SOCOs had already been all over the Russell house, and Lottie had checked around the night of the murder, but now she wanted to have another look, in daylight. It was a converted two-storey farmhouse. A narrow hallway led to the extension, which housed the kitchen. Before the kitchen, a door opened into an anonymous-looking rectangular sitting room. Brown leather three-piece suite and a long coffee table.

‘Minimalistic, isn’t it?’ Lottie said.

‘Bit bare, all right,’ Boyd said, stepping onto the teak timber floor.

Lottie moved towards the iron-framed mirror hanging over the fireplace. She looked at her reflection before quickly turning to lift a couple of paperbacks from the coffee table. John Connolly novels. Beside the books, a mug containing an inch of cold coffee displayed evidence of the SOCOs’ handiwork. A half-eaten biscuit lay beside an open packet of cookies. Traces of life, halted mid-cycle.

‘Emma said she came in here because her mother was working in the kitchen. And then Natasha called and asked her over to her house.’ Lottie opened the door of the stove insert. ‘It’s very clean, isn’t it?’

‘Compared to the carnage in the kitchen, yeah.’

Leaving the lounge, they headed up the stairs. Four rooms. One obviously belonged to Emma.

‘Typical teenager,’ Lottie said, and closed the door on the mess. It didn’t seem right to search the girl’s things. She’d been through enough already, with more heartache to come.

The next room seemed to be a guest bedroom, followed by a bathroom. In the master bedroom, Lottie inspected the contents of the wardrobe, checking the pockets of the jackets. Nothing.

The bottom two drawers of the dressing table held T-shirts and underwear. Opening the top drawer, Lottie observed sterling silver and costume necklaces with matching earrings.

‘I don’t think this was a burglary,’ she said.

Boyd was standing at the window, looking out. ‘Nice piece of land.’

Lottie closed the drawers. She joined him at the window and pointed down into the yard. ‘What’s that behind the shed?’

‘Looks like an oil tank.’

‘Don’t think so. They use solid fuel,’ she said, recalling the fire in the sitting room.

Boyd said, ‘It’s one of those containers for storing coal.’

‘We’ll have a look inside it.’ She glanced around the room again before dropping to her knees to look under the bed.

‘Anything?’ he asked.

‘Dust,’ she said, getting up and wiping her knees. ‘Did you search the bedside cabinets?’

Boyd lifted a book, glanced at it and opened one of the doors. ‘A few pill bottles.’

‘Here, let me see those.’

‘Paracetamol,’ he said.

‘Oh.’ Lottie looked into the second cabinet. ‘This one is empty. Must’ve belonged to Arthur.’ She ran her fingers under the pillow and between the mattress and the base of the bed. Nothing.

Boyd opened a door beside the wardrobe. ‘En suite.’ Stuck his head inside. ‘Clean.’

‘Jesus, I hope I’m never murdered,’ Lottie said. ‘You’d have to fumigate the place before you could go looking anywhere.’

‘Nothing of note here,’ Boyd said, closing the en suite door.

‘What was that book?’ Lottie went back to pick up the hardback Boyd had moved a moment ago. ‘Culpeper’s Complete Herbal. Interesting. Quite an old book, too.’

She flicked through the pages. ‘Such small font. Beautiful plant illustrations. Wonder why she had it?’

Boyd looked over her shoulder. ‘Healing remedies?’

‘I’ll bag it. Might be something, might be nothing,’ Lottie said. ‘Let’s check out the yard.’

---

The rain had begun to spit again. Lottie bent down and opened the flap in the bunker. A couple of nuggets of coal rolled out at her feet.

‘Told you,’ Boyd said, leaning against the shed.

‘Make yourself useful and hand me that log.’

Boyd rolled it over to her.

‘Hold on to it. I don’t want to fall.’

Stepping up onto the log, Lottie lifted the top of the bunker.

‘Flashlight?’

Boyd switched on the one on his phone and handed it over. ‘Don’t let it fall in.’

She swept the light down and around the cavern. ‘Jesus.’

‘What’s in there?’ Boyd tried to peer over the edge.

‘Plants of some sort. We need to get the SOCOs back out here.’

‘As soon as you hand me back my phone.’

‘We’d better have a look inside the shed, too.’

While Boyd made the call, Lottie jumped off the log, headed into the wooden shed and snapped on the light switch. A myriad of paint cans and tools lined the steel shelves on one wall. Logs were stacked against the back wall.

