Page 134 of Final Betrayal

He opened his mouth and shut it again.

‘Why are you still standing there?’ She clenched her hands so tightly the knuckles turned white. The urge to thump them into a wall was overwhelming. ‘Did you speak with that Miranda girl at the salon?’

‘There’s an officer with her at the moment taking her statement. But can I say something?’ He pulled at his awkwardly rolled-up shirtsleeves. ‘I’ve made some connections, and I wanted to run them by you. It’s nothing to do with Bernie Kelly or your girls, but … Anyway, will I leave it until later?’

She needed something to focus on. ‘Tell me, McKeown.’

‘In Penny Brogan’s appointment book, Kirby found that Belinda Gill, Cyril’s wife, was a regular customer. Do you think I should speak with her?’

‘I’ll do it. But wish me luck trying to extract a coherent word out of her.’ Lottie recalled how Belinda had downed glasses of gin when she’d called following Louise’s death.

‘Also, the transcript from Louise’s laptop makes interesting reading. This course she was doing, it seems to have screwed with her brain.’

‘How so?’

‘Her work appears to be all about miscarriages of justice, with a large concentration of words devoted to the Conor Dowling case.’

‘Did you read over the Thompson file?’

‘I did. Yes. Kirby gave it to me.’ He shifted uneasily from foot to foot. Shit, Lottie thought.

‘You discovered something I missed ten years ago?’

‘Maybe not you. But I think Superintendent Corrigan directed the investigation the way he wanted it to go.’

‘What do you mean?’ But she had thought this herself earlier.

‘He was a strong supporter of Cyril Gill’s project.’

‘Doesn’t mean diddly.’

‘Just saying.’

‘What else?’

‘We’ve received official confirmation that the body of Cyril Gill has been recovered from the accident site.’

‘A dead man can’t answer any questions.’

‘He sure can’t.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Jim McGlynn is ready to extract the body from the tunnel. Says it will be an arduous business.’ McKeown took a deep breath. ‘He reckons it could’ve been there for up to ten years.’

‘How can he know until it’s been examined by a forensic anthropologist?’

‘Apparently there was a dated receipt in the shirt pocket.’

‘The body was decomposed. Only bones and rags left. Surely a receipt from ten years ago would have disintegrated?’

McKeown’s eyes widened; he was eager to relay his information. ‘McGlynn tried to explain to me the way the human body decomposes. Something about how bodily fluids follow gravity, seeping downwards. The receipt was in the remnants of the front shirt pocket. Therefore it was preserved.

‘Jesus.’ Lottie scratched her head, trying to digest what McKeown said. ‘A receipt for what?’

‘He said he’d get someone to drop it off. I just took the call.’

‘Okay.’ She studied him. He looked like he wanted to say something else, and she ran her fingers over the evidence bag containing her daughters’ phones. ‘What is it, McKeown?’

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