Page 11 of Final Betrayal

‘Good morning, sir,’ she said, though adding ‘sir’ galled her. She should be acting superintendent while Superintendent Corrigan was on extended sick leave, but no, the powers-that-be had drafted McMahon in from Dublin. A right kick up the backside for her.

‘Nothing good about it,’ he said, and flopped onto the chair in front of her desk.

‘Go on.’ She leaned towards him, interested.

‘Amy Whyte, twenty-five years old, didn’t come home after a night out on Saturday, and she didn’t turn up for work yesterday or this morning. Her father is downstairs to lodge a missing persons report.’

‘When did he last see his daughter?’ Lottie asked.

‘Saturday evening, before she headed out for Jomo’s nightclub.’

Lottie felt a moment of discomfort, thinking of her girls. ‘She’s sleeping off a bellyful of booze somewhere.’

‘You and I both know that is entirely possible, but try telling her father that. Will you do a little investigating? Just to demonstrate that we are doing something.’

‘You know him then? This Mr Whyte?’

McMahon leaned back in the chair, stretched his arms to the ceiling and yawned. He was usually jumping around like a toy on long-life batteries on Monday mornings. Not just Mondays. Every morning, come to think of it.

‘Not really,’ he said. ‘As you know, I’ve spent most of my working life in Dublin, but Whyte is a county councillor, so do me this one favour. You never know when we might need one in return.’

‘I know what I need. More staff. I can’t just go off on a wild goose chase when there’s so much to do. Court cases, budgets, KPIs to be met.’ She smiled inwardly. Key performance indicators were McMahon’s babies, and if he uttered the phrase once a day, he said it a dozen times. She felt a glow of pleasure in spouting it back at him.

‘You really know which buttons to push. For now, I just want you to talk to the man. See what you can find out. He’ll be pacified if he thinks an inspector is investigating.’

‘I need more staff.’ She folded her arms. ‘I’ve told you often enough. Since Gilly …’ Her words caught in her throat. The loss of the young garda had decimated morale in the station. Most affected was Detective Larry Kirby, who had been Gilly’s boyfriend. ‘And Detective Lynch is on maternity leave. We need new blood in here.’

‘I’m trying my best to get someone assigned from another station.’ McMahon stood up and moved to the door. ‘Now go and talk to Richard Whyte. That’s an order.’

Lottie shook her head as he marched out the door and into the general office. She rolled the name around in her mind. Amy Whyte? Could it be the same Amy Whyte? She would find out soon enough.

The man sitting in the room off reception seemed to fill the space with his bulk. And when he stood, Lottie remembered exactly who he was. Ten years ago, his daughter, then just a teenager, had been a key witness in a trial.

‘Good morning, Councillor Whyte. Take a seat.’ She squeezed in past him and sat down, and Boyd squashed in beside her behind the small desk. She silently warned herself to watch her Ps and Qs, because it would all travel back upstairs to McMahon.

‘I want to report my daughter missing.’

‘What’s her name and age?’

‘Amy Whyte. Twenty-five.’

‘When did you last see her?’

A whistle of air escaped his lips. ‘Saturday evening. Around seven.’

‘Okay,’ Lottie said as Boyd wrote in his notebook. ‘Today is Monday. You weren’t expecting her home Saturday night, or even yesterday, then?’

‘She went out with her friend Penny Brogan on Saturday, like she does every weekend.’

‘Has she a boyfriend?’

‘No one regular as far as I know.’

‘You weren’t worried when she didn’t come home Saturday night?’

‘No, I wasn’t. Sometimes she stays over at Penny’s … or, you know … a friend’s.’

‘What has you worried now?’

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