Lottie jumped out of the car at the front of the station and Boyd drove round to the yard. She was considering Anna Byrne’s information that Elizabeth had suffered from psoriasis and didn’t wear costume jewellery because it exacerbated the complaint, when a woman approached her. She wore a denim jacket over a grey hoodie and jeans; mid forties, Lottie thought as her progress to the steps was blocked.

‘Cynthia Rhodes,’ the woman said, thrusting out a hand.

Lottie kept her own in her pocket. ‘Do I know you?’

‘Crime correspondent with national television. I took over after my colleague was murdered.’

Lottie shuddered at the memory but dragged up her professional face. ‘How can I help you, Ms Rhodes?’

‘The activity at the cemetery. Can you comment on it?’

‘Not at this time.’

‘Ah, come on, give me a break. I’m new to the job.’

Lottie wasn’t going to be taken in that easily. Not now that she recognised Rhodes. A shark with very sharp teeth who had hosted a night-time current affairs television programme a few years ago. Covering crime in the midlands appeared to be a demotion.

‘What are you doing in Ragmullin?’

‘My job, unlike some I could mention.’ Her eyes, shrouded by a tangle of black curls, fired cold warnings to Lottie. Better watch what I say, she thought.

‘I’m too busy to talk to you right now.’ She made to pass by, but Cynthia held out a hand, halting her escape.

‘Not so fast. I know all about you, Lottie Parker. I know about your failings in the past. I know of your husband’s death and your brother’s manslaughter, and I can tell you, I don’t feel one bit sorry for you. If this activity at the cemetery is a murder, mark my words, I’ll be walking in your footsteps, waiting for you to trip over and make a mistake.’

‘Is that all?’ Lottie scooted round the woman and up the steps.

‘I’ll be watching you. You can bet your life on it.’

‘And you can bet your life I won’t be watching you on television,’ Lottie muttered as she charged into the reception area. She pounded in the code on the inner door.

‘Hey, Inspector Parker,’ the duty sergeant called out. ‘You’re wanted in the interview room. Detective Kirby is waiting for you there with Bernard Fahy.’

‘Shit.’ Lottie flew down the corridor, the door swinging shut behind her.

---

Kirby stood up as Lottie entered the claustrophobic interview room.

‘We’re almost finished here, boss. Do you want to read over my notes and ask anything further before Mr Fahy leaves?’

Tearing off her jacket, Lottie sank into a chair and indicated for Kirby to sit back down.

‘I’ve work to be getting on with,’ Fahy said. He was leaning across the table, his hands clasped as if in prayer.

‘Me too,’ Lottie said. ‘Can you recount what you’ve been doing since Monday? Where you’ve been?’

‘He has it written down.’ Fahy pointed to Kirby.

Flicking through his notebook, Kirby said, ‘I just need to have a word with his wife to confirm she was with him when he says she was.’

‘Do you think I’d be stupid enough to bury a woman in my own graveyard?’

‘Mr Fahy, I’m just trying to get the facts,’ Lottie said, though she had been thinking that exact thing. She turned to Kirby. ‘Does Mr Gilbey corroborate everything?’

‘Gilbey only started work at the cemetery today. I took his statement and DNA and let him go.’ Kirby folded his arms across his bulging stomach.

Lottie read the notes before looking up at Fahy’s agitated face. ‘The victim broke her leg. Was screaming as she tried to get away from her assailant. A terrified young woman running naked through your cemetery in the dead of night. How does that make you feel?’

He shook his head. ‘You’re making a big mistake if you think I had anything to do with it. A big mistake.’

‘Are you threatening me?’ She tried to keep her anger muted. Cynthia Rhodes had already said something similar about mistakes.

‘I had nothing to do with it. My wife can vouch for me. I was at home every night. I was at work every day. That’s all I have to say. Can I go now?’

‘We’ll need to take a sample of your DNA first.’

‘Why?’

‘To rule you in or out of our investigation.’

‘I’m sure my DNA is all over the place – I dug the blasted grave.’

‘All the same, will you consent to providing us with a sample?’

‘Doesn’t look like I have much choice in the matter.’

‘Interview terminated.’ Kirby stood up and sealed the DVD.

Fahy picked up his coat and headed for the door. ‘Leave John Gilbey alone. He’s not right up here.’ He pointed to his temple with a muddy finger. ‘I know your reputation, Detective Inspector, and that’s the last thing I’m saying about this.’

When he had left, with Kirby in tow, Lottie sat in the humid silence of the room and rested her head in her hands. Thoughts swam in and out of focus. She could do with a Xanax. Half of one, even. She reached into her bag and searched among the till receipts, unopened bills, keys and loose change. Found a blister pack with one pill. Maybe she shouldn’t take it. She needed to be alert and focused. Especially with Cynthia Rhodes on her case.

A tap on the door and Boyd entered.

‘You okay?’ he said.

‘Do you really want me to answer that?’ She palmed the pill. ‘Any word from Lynch on Matt Mullin’s whereabouts?’

‘Not yet. What next?’

‘I need to access the O’Donnell cold case file and speak with Elizabeth’s friend. What was her name? The one Anna didn’t seem to like.’

Boyd consulted his notebook. ‘Carol O’Grady.’

‘Address?’

‘Will I look it up?’

‘That would be a help.’

‘The longer this day gets, the shorter your fuse.’

‘Boyd, get the address.’

When she was alone, the bang of the door echoing like a gong in her ears, she swallowed the pill and left to find water to wash the chalky taste from her mouth.