‘Or one of them is our killer.’
Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she checked it.
‘We need to head to Lough Cullion, Boyd. Turn around.’
He glanced at her, almost rear-ending the car in front. ‘And how do you expect me to do that?’
‘Siren and lights.’
A group of teenagers, lathered in something like baby oil, stood congregated beside a squad car. Garda Thornton was leaning against the car, notebook in hand. Lottie walked gingerly towards them, still feeling the effects of being whacked across her shoulders and neck.
Thornton straightened his back.
‘These kids,’ he said, sweeping his hand at the four lads, who looked pale beneath their sunburn, ‘saw a car drive away at speed. Then they noticed that on the shore.’
She looked to where he pointed. A blue plastic barrel was bobbing on the little waves. On its side.
‘There long?’
‘Not too long, or it would have floated out.’
‘Anyone try to pull it ashore?’
One lad, no more than fifteen, skinny with red hair, raised his hand.
‘Go on.’
‘We were over by the boathouse. Swimming and messing. Heard the wheels of a car plough up the stones and then it screeched off. Then we saw that.’
‘Did you attempt to bring it in?’
He bit his lip and nodded.
‘Why didn’t you get it ashore?’ She glanced at Thornton. Why hadn’t he helped?
The kid said, ‘There’s something in it.’
‘Do you know what?’
He looked anxiously at his pals. They were staring at their feet.
‘Erm, I don’t know exactly, but it looked like hair.’
She followed Boyd to the shore. He kicked off his shoes and socks and waded into the shallow water, attempting to haul the barrel in.
‘Thornton!’ he yelled. ‘A hand, please.’
Without waiting for the guard to wake the hell up, Lottie kicked off her shoes and joined Boyd. They gripped the heavy barrel and between them succeeded in getting it to dry land, upright. A hole close to the bottom spewed out water. Glancing in, she saw what the kids had seen.
She shivered beneath the bright sunshine.
This was bad. Very bad.
* * *
The woman is a frightful sight. Even I am shocked at her demeanour. I knew she was damaged, but I didn’t think she’d be a snivelling mess. I hate that carry-on.
‘I want you to shut up and listen.’