An hour later, the serenity of Ragmullin cemetery was lacerated by a hive of action and noise. Mrs Lorraine Green’s coffin had been returned to the hearse and her family members had been whisked away by the undertakers. Much as Lottie would have liked to, she didn’t speak to Father Joe, but she registered his sad smile with an inclination of her head.
Eventually the crime-scene tape was in place and the main gate was closed and guarded. A line of spectators perched on the high wall as the scene of crime officers erected a tent over the gaping grave.
‘Jim McGlynn is on his way,’ Boyd said.
‘He’ll be delighted to see the pair of us.’
Boyd pulled at his chin, his eyes concerned. ‘You think it’s her? Our missing woman?’
‘There’s someone down there and it’s not a corpse that’s been interred for fifteen years. So, it’s possible.’ She looked over at the gawkers sitting on the wall. ‘We need to speak with Bridie McWard again, plus Fahy and his colleague.’
‘Where did they go?’
She pointed to the row of pine trees to her left, where Fahy stood smoking a cigarette. He was flanked by Detectives Larry Kirby and Maria Lynch. As Lottie neared them, Fahy sucked in hard and blew out a stream of smoke.
‘I need you down at the station to make a statement,’ she said.
‘I saw nothing. And I did nothing either, before you go accusing me. Dug the grave on Monday and put the laths on it this morning. I saw only clay down there.’
‘We need a formal statement. You’re sure you didn’t notice anything suspicious over the last few days?’
‘I told you already. I didn’t see anything.’ He lit another cigarette. The smell made Lottie’s empty stomach queasy.
‘What’s your name?’ She directed her question to the plump young man with a bad case of acne standing in Fahy’s shadow.
‘I only started here today. I’m on a scheme.’
‘What is your name? Are you deaf?’ Lottie said. His teeth were yellow and his skin wan.
‘I wear a hearing aid. Deaf in one ear.’ He pointed to his right ear. ‘But I forgot to put it in today.’
‘Sorry.’ Lottie positioned herself to talk into his good ear.
‘His name is John Gilbey,’ Kirby said, his bushy hair standing up on his head and the zip on his jacket straining across his large girth. Lynch lounged against the wall, pale-faced. Her fair hair, usually tied up in a ponytail, streamed about her shoulders.
‘You have to go to the station,’ Lottie told Gilbey. ‘It’s a formality. Nothing to worry about.’ She instructed Kirby to take the two men with him.
Lynch said, ‘What do you want me to do, boss?’
‘Make yourself useful. Help uniforms with the cordon at the front gate.’
As Lynch stomped off up the hill, a silver station wagon rumbled down the slope, slowed and stopped. The driver leaned out of the window.
‘Well, if it isn’t Inspector Morse and Sergeant Lewis. Disrupting my morning as usual.’
‘Jesus, McGlynn. I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on.’ Lottie smirked. She’d only ever seen the head of the SOCO team in his white protective gear, hood up and mask in place. Two green eyes. That was all she knew about him. Now she could put a face to the ensemble. His craggy features told her he was aged about sixty. And he was in a foul humour, though that was nothing new.
‘I’d recognise you in a blackout,’ he said, mouth downturned. ‘What have you dug up for me this time?’
‘Not exactly dug up, though if it wasn’t for a bad case of curiosity, I think she would have been interred forever.’
‘And you know what curiosity did to the cat, don’t you?’ McGlynn let the window back up and continued down to the scene.
‘Contrary arse,’ Lottie said.
* * *
Within fifteen minutes, McGlynn had his team in place. They lowered a ladder into the grave, and he climbed to the bottom and stood to one side as pebbles and clay cascaded around him.
‘A thin layer of clay and dirt,’ he said, hunching down. He used a short-handled, long-bristled brush to carefully sweep it away, working slowly, until a foot emerged from the blackness. Toes painted in a fluorescent pink varnish. The chalky flesh looked paper thin. Brushing away the clay on the opposite side, McGlynn leaned backwards as another foot appeared.
‘Can you move up to the area where a head should be?’ Lottie was impatient to find out the identity of the buried person.
McGlynn continued his methodical work without reply. As he uncovered the leg, Lottie saw that it was broken, the bone sticking out.
‘Tibia open shaft fracture is my initial observation,’ McGlynn said. ‘Broken through the skin. That’s the shin bone. Signs of maggots. No flies. Not been down here long. It’s been cold, with no rain, so a day, maybe two at the most.’
Lottie knelt down on the protective covering at the edge of the hole and leaned over further, praying for him to hurry up.
A second leg appeared, and as more of the body was revealed, it became evident that it was definitely a female, and that she was naked.
‘No other visible wounds so far,’ he muttered.
Eventually the face and hair appeared, and Lottie drew in a breath. McGlynn glanced up, emeralds dancing above the white mask. ‘You see what I see, Inspector?’
‘She was suffocated with the clay?’
‘Even though the layer is thin, I don’t think she covered herself with it. Inform the state pathologist that she is needed here.’
‘I’ve already phoned her,’ Boyd said. ‘She should be here soon.’
Lottie stared down at the victim’s mouth, full of clay, and the dirt-encrusted auburn hair.
‘Who was the last person you saw?’ she asked the lifeless body of Elizabeth Byrne.
Ten
Lottie left Jane Dore, the state pathologist, with McGlynn to confirm what she already knew. They were dealing with a suspicious death. She sent Lynch to find Bridie McWard so that she could be questioned again, then she and Boyd went back to the station to set up an incident team and to interview the cemetery workers.
Superintendent Corrigan was marching around the incident room when she arrived.
‘You found your missing woman?’
‘I believe so, sir, but we need to make a positive ID.’
‘Did you inform her mother?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Do it soon, before the media blast it all over Twitter.’
‘I intend to.’
‘I need to talk to you,’ Corrigan said.
Lottie followed him down the corridor and into his office.
‘Sit down,’ he said, and squeezed in behind his desk.
‘Do you want an update, sir? I’ll have a full report for a team meeting in the morning.’
‘No, I won’t be here then, so I’ll have to leave it in your hands. In McMahon’s hands, I should say. I want to tell you something.’
Oh Lord, Lottie thought. He’s going to tell me he’s dying and I’ll be stuck with McMahon for the rest of my working days. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘Elizabeth Byrne. She was last seen on the train. Correct?’
‘As far as we know. We only have her mother’s word that she didn’t arrive home.’
‘It reminds me of a case I worked ten years ago. In fact, the anniversary is this week. I don’t know why I’m even mentioning it, but the train bit – that’s what jogged my memory. The difference then was that the young woman was never found. And now I’m wondering, could she have been buried in a grave that was awaiting a coffin?’
‘Back up a bit.’ Lottie tried to compute what Corrigan was saying but couldn’t work it out. ‘What woman?’
‘Lynn O’Donnell. Aged twenty-four or twenty-five at the time. Last seen on the Dublin to Ragmullin train, but she never arrived home. Valentine’s Day 2006. Pull the file if you get time. It’s probably nothing to do with this murder, but no harm in knowing about it. I’m sure the media will pick up on it.’
‘Thanks, sir, I’ll have a look at the file. I do remember it. I was based in Athlone at the time.’ She glanced at him. He was rubbing his eye again. ‘And you mind yourself. I’ll be checking in with you to make sure everything goes well.’
‘No need for that. I’m sure McMahon will keep you busy enough.’
‘I’m dreading his arrival,’ she confessed.
‘Stay out of his way, do a good job and he’ll have no reason to complain. I’m counting on you to keep up the good name of this district.’
‘I’ll do my best, sir.’
‘Good luck. I think you’ll be needing it.’
Eleven