Standing in the clutter, she wondered about the plants and the Culpeper book. Had Marian Russell got a little sideline going here? If so, it might make sense of someone trying to stop her, but it wasn’t a reason to murder Tessa Ball. And Kirby had thought the cottage set alight earlier might have been a grow house. Interesting.

‘I want those logs moved,’ she told Boyd. ‘There might be something beneath them. How soon before SOCOs arrive?’

‘Not long.’

‘Good. We might be getting somewhere at last.’

‘You might be, but I’m not.’

‘You wait for the SOCOs,’ Lottie said. ‘I want to speak to Emma.’

---

At Bernie Kelly’s house, she was greeted at the door by Garda O’Donoghue.

‘Gilly,’ Lottie said. ‘Where’s Detective Lynch?’

‘I haven’t seen her since yesterday, and I really need to get home to shower and change.’

‘Go ahead. I’ll stay until you get back, or until Lynch gets here.’

Gilly grabbed her belongings and escaped.

‘Tea, Inspector?’ Bernie Kelly asked.

‘No thanks. Just a word with Emma.’ Lottie stepped into the claustrophobic sitting room.

‘Make yourself at home, why don’t you?’ Bernie said with downturned pale lips. ‘I’ll tell her to come down.’

‘Still in bed?’

‘Teenagers.’ She attempted an eye roll; Lottie thought Bernie’s plucked eyebrows made her look like a strained prune.

Emma sauntered into the room and flopped onto an armchair. Her hair was a mess and the clothes she was wearing looked too small for her. Poor girl. She needed some of her own stuff soon, Lottie thought.

‘How’s Mum?’ Emma asked.

‘Still in an induced coma.’

‘I want to see her.’

‘I can take you,’ Lottie said.

‘And my dad? Where’s he?’

‘He’s helping us with our enquiries.’

The girl shot out of the chair. ‘Why? He didn’t do anything.’

‘Please sit down, Emma.’ Lottie placed a hand on her arm. Emma shook her off.

‘Have you arrested him?’

‘No, but we’re exploring all possibilities. Your grandmother has been murdered. I need to find out what you know.’

Emma’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t know anything. I want to see Mum and Dad. You’ve no right to keep me cooped up here. I’m a free citizen, last time I checked.’

‘It’s for your own safety.’

‘Yeah, I’ve heard that before.’

Lottie wondered how she’d missed the memo where it said teenagers no longer had to respect their elders.

‘Did Garda O’Donoghue or Detective Lynch tell you about your mother’s injuries?’

Emma bit her bottom lip. Tears loomed in her eyes. She nodded.

‘And you’ve no idea who would do something like that to her?’

A shake of her head, with a sob. ‘It’s all my fault. I just want to see Mum.’

‘How could it be your fault, Emma?’

‘I wasn’t nice to her,’ the girl cried. ‘I sided with Dad all the time. I know she’s not the best mother in the world, but she’s my mum and I made her life a misery.’

Lottie wanted to put an arm around her, to comfort her, but after the previous rebuff, she kept her hands firmly in her pockets.

‘The night of your granny’s… death, are you sure you saw nothing unusual around the house?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘Why were you so late going home? Was it usual for you to be late?’

Emma shrugged. ‘Depends on what me and Natasha are watching on the telly.’

‘So you were watching Netflix, is that correct?’

Emma hesitated, eyes searching out the corners of the room. ‘Yup… I think so.’

Lottie watched her closely. ‘Orange is the New Black?’

‘What?’

‘The programme you were watching?’

‘Oh, yeah. That’s what we watched.’

‘You’re sure of that?’

‘Yup.’

‘So you were here with Natasha and Bernie from six thirty p.m. until you went home around half past ten?’

‘Yes. Well, no…’

‘That’s what you told us originally. Is there anything you want to change or add?’ Lottie studied the girl carefully; she was sure there was a lie in there somewhere.

‘I was here and we watched the telly. Can I get some clean clothes? Natasha’s are a bit small.’

Lottie wanted to press on, but her motherly instinct warned her to relent. That way Emma might trust her more. Later she could grill her about the strange plants growing in the coal bunker.

‘I’ll go to your house and get some clothes for you. Then we’ll drive to the hospital and see if they’ll let you see your mum.’

Emma nodded.

‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

Lottie was glad to escape from the suffocating house.