‘She was a regular commuter. I talked to a few people leaving the station yesterday evening. Most said they saw her but then weren’t sure of the day, but two people swear she was on it. They remembered her standing in the aisle before she secured a seat after Maynooth. Neither of those witnesses can tell us anything further, though, because they both disembarked at the next station, Enfield.’
Lottie said, ‘But Elizabeth never arrived home.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Maybe she got off at Enfield too.’
‘Enfield station CCTV confirms she did not.’
‘So back to Ragmullin station. You have a CCTV image of her that morning. What about the evening?’
‘All the cameras are focused on either the ticket desk or the car park. But we know she has no car so she must have walked to the station Monday morning.’
‘She might have stayed on the train and ended up somewhere else.’
Boyd shook his head. ‘I’ve checked with all the stations up to and including Sligo, where the train terminates, and there’s no evidence she was on it other than the witnesses who think they saw her before Enfield.’
‘The media will be calling this “the girl who disappeared from the train”.’ She printed off the photograph and handed it to Boyd. ‘Tell me what you see.’
‘A young woman. Hair cut to her shoulders. A scattering of freckles across her nose. Dark brown eyes and full lips. Can I say she’s pretty?’
‘Boyd! I’m asking about her personality.’ She shook her head in exasperation.
‘It’s just a photograph. I’m not a psychic.’
‘Try.’
He sighed. ‘She looks sensible enough. No nose or eyebrow piercings. No visible tattoos, though it is only a head shot. Eyes appear clear and bright. Probably no drug use.’
‘That’s what I thought. Anything show up on her social media accounts?’
‘Nothing since Sunday night.’
‘What did that say?’
‘Just a Facebook post with a GIF of a drowned-looking cat and the caption “Don’t tell me tomorrow is Monday. Just don’t.”’
‘Do you think she did a runner?’
‘She lives at home and her mother says all her stuff is still in her room.’
Standing up, Lottie grabbed her jacket and bag. ‘Come on. Let’s have a look round her house and see if we can find out anything.’
‘It’s not yet forty-eight hours.’
‘Are you a parrot? You keep repeating yourself.’
‘Elizabeth is an adult. I think you’re being a bit premature about this.’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, stop whingeing. Better this than being out in the freezing cold chasing boy racers or trying to get information about illegal bare-knuckle fights.’
‘God help me,’ he muttered.
She opened the door and looked back over her shoulder as Boyd slowly rose to his feet and joined her. Catching his soapy scent as he passed, she had to stop her hand from reaching out to his. She couldn’t do anything that might compromise the contented truce they were experiencing at the moment.
‘Why the sour puss?’ he asked.
‘None of your business,’ she said with a smile, and marched through the main office, leaving the jangle of cooling radiators in her wake. In the corridor, she walked straight into Superintendent Corrigan.
‘I was just coming to get you,’ he said. ‘My office. Now.’
Staring after his bulk, Lottie stood open-mouthed. She’d been good recently. Hadn’t she?
‘What did you do now?’ Boyd said, retreating to his office.
‘Nothing. I hope.’ She crossed her fingers as she took off down the corridor after Corrigan.
* * *
‘Sit down, Parker. You know it makes me nervous looking at you hopping from foot to foot.’
‘I’m not …’ Lottie clamped her mouth shut, folded her jacket over her arm and did as her boss commanded.
Superintendent Corrigan pulled his chair into his desk. With his belly suitably comfortable, he tapped a pen on the wood and looked up at her. She stifled a gasp as she noticed the worsening state of his eye. Last summer he’d sported a patch over it, and before Christmas he had declared it better. Better than what, no one asked, but now she thought it looked to have deteriorated considerably.
‘Will you stop staring at my eye,’ he said, rubbing it viciously, making it tear up and redden further.
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘Well, actually, it’s one of the reasons I called you in.’ He paused. ‘I had to visit another specialist. He didn’t like it. Sent me for a scan. Found a bastard of a tumour sitting on the optic nerve. And …’ His voice cracked and he stood up. She watched him walk to the window. Shit, this was bad news. And she felt there was worse to come.
‘I’m going to have to take a break from duty.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Will you stop saying sorry? It’s not your fault. One of the only things, I might add, that isn’t your fault around here.’ He turned around and she saw how much it was annoying him to have to leave work. ‘I’ve contacted head office and they’re sending a temporary replacement. No need for interviews or any of that feckin’ shite.’
‘Really? I thought it was obligatory to hold interviews for replacements, even short-term ones.’
‘I’ve no feckin’ idea how short or long my absence will be. My concern is focused on getting this bastard tumour out of my head.’
‘I understand. Sorry, sir.’
‘Jesus, will you give it up?’
‘Sor—’ Lottie stopped herself before she said it again. If they weren’t holding interviews, shouldn’t she get the temporary job of superintendent?
‘And before you say another word, you are not going to be my replacement. Apparently your reputation for ballsing things up has reached people higher than me. Much as I try to keep our investigations local.’ He took a breath before continuing. ‘And how are you feeling since you returned to duty? Better, I hope.’
He wasn’t just talking about her physical health. The injury she’d suffered at the hands of a killer had been the catalyst for astonishing revelations about Lottie’s family history. Revelations she still couldn’t deal with.
‘I’m fine, sir. A month at home nearly sent me loopy, but I feel grand now.’ She crossed her fingers that he wouldn’t dig any deeper.
‘That’s good.’
‘Who is deputising for you, sir? Anyone I know?’
‘Detective Inspector David McMahon.’
Lottie shot out of her chair, dropping her jacket and bag to the floor. ‘You can’t be serious. McMahon! Holy Mother of Jesus, give me a break.’ She just about stopped herself stamping her foot like an unruly child. ‘If he arrives here, I’m leaving.’
‘You’re going to do what he says, and you’re going to say nothing. Walk the feckin’ line. Do you hear me?’
‘Sir, you can’t let this happen. I’ll be the laughing stock of the district. It’s preposterous to have an outsider from Dublin coming to deputise for you when I’m already here. It’s uncalled for. It’s … it’s—’
‘It’s done. No more can be said about it.’ Corrigan turned to look out of the window again. ‘I hope you won’t let me down. I expect you to behave.’
‘I’m not five, sir.’
He spun round. ‘Well in all honesty, at times you make me wonder.’
Lottie picked up her belongings from the floor. What was she going to do now? This was a disaster. She paused at the door. ‘I hope your surgery will be successful, sir. And I promise I’ll try to be good while you’re gone.’
‘Now you definitely sound like a five-year-old. But thanks. And please make McMahon feel welcome,’ he added. ‘Even though we both know he is an arsehole.’
Outside in the corridor, she leaned against the cool wall. McMahon. What had she done to deserve this? She needed to get out of the station and mull over the implications of the bad news.
She shrugged her jacket on and went in search of Boyd.
Six
Boyd hurried through the station and out the front door, but Lottie wasn’t so lucky. A commotion at the reception desk warned her to keep going, but curiosity caused her to have a quick look just as the young woman who was shouting turned to face her.
‘You there! You seem like someone who will listen to me. Can I talk to you for a minute?’ The young woman had voluminous blonde hair with black roots, piled high on her head. Massive hooped earrings hung from her ears, and a child sucking his thumb rested in the crook of her arm.
‘What’s the matter?’ Lottie asked, silently cursing herself for not being quick enough to disappear after Boyd.