She was winded by the time she arrived back at the Russells’.

‘Only five hundred metres and I’m fecked,’ she said.

‘Thought you were babysitting,’ Boyd said.

‘Just picking up some clothes for Emma.’ Lottie scanned the yard, now busy with life. ‘Find anything?’

‘They’re going to start looking soon.’

‘What if the attack here is linked to the cottage fire?’

‘Maybe when we get to see what’s in there,’ he pointed to the shed, ‘and what’s at the cottage, we’ll have a better idea.’

‘Maybe,’ Lottie said doubtfully.

‘I’ll get back to work,’ Boyd said.

She watched his retreating back before heading inside.

Upstairs in Emma’s room, she pulled on her protective gloves as a precaution and rooted around for suitable clothing. She decided on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a hoodie, then searched through the shoes. Nothing really appropriate for bad weather. A pair of blue Nike trainers would serve better than white Converses. As she was putting them in a gym bag she’d found at the bottom of the wardrobe, her fingers rubbed against something inside one of the trainers. Letting them drop, she jumped back, falling onto her bottom, sure that it was a mouse.

It wasn’t a mouse. A roll of cash lay on the floor beside the trainer, held together by a hair bobbin. She picked it up and put it into a plastic evidence bag she had plucked from her pocket. The outside note was a fifty. A lot of money for a teenager, she thought. Had robbery been the motive after all? And why did Emma have it secreted away in the bottom of her wardrobe?

Putting the plastic bag with the money into her handbag, Lottie scanned the room for a jacket. Not seeing one, she went downstairs and rummaged through the rack of coats in the hall. She noticed a man’s black North Face jacket among the feminine attire, and wondered if it belonged to Arthur Russell.

Inspecting it, she found the outside pockets empty, but in the inside breast pocket her fingers touched a piece of paper, neatly folded, nestling at the seam. It looked like a receipt. Opening it up, she found that it was a receipt, dated the day of the murder. From Danny’s Bar. Arthur worked there. The time on the receipt was 19.04. She put it into another small plastic evidence bag.

Unhooking a jacket for Emma, she stuffed it in the gym bag and rushed outside.

‘Boyd?’

He stuck his head out from behind the shed door. ‘What?’

‘There’s a black North Face jacket hanging in the hall. Get it bagged, tagged and brought in for forensic examination.’

‘Sure,’ he said.

Lottie set off up the road to prepare Emma for the visit to her mother. First, though, the girl had a few questions to answer.

---

At Bernie Kelly’s gate, she met Detective Maria Lynch.

‘You took your time,’ Lottie said.

‘I’d things to sort out regarding the cottage fire. I’m sure Garda O’Donoghue won’t mind. I’ll take over now.’

‘I relieved her.’ Lottie held up the gym bag. ‘I just ran down to get fresh clothes for Emma. I’m bringing her to visit her mother.’

‘Are you sure that’s wise?’

‘Why not? She wants to see her. I can’t deny her that. But now that you’re here, you can take her.’

Bernie Kelly opened the door.

‘Takes two of you now, does it?’ she said, folding her arms.

Lottie walked past her into the house.

‘I’ll give this to Emma.’ The sitting room was empty. ‘Upstairs, is she?’

Bernie looked from Lottie to Lynch. ‘I thought you took her home to fetch clean clothes. Didn’t you?’

‘No.’ Lottie glanced into the kitchen. Natasha was sitting at the table, munching on burnt toast. ‘Lynch, check upstairs.’

Lynch ran up the stairs. She shouted back down, ‘No one here.’

‘Where is she?’ Lottie asked frantically.

Bernie shrugged her shoulders. ‘When I came in here, both of you were gone. I assumed she went with you.’

‘Where would she go?’ Lottie tried to stem the panic gathering in the pit of her stomach.

‘Maybe she went on ahead to the hospital,’ Bernie said.

‘Has she got her phone?’ Lottie tapped in Emma’s number. ‘Nothing. It must be switched off.’ She swung round to Lynch. ‘Did she pass you on the road?’

‘Not that I noticed.’

Rushing back into the kitchen, Lottie towered over Natasha. ‘Where is Emma?’

‘Hey, wait a minute, Inspector.’ Bernie Kelly grabbed Lottie by the arm. ‘No need to go accusing my daughter of anything.’

‘Natasha.’ Lottie ignored Bernie and leaned down to the wild-haired teenager. Looked her in the eye. ‘Where would she go? Has she other friends she hangs out with?’

Natasha shook her head. ‘Don’t know,’ she mumbled.

Lottie looked up at the ceiling and closed her eyes. Think.

‘Lynch, go to the hospital. See if she’s there.’

As Lynch left, Lottie rang Boyd. Emma hadn’t appeared there either.

She turned back to Natasha. ‘I know you know where she is, so you’d better tell me, young lady.’

Natasha glanced at her mother. ‘She took my bike,’ she said.

Bernie’s face was red. ‘Natasha, I told you to—’

‘Tell me!’ Lottie shouted.

The teenager melted into her chair. With toast crumbs stuck to her lipgloss she said, ‘She might be with her boyfriend.’