took a harder bang to the head than I did.’

‘You’ll have to work your charm and get her to give us permission.’

‘Lottie, you’re not thinking straight. We have so much other stuff to be doing.’

She stood. ‘Are you coming with me, or are you just going to stand there feeling sorry for yourself?’

Harsh words, because he really did look awful.

‘I’ve no choice, I suppose.’

Kirby popped in to Whyte’s Pharmacy. The assistant, Trisha, said Megan had left to get something to eat before the late shift.

‘When will she be back?’

‘We’re open until nine, so she should be back soon.’ She checked the clock hanging above the door. ‘Maybe fifteen minutes. Do you want to wait?’

‘No, I’m busy.’ He thought quickly. ‘Don’t tell her I called.’

‘Sure.’

At the door he said, ‘Do you think she went home for her break?’

Trisha shrugged her shoulders.

He had to talk to Megan. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said.

Outside, he felt the dark of the afternoon sitting heavily on his shoulders. He missed Gilly at times like this. Her comforting words or silly remarks. He wondered how his boss was able to function not knowing where her daughters were. God, he didn’t want to think the worst. They’d be fine. But in his heart, he felt they were not.

‘Damn it,’ he said. Jumping into the car he’d parked on double yellow lines, he headed for Megan’s house.

This time Mrs Dowling was more accommodating. Boyd turned on his magic smile and made tea. He arranged a blanket around her knees. She told him he could call her Vera.

Once he’d succeeded in getting the television sound turned down, he said, ‘Vera, is it okay for my inspector to take a look around?’

‘I don’t like her,’ Vera whispered conspiratorially. ‘But I’ve nothing to hide.’ She looked up at Lottie. ‘You’re not to take anything.’

‘I won’t.’

Lottie grabbed a shiny new key from a hook in the kitchen. Opening the lock on the shed door, she entered the cold, damp space. Finding a string for the light, she pulled it and surveyed the equipment in front of her. With gloved hands she lifted a square of sheet metal. It was similar in weight and colour to the coins they’d found with the bodies, including the body in the tunnel.

Scanning the workbench, she noticed woodturning equipment but nothing that resembled what she thought might be used to pound medals or coins out of the sheet metal. As she looked around, her eyes were drawn to a gap on the bench. A hole had been bored into the wood, and as she ran her hand carefully around the bottom of it, tiny shards of metal came away on her fingertips. She held them up to the light, where they glinted.

Where was the machine that had fitted in here? She’d have to call SOCOs to take samples to compare with the coins found at the crime scenes. There was nothing further of interest, so she made her way through the wet grass and went back inside.

She smiled at Boyd’s strained face. Torture, she thought. He didn’t deserve that. Time to rescue him. ‘Mrs Dowling, does anyone else have access to Conor’s shed?’

‘His workshop, you mean. That lad was always hammering or cutting something out there. All hours of the night. He had dreams of becoming an architect once upon a time. Before you lot framed him.’ Her eyes slid into slits.

Lottie was undeterred. ‘An architect?’

‘He worked part-time as an apprentice for that Cyril Gill before he ended up in prison.’

Now that Vera said it, Lottie vaguely remembered it from the Thompson case.

‘There seems to be a piece of equipment missing. Do you know who might have taken it?’ If Conor hadn’t dumped it himself, she thought.

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