The office was quiet when Lottie returned from Tullamore, her car having been bustled and buffeted along the motorway. It felt like a hurricane was blowing through her brain. She needed to ask Kirby about his impressions of Mick O’Dowd.

At her desk, she quickly typed up a statement of her conversation with the farmer, leaving out his veiled insinuations about her family. The photocopier was silent, the phones unusually quiet and none of her detectives were around. Out searching for Emma Russell, she hoped. If Emma wasn’t at Lorcan Brady’s house, and Brady was the man in the hospital or on Jane Dore’s stainless-steel table, then where was she?

Opening her drawer and spotting her father’s newspaper cuttings, Lottie remembered that she needed to go through Tessa Ball’s letters. After shifting some of the clutter from her desk, she found the copies. Would they give her a clue as to why the old lady was murdered?

‘I’ve looked through those,’ Boyd said, coming in and sitting sideways at his desk. He shoved his long legs out in front of him and leaned back, yawning.

‘Of course you have.’ Lottie swore silently. He was always one step ahead of her. ‘And?’

‘And nothing.’ He rolled up his shirtsleeves. ‘Love letters by the look of it. When did her husband die?’

‘How would I know that?’

‘I do.’ Boyd smirked. ‘Timothy Ball died four years after they were married. 1970. Heart attack.’

‘Long time to be a widow.’ Lottie thought of her own mother, who had been a widow almost the same length of time as Tessa. Neither had remarried. Would she?

‘But all the letters are undated and unsigned,’ Boyd said.

‘Anonymous? Why would she keep them?’

‘We can’t ask her, can we?’

‘Very funny,’ Lottie said, but neither of them was laughing. She scanned over the copies. ‘They do read like love letters. Why not sign them?’

‘In case her husband found them?’

‘But they might’ve been written after he died. So that doesn’t make sense. When we find Emma, we can ask her about her grandmother. Any word on Marian Russell?’

‘It’ll be a few days before they attempt to take her out of the coma. And before you ask, the burned man is still critical.’

‘One of the fire victims must be Lorcan Brady.’

‘If Emma is involved with him, she could be in danger.’

‘Still no sign of her?’ Lottie folded the letters back into the file.

Boyd shook his head. ‘Disappeared into the wind.’

‘I’m worried. She’s had terrible shocks. First her granny, then her mother. Her father is our lead suspect and her boyfriend could be dead or dying in hospital.’

‘She doesn’t know about him.’

‘Maybe she does. I hope she’s not involved in anything drug-related. Oh, I almost forgot.’

She pulled her bag up onto the desk and took out the Culpeper book she’d taken from Marian Russell’s room. Underneath, the two plastic evidence bags nestled amongst the chaos.

‘I found these at the house when I went to pick up clothes for Emma.’

Boyd came and perched on the edge of her desk. He picked up the receipt. ‘Danny’s Bar. The evening of the attack at the Russell house. Two pints of Heineken. 19.04 p.m. Verified by PIN. Visa debit. That’s where Arthur Russell works.’

‘The bar manager might be able to check their records to see if it was him.’

‘It’s a long shot, but we can try. Arthur might’ve had a drink before heading home.’

‘If it was him, then the coat places him at the scene of the crime. Check with the bank too to see if the transaction is his.’

Boyd glanced at the rolled-up notes. ‘And this money. Tell me.’

‘Bundled up in a trainer at the bottom of Emma’s wardrobe.’ Lottie pulled on the requisite latex gloves and took the bobbin from the notes. She flattened them on a plastic folder and counted. ‘Nine hundred and fifty euros.’

‘Running-away fund?’

‘Well, if she has run away, she’s gone without her fund. Drug money?’

‘If she’s mixed up with Lorcan Brady, it’s a possibility.’

‘He has a record?’

‘Yup.’ Boyd went back to his desk and brought up the PULSE database. ‘Caught in possession. Not enough to say it was for supply. Suspended sentence. Last March.’

‘Any known associates?’

‘No. He pleaded guilty to possession. Nothing before or since. Keeping his nose clean.’

‘Not clean enough. Did we find out who the registered owner of the car at Brady’s house is, seeing as it was his car at the burned-out cottage?’

‘Kirby got the details.’

‘Where is he, by the way?’ Lottie went to investigate Kirby’s desk. She picked up a computer printout. ‘Registered to Lorcan Brady. So, the lad has two cars in his name. Must be making more than what he gets on welfare.’

‘Fingers in too many pies, I’d say,’ Boyd said.

‘No fingers to put anywhere now,’ Lottie said. ‘Jane said the body at the cottage was stabbed to death. Didn’t die from the fire. Adds another dimension.’

‘Has to be drugs-related.’

‘Seems like it. But murdering someone for a small shed of cannabis? I don’t think so.’

‘The drugs unit lads will be down here so,’ Boyd said.

‘Corrigan will be a mile up our arses.’

‘And theirs.’

‘I need to think about all this. Incident team meeting first thing in the morning. We have to find out exactly what this ungodly mess is all about.’ She stood up and got her jacket. ‘I’m going home.’

‘I’ll do further searches. See what I can find out.’

‘Check with the drugs unit. Lorcan Brady might be on their radar.’

‘And Arthur Russell? Will I bring him in for questioning again?’

‘Yes. The coat and the receipt are new evidence. See what he has to say for himself.’

‘I’ll get Kirby to sit in with me. Enjoy the rest of your evening,’ Boyd said, without looking up.

She didn’t answer, just left him there with the murmur of the radiators cooling down for the night.