Page 62 of The Guilty Girl

‘I don’t think you meant that at all,’ Boyd said, his tone measured. ‘I’d appreciate it if you told me the truth.’

‘You’re certain you don’t want a coffee? I sure as hell need another.’ Terry turned his back on Boyd and pulled levers on the machine. He put a larger mug under the spout this time.

‘A glass of water would be good, and one for my son.’ Boyd glanced over to see Sergio engrossed in a Spanish-language news programme.

‘Is he really your son?’

‘Yeah. Long story.’

‘Aren’t they all?’

30

Detective Sam McKeown was less than impressed with Lottie’s house. One of her daughters, he had no idea which one, led him into the sitting room.

‘Tea or coffee?’

‘No thanks.’

‘That’s great, because I used the last tea bag and the coffee is rock hard in the bottom of the jar. I’ll call Sean down for you. Hope he hasn’t been a bold boy.’ She winked. That made him feel awkward.

She went off to find her brother and McKeown glanced around the cold, cavernous room. He sniffed the air and found it fusty. The furniture would look better in a museum. In the hallway he’d feared the old chandelier was about to crash on top of his head if he didn’t move out from underneath it.

Standing by the fireplace, he watched Sean Parker enter the room. The boy was tall and lean, his eyes ringed with black circles. Someone didn’t get much sleep last night.

‘Hello, Sean. I’m Detective Sam McKeown. Call me Sam.’

Sean eyed him from under his long lashes, probably seeing right through the faux-friendly introduction. Not that McKeown cared. He was looking forward to grilling Lottie’s son.

‘Chloe told me you were here.’ The kid was tapping his knee. Nervous or impatient? Time to find out.

‘You were at Lucy McAllister’s party, weren’t you?’

‘You know I was there, so why are you asking me?’

Spiky, like his mother. ‘No need to get your back up. Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

Down to business then. ‘What time did you get to Lucy’s house?’

‘Around nine o’clock.’ A steady stare. Still unrattled.

‘How much did you have to drink?’

‘A couple of bottles of warm cider. I don’t touch anything else, so there was no way I was drunk if that’s what you’re implying.’

McKeown ignored the dig. ‘Drugs?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Did you take any drugs at the party? Uppers or downers. Crack, cocaine, MDMA, skunk. You take anything like that?’

‘Are you joking? I don’t do that stuff. Mam would murder me.’

‘But she wasn’t there, was she?’

‘No, but she collected me and drove me home.’

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