Page 128 of Final Betrayal

She took up the crime-scene photos. Held them close to her nose, trying to see if there were coins anywhere. Something they might have missed. Once Dowling had been identified by the eyewitnesses, they had swooped on him. With no alibi offered, he was charged, tried and convicted. Case closed.

She put down the photos and read another page.

Bill Thompson had never recovered after suffering a stroke following the assault. He was unable to speak. He couldn’t describe his assailant. House-to-house had yielded nothing. The safe had been left open and the money taken.

The safe.

She picked up the photos again. A floor safe. Opened by a key in a lock. The lid was on the floor beside the gaping hole.

She closed her eyes. Tried to remember the scene. But it had been ten years ago. A thought struck her. How had the burglar got the key?

She looked for a photo of Bill Thompson. They had none of him at the crime scene. Medics had arrived before the guards and whisked him straight to hospital. From there he’d been airlifted to Dublin, where he’d undergone five hours of brain surgery.

The photo she found at the back of the file was of a sprightly sixty-four-year-old. Greying hair, and a large nose. But he’d been handsome, she noted. And fit. Had he had the key on his person? Had he been interrupted while he was putting the takings in the safe? If not, how did the burglar know about the safe?

She put down the photo and scoured the report for evidence of what had happened to the key. There was no mention of it.

Closing her eyes, she tried to remember. Flicked through the file until she found Conor Dowling’s arrest sheet. No mention of a key on his person. Nor the money, for that matter.

She shuffled through the photographs again. Found another one of the open safe. Coins were scattered around the floor as if they’d fallen from a bank money bag.

Shit.

FIFTY-SIX

Lottie couldn’t believe she was about to conduct another interview while her daughters were still missing. Before entering the room, she phoned her mother to make sure all was okay with Sean and Louis and to confirm her house was still monitored with a squad car outside it. She had to keep working otherwise she’d go insane.

Tony Keegan’s stomach was pressed up against the table and his greasy hair fell to his shoulders, with wayward curls around his forehead. His eyes travelled from Lottie to Boyd, then, as he tried to focus on a point above their heads, he gave up and studied his thick hands resting on the table. If Lottie had to describe him, she would have said he was rough but shifty. She would need to delve deep beneath his exterior. She knew murderers came in all guises, and so far the killer of four young women was like a feather in the wind.

‘Can I take off my jacket?’ he asked.

‘Sure.’ Lottie had a file with her this time to give the impression that she was reading before addressing him.

Boyd concluded the introductions for the recording.

Lottie began. ‘Mr Keegan, what can you tell me about Conor Dowling?’

‘Ah, well, you know all about Conor, don’t you? He’s not long out of jail.’

‘Tell us something we don’t already know.’

‘How would I know what you do or don’t know?’

‘Humour me,’ she said, fighting down rising irritation. She was sure Boyd and Keegan could hear the beating of her heart, such was her anxiety. She had to find her daughters before it was too late. She wanted to breathe in their youthful scent, not this sweaty idiot’s. But she had to follow this route in order to discover any information that might lead her to them. Concentrate. Focus.

The shifty eyes landed on her. ‘He says you’re harassing him.’

‘I’m talking about the murders, smart-arse.’

‘Oh. I know nothing about them.’

Her exasperation boiled over. ‘Do you read the newspapers? You can read, can’t you? Or watch television, or follow Twitter and Facebook? I’m sure you’ve heard about Amy Whyte, Penny Brogan, Cristina Lee and Louise Gill.’

‘Course I heard about them. Doesn’t mean I knew them.’

‘Your boss is Cyril Gill. You’d have seen Louise around, I’m sure.’

‘I know all the girls to see.’

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