The rain cleared a little and Ragmullin emerged from the mist, a smoky grey silhouette. The cathedral’s twin spires spiked the clouds to the right and the landscape deformity of Hill Point protruded to the left. Lottie’s one-time friend Doctor Annabelle O’Shea worked there. Pills. She needed a few Xanax to get her through the day – every day. Shaking herself to dislodge her cravings, she floored the accelerator and sped into town.

In her office, she tore off her jacket, hung it on the overflowing coat rack and headed to her desk.

‘Anything from Mrs Ball’s post-mortem?’ Detective Larry Kirby asked.

Lottie stopped mid-step, noticing the big, burly detective, his wiry hair standing on end, chewing on an electronic cigarette.

‘What’re you doing with that?’ she said.

‘Trying to give up the cigars.’ His fingers swallowed up the device and he pushed it into his shirt pocket.

‘I’ve nothing from the PM yet,’ Lottie said, pulling out her chair. ‘I thought you were on door-to-door enquiries?’

‘I was, but you called a team meeting for ten. I’m here. Is it still going ahead?’

Shite. In the space of the half-hour drive from Tullamore, she’d forgotten what she’d been rushing back for.

‘Of course it is. Incident room. All of you.’ She looked around. Her detectives were staring back at her. ‘What?’

Boyd leaned over her. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Of course I am. Why?’

‘You seem a bit… rattled.’

‘I’ll show you what rattled is.’

Detectives Boyd, Kirby and Lynch shuffled out of the office. Lottie waited until they had disappeared before sitting down and pulling out her desk drawer. She rifled through the mess. One, she thought. Even half of one. Dragging out files and pens, she ran her hand over the bottom of the drawer. Nothing. Yanked it out and turned it over. Yes! Sellotaped to the underside she found half a Xanax. Her safety net. As she tore it from the sticky tape, it began to crumble. No, she thought, I need you. Glancing around to ensure she was alone, she shoved the pill, still stuck to the tape, into her mouth. She let her tongue suck the residue and then spat out the tape. Catching sight of her reflection in her computer screen, she wondered who the wild woman might be. She looked a sight.

Standing up, she grabbed a bottle of water from Boyd’s desk, gulped it down and headed for the incident room.

---

The notice boards were back in place, lining the end wall of the incident room. Hanging side by side, the death-mask photograph of Tessa Ball and an image from Emma’s phone of her mother, the missing Marian Russell.

‘Do we know if any of the blood at the scene is Marian Russell’s?’ Kirby asked.

‘This is real life, not CSI,’ Lottie said. ‘It’ll be days before we have the analysis. SOCOs are still on site this morning.’ She pinned up photos of Russell’s kitchen.

‘Looks like a riot occurred,’ Kirby said.

Lottie turned to rebuke him, but instead she said, ‘Tessa Ball. Blunt-force trauma to the back of the head. Marian Russell. Last seen by her daughter Emma around six thirty p.m.’ She tapped Marian’s photo. ‘We’ll try to get a better photograph later today.’

‘Did Marian kill her mother and skip town? Or was Tessa Ball in the wrong place at the wrong time?’ Boyd asked.

‘We can only work with the facts we have. Tessa Ball lived alone, across town, in St Declan’s Apartments. No mobile phone in her handbag. A wallet with fifty-five euros and loose change. Keys, and reading spectacles in their case. A prayer book with a multitude of memoriam cards, and rosary beads.’

‘A bible thumper,’ Kirby said.

Lottie closed her eyes, counted to three and continued. ‘One of the keys opens the car parked outside the house, and we can assume the other is the key to her apartment. We’ll carry out a search there. We also need to trace her last known movements.’

Boyd piped up. ‘Report just in from McGlynn. SOCOs have recovered a phone from the car.’

‘Good. Get the data analysed.’

‘Will do.’

‘What does Emma have to say?’ Detective Maria Lynch asked.

‘She was very distraught last night. You’ll have a transcript later of my interview with her.’ Lottie eyed Boyd and smiled. A reminder for him to type it up. He nodded.

