Page 35 of Final Betrayal

‘There are three large recycling banks in the car park,’ Boyd said. ‘I’ll get them checked too.’

‘And then there are these,’ Lottie said, pinning up a zoomed-in photo of the coins.

‘What are those?’ Kirby stood and walked up to the board. ‘Not cash, anyway.’

‘No. But they’re similar to a one-euro coin, though thinner. No embellishments or engravings. We need to find out what they are and if they’re of any relevance.’

‘They might have fallen out of one of the victim’s bags,’ Kirby said. ‘In a struggle, maybe?’

‘What about the weapon?’ Thornton asked.

‘Not at the scene,’ Lottie said. ‘If it was discarded by the killer in the vicinity, I want it found.’

‘We’re very short-staffed on the detective side of things,’ Boyd said.

‘I’ll talk to the super. I want an extensive background check on everyone associated with the victims. Relatives, friends, colleagues … anyone who so much as sneezed on them. And check out the girls’ online histories. We’re not going to balls this up like previous investigations by leaving some stone unturned. Got it?’

‘Got it.’ The reply came in unison.

She debated internally for a moment, then said, ‘This may have nothing to do with the murders, but it’s worth keeping in the back of your minds. Amy Whyte was one of two key witnesses in an aggravated burglary over ten years ago. A house belonging to a local publican, Bill Thompson, was broken into, the pub takings stolen and the man himself severely battered. A local man, Conor Dowling, got ten years for robbery and grievous bodily harm. He is now out of prison. Mr Thompson has since died. I’m just putting that out there so you can keep it in the back of your minds. Okay?’

‘Okay, but what about?—’

‘Concentrate on these two murders, Boyd. The media rabble are already drumming up a shit storm, and I for one don’t want to have to wade through it for too long.’

‘Right so,’ Boyd said.

Lottie thought he looked a little dubious, but she hadn’t time to indulge him. She said, ‘Anything else before I let you all out into the wild?’

‘Who’s going to talk to Penny Brogan’s parents?’ Boyd again.

Sitting into the nearest chair, Lottie closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with her thumbs. ‘I suppose that will be you and me.’

Her phone vibrated with a message.

Leo Belfield. Again.

Shit.

NINETEEN

After delivering the stark news to Penny Brogan’s father, who greeted it in stunned silence, and arranging for his wife to be brought home from work by a family liaison officer, Lottie organised for the couple to attend the formal identification whenever Penny’s body was ready to be viewed. She then returned with Boyd to the crime scene at Petit Lane.

‘I think we should have a chat with Mrs Loughlin, the woman who alerted us. She’s the only one living nearby,’ Lottie said. ‘Perhaps we can jog her memory.’

In the car park, Boyd switched off the engine. A third crime-scene cordon had been erected, ensuring the reporters were a further ten metres away from the sad little row of houses.

About to get out of the car, Lottie felt Boyd’s hand on her arm. ‘What?’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Of course I’m okay.’ Though she wasn’t. Not really. Seeing the two bodies had rattled her, and what annoyed her most was that she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why that was. Perhaps it was because her daughters had been in the same nightclub on Saturday night. And then there was Leo Belfield. She was itching to get to talk to him.

‘You don’t look okay. Lottie, I know you better than you know yourself sometimes. If there’s something wrong, please tell me.’ He raised his hand palm outward in submission. ‘And don’t go saying I’m worse than your mother.’

‘She probably put you up to it.’

‘No, she did not. I’m concerned. I want you to talk to me when and if you feel you need to. Okay?’

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