Page 99 of Final Betrayal

‘So why do you want to talk to Conor?’

‘Can you lower the television sound, please?’ Lottie couldn’t hear a word the woman was saying.

After trying each of the four remote controls lined up on the arm of the chair, the woman eventually got the sound turned down. Lottie noticed how crooked and swollen the older woman’s fingers were.

‘Mrs Dowling, have you heard that there was an accident at the courthouse today?’

‘Accident? Is Conor okay? I hope he isn’t injured. I need him to look after me.’

‘I don’t know if he is or not,’ Lottie said truthfully. ‘I’m trying to locate him. Was he at work today?’

‘Of course he was at work. He goes every day. He’s a good lad, not that you believe that. He’ll be home soon.’

‘My office has been unable to contact him.’

Mrs Dowling blessed herself. ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God, he better be all right. I spent ten years waiting for the day he’d be free to look after me, and now this happens.’

‘Don’t worry unduly. I’m sure he’ll turn up.’ Lottie wasn’t at all certain of that, but she didn’t want Mrs Dowling getting hysterical. Now that she was here, she itched to get home and check on her family, then return to the hospital to make sure Boyd hadn’t discharged himself.

‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?’ Why on earth had she said that?

‘Oh, that’d be great. The kitchen is that way.’ Mrs Dowling pointed with her walking stick. ‘I’m eaten alive with rheumatoid arthritis. Painful in the legs and hands. I depend on Conor for everything.’

‘How did you manage when he was … inside?’

‘His friend Tony was good to me. He works with him on the site. A loyal friend, Tony is.’

‘I’ll make that tea then.’

In the scullery-like kitchen, Lottie filled the kettle and switched it on. ‘Do you take milk?’

‘Course I do. Otherwise it’d be like dishwater.’

Lottie found a carton in the fridge. ‘Sugar?’

‘There’s a bowl in the cupboard. Two spoonfuls. Tea bags are in the caddy.’

‘Does Conor stay in every night?’ Lottie searched through the grimy cupboard.

‘He does.’

She made the tea and brought a mug in to Mrs Dowling. ‘Hope that’s okay.’

‘A bit weak,’ the woman sniffed.

‘And he goes shopping for you?’

‘You hardly think I’m able to go around pushing a trolley, do you?’

‘Tuesday night, was he in all evening? All night?’

Her legs were weak from the trauma of the accident, and the look Vera Dowling threw her made her feel like sinking to the floor.

‘Are you accusing him of something? Like you did the last time?’ Tea spilled from the mug and down the side of the chair, but the old woman didn’t seem to notice. ‘He was here. Every night. So you can piss off with whatever you think you’re going to pin on him.’

‘I wasn’t?—’

‘Conor never did those things you accused him of. He never beat that old man to a pulp and he never stole his money.’

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