‘Is the family liaison officer with her?’ Lynch said.

‘I’m glad you asked. The regular FLO is on sick leave. I was going to suggest maybe you could stand in for her, Detective Lynch.’

‘Oh, no. I know I have the training, but I’ve so much work to be doing.’ Lynch flicked through the files on her knee.

‘Will you do it for today, please? Emma is at the Kellys’ house. You can head over after we finish and see what you can get out of her.’

Lynch tugged at her ponytail, not a bit happy. Tough shit, Lottie thought. She didn’t trust Lynch. The reason stemmed from a long time ago and she didn’t want to think about it. Not now, anyway.

‘So that’s agreed,’ Lottie said. ‘Have we an address for Arthur Russell?’

Boyd said, ‘He’s been staying at a Bed and Breakfast. I spoke with the landlady. He’s there at the moment.’

‘We’ll go and have a word with him.’

‘It’s not likely he had anything to do with the attack.’ Boyd again.

‘Why not?’ Could he not shut up and let her get on with it?

‘Doesn’t make sense. If he did it, he’d be long gone by now.’

Lottie thought for a moment. ‘We need to check where he was last night, and then we can look at means, opportunity and motive.’

Superintendent Corrigan appeared at the back of the room.

‘Go ahead, Detective Inspector Parker. Don’t let me interrupt you.’ He leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his large stomach.

‘Thank you, sir,’ Lottie said, dropping the sheets of paper she’d been holding. She didn’t trust herself to bend down to retrieve them. Her head was swimming enough already.

Boyd moved to pick them up. She cut him with a look. He sat back down.

‘Looks like a domestic to me,’ Corrigan said.

‘Looks can be deceiving.’ Did she really just say that to her superintendent?

‘I feckin’ know that,’ Corrigan said, staring straight at her, rubbing a hand over his bald head.

Maybe she should have stayed in bed.

‘Until forensics are complete, we’re not in a position to speculate,’ she said. ‘Post-mortem is occurring as we speak, but the state pathologist confirmed that blunt-force trauma to the head is the most likely contributor to Mrs Ball’s death.’

‘Blunt-force trauma? With what?’ Corrigan asked, unfolding his arms and striding through the room towards Lottie. He jabbed a thick finger at the crime-scene photo. ‘Show me.’

‘We found a potential weapon outside the back door, sir.’ Lottie pointed to a grainy night-time photograph. ‘It’s being forensically examined.’

‘A baseball bat. This is Ragmullin, not feckin’ Chicago. Who owns the bat?’

‘We haven’t determined ownership. Yet. Sir.’ Digging her nails into her palms, she repeated a silent mantra. Keep the fuck calm.

‘You seem to have determined feck all.’

‘We’re working flat out, sir.’

‘Not flat out enough. I want Russell in a cell before the day is out. And I want his wife found. Can you determine that, Detective Inspector Parker?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then get to it, the feckin’ lot of you.’ With a smug sniff, he straightened his shoulders and marched out of the door.

‘What was all that about?’ Boyd asked.

‘A load of bollocks,’ Kirby said.

‘He’s the boss,’ Lynch said.

‘I’m the boss of this investigation,’ Lottie said, throwing her arms upwards in despair. ‘Will someone track down Mrs Ball’s friends and interview them? Kirby? And find out who owns that baseball bat.’

He nodded.

Her phone rang. Desk sergeant.

‘What’s up, Don?’ Lottie asked.

‘There’s a Bernie Kelly in interview room one. She’s been there this half-hour. Did you forget about her?’

‘Shit!’ Lottie gathered up her papers, phone between ear and shoulder. ‘I’ll be down in one minute.’

As she left the incident room, she said, ‘Lynch, head over to the Kellys’. I don’t want Emma Russell left alone. Boyd, come with me.’

Kirby said, ‘What will I do?’

‘Find Tessa’s friends and the owner of that baseball bat.’

‘Can I fly to Chicago?’