Page 18 of The Guilty Girl

‘Okay. I’ll talk to Hannah. Where could I get a full list of everyone who was present last night?’ Lottie didn’t want to have to bring Sean into the equation, but if all else failed, she knew he could give her some of the names.

‘Lucy’s phone, maybe. She kept everything on that. It was her life.’

‘We haven’t recovered that yet.’ Lottie tore a page from her notebook and placed it in front of Ivy with her pen. ‘Write down as many names as you can remember, then you can go home to sleep.’

‘Thanks.’ Ivy picked up the pen, paused it in mid-air.

‘Is there anything else you want to tell me?’

‘Like what?’

‘Something that might have happened in the days leading up to Lucy’s death. Or anything that happened at the party?’

‘No, no. N-nothing. Her dad will be devastated. I am too. I can’t believe she’s actually dead. What am I going to do now?’

Just write the names, Lottie thought. She was getting a strange vibe about Lucy McAllister’s murder and she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

12

Hannah Byrne lived with her mother in a one-bed flat located above Cleanz Dry Cleaner’s on Main Street. The street door opened in on a narrow staircase. A wooden affair, barely accommodating one person at a time. Lottie climbed it with Kirby wheezing behind her and knocked on the door at the top.

She had tasked Detective Sam McKeown with responsibility for allocating Ivy’s list of names to a team of uniforms. Each person was to be interviewed. She hoped the teenagers could add the names of others who were present.

The door was opened by a woman Lottie knew was only in her mid thirties but looked nearer fifty. A toddler with hair to their shoulders clung to her legs. With a cross expression, she lifted the child and allowed the detectives to enter.

The room was tiny. Lottie noticed a bedroom and bathroom off the living area. Her gaze was drawn to a mattress on the floor. A teenage girl lay flat out, snoring loudly. At her feet was a dirty blue rucksack decorated with once-white daisies.

‘What’s this about?’

‘Okay if I call you Barbara?’

‘Everyone calls me Babs.’

The woman’s eyes flitted about the small room as if checking for anything lying around that might get her in trouble with the guards. Lottie hastened to reassure her.

‘Babs, there’s nothing for you to worry about. I just need your daughter to come to the station. I have a few questions. All routine. She’ll need an adult present when questioned. Can you accompany her?’

‘Question my daughter? About what? You think she’s done something? You must be wrong. Hannah’s a good girl …’

So Babs hadn’t heard about Lucy’s death. ‘An incident occurred at or after a party at Lucy McAllister’s house last night. Everyone who was in attendance is being interviewed. Your daughter’s name came up as having been there. We need to talk to her.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘A girl was badly assaulted. That’s all I can say at the moment.’

‘Hannah wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

‘I’m sure that’s true, but she still needs to be interviewed.’

‘Talk to her here.’

‘I’m afraid the interview must be recorded.’ Lottie’s jaw hurt from her forced smile.

‘She needs to sleep. It’s been a long few weeks of exams.’

‘What time did she get home from the party?

‘It was late. Banged the fu— bloody door behind her. Woke up Olly, her little brother.’ Babs patted the child in her arms, who was struggling to be released. ‘She never even turned on a light, just fell into bed and has been asleep since. I can tell you she’s in for an earful when she wakes up.’

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