On Lottie’s return from Rochfort Gardens, she found Jane Dore seated in her office.

‘Jane! Why are you here?’

‘I’ve just left the scene of that awful fire.’

Slumping onto her chair, Lottie said, ‘You found a body?’

‘Two. What’s left of them.’

‘Oh God, this is too much.’ Lottie pulled at her hair. ‘Any hope of identification?’

‘DNA, possibly. An adult female and a child.’

‘Bridie McWard and her baby.’ Trailing her hands up and down her arms, Lottie tried to rub away the feeling of hopelessness.

‘Their remains are on the way to the Dead House. I’ll know more later.’ Jane leaned over the desk, her petite hands joined together. ‘What’s going on in Ragmullin, Lottie?’

Catching the pathologist’s eye, Lottie shook her head. ‘I wish I knew. Any evidence of foul play?’

‘The fire was started maliciously.’

Lottie flicked through a file on her desk. ‘It was reported by a neighbour almost immediately. How could it burn so quickly?’

‘McGlynn can fill you in on the details, but it was a fabricated house. Went up like tissue paper.’

‘They hadn’t a chance.’

‘Did you know the victims?’

‘I met Bridie a couple of times. I think she heard Elizabeth Byrne’s screams the night she was murdered. And she was assaulted in her home the other night.’

Pushing her spectacles up on her nose, Jane said, ‘I have some more information on Elizabeth’s murder. I emailed it to you early this morning. You may not have accessed it yet. The clothes found in the skip have trace evidence of water.’

‘Yes, I knew that.’

‘It’s a match for water found in Ladystown lake.’

‘Where we found the unidentified body. Why was Elizabeth there? How did she get out there?’

‘Maybe it was just her clothes. The killer may have dunked the clothes to get rid of evidence of fibres or cells.’

‘Christ, this gets weirder by the minute. Had Elizabeth’s body any evidence of being in the water?’

‘No. And regarding toxicology, I found trace samples of chloroform. Just minute amounts, but it was there.’

‘I’m going to string up the bastard when I find him.’ Lottie shot up from her chair, pacing the small office before sitting on the edge of the desk. ‘And the body at the lake?’

‘As you may have noticed, the fingernails were bitten down to the quick. But I found traces of paint embedded in places.’

‘Paint? What type of paint?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve sent samples for analysis.’ Jane stood up. ‘Did you find a match for her in missing persons?’

‘We checked back a couple of weeks. There’s no one. Only Mollie Hunter, and she was around up to Wednesday as far as we can determine. Plus she doesn’t fit the age profile.’

‘Did you cross-reference on the national database? Run the DNA?’

Lottie shot her a look. ‘Of course.’ But had they? She needed to double-check.

‘A thirty-five-year-old woman, a mother, deceased at least a week and no one has missed her? I don’t buy that, Lottie, and I don’t think you should either.’

‘But you said she died of natural causes.’

‘Her heart stopped beating, that’s the only natural thing about it. She was malnourished. No food in her system. No drugs. No clothes. No hair. Washed in bleach. Evidence of plastic sacks in the vicinity of the body. No shoes either. No indication that she walked to that location and lay down to die. Who brought her there? That’s one of the questions you need to be asking.’

‘And who was she?’

Jane stood at the door.

‘You need to find out, Lottie. Before someone else ends up dead or missing from Ragmullin.’

---

While she was still assessing what Jane had told her, her phone rang. Unidentified mobile number. She answered. It was McMahon.

‘Sir?’

‘Keep me up to date on all your investigations. You can get me on this number.’

‘I will.’ Not, she added silently.

‘Might be no harm having a chat with the O’Donnell family. I’ve heard that Cynthia Rhodes is doing a feature on them. She’s already spoken to them, if I’m correct. Bring yourself up to speed.’

‘But sir, I’ve too much—’

‘Do it, Parker.’

‘And fuck you too,’ she said, when she was sure the call was disconnected.

She had enough reason to speak with the O’Donnells without trying to find out what the journalist was up to.

She flicked through the old file for the phone number.

‘Boyd! Get your coat on.’