Chapter 5
Lottie envied Kirby his moment of calm as he smoked his cigar standing by the unmarked Garda car.
He was wrapped up in a tan-coloured padded parka smelling of curry, the hood rimmed with fake fur that masked his face.
Only the trail of smoke carried skywards by the swirling wind indicated that a human was in there somewhere.
‘Have you been inside the house yet?’ she asked.
‘Good morning, boss, it’s yourself. Sorry for ruining your day off.’ He quenched his cigar. ‘Yes, I’ve been inside, and before you ask, I suited up. But the paramedics, first responders, the whole shebang were in the house before that, so the scene has been disturbed as you’d expect.’
‘Who reported the… incident?’
‘Some sort of delivery guy. Three dead. My head is fried, but by God it’s a heartbreaking sight.’
Lottie shushed him with a finger to her lips. ‘Don’t tell me anything else. I want to form my own first impressions.’
She hadn’t noticed Detective Sam McKeown joining them, and when he spoke, she jumped.
‘Knock yourself out, boss. It’s not good inside.’
‘What part of “don’t tell me anything” do you not understand?’
‘Sorry, I didn’t think you were talking to me.’
She shrugged off his feeble apology, signed the log and grabbed the forensics gear. Once she was suited up, she inhaled a deep breath, fixed the mask in place and pulled the hood up over her wild hair.
There was crime-scene tape at the gate, and a blue tarpaulin tent concealed the front door.
SOCOs were on their way, and the state pathologist had been informed.
So far, correct procedure was being followed.
She hoped that attention to detail continued inside the house, though she had to accept it was already a contaminated site.
Before she stepped inside, she struggled to keep her emotions in check. She had to be professional in the face of whatever horror lay behind the open front door. Three dead, Kirby had said. Shit.
Silence, except for the hum of an electrical appliance somewhere in the house, likely a fridge, and a clock ticking.
Then, a smell.
Something sweet tinged with the odour of the onset of decomposition. That surprised her, then again, the house was warm. She could feel heat underfoot. As she thought about the deterioration of a body, she could actually taste it on her tongue. Time was of the essence.
In the sitting room, a man was half sitting, half lying on a couch.
Open-necked white shirt and navy chinos.
The shirt, sleeves rolled up, stained with blood.
A single slash wound was evident on one wrist and a knife was by his side on the couch in a pool of blood that had soaked into the upholstery.
No sign of any visible defence wounds. No upheaval that could point to a disturbance. What was she dealing with here?
Upstairs told another story. A deadly, disturbing story.
In the first bedroom, she found the fully clothed body of a woman laid out on a king-sized bed. High-necked white blouse, brown flared trousers and flat shoes. No obvious signs of trauma.
She stood on the threshold, careful not to enter the room fully until SOCOs had done their work.
The bedcovers were a bit ruffled around the body, most likely caused by the paramedics.
But the woman’s hair, though slightly ruffled, looked to be fanned out.
As if it had been arranged? She’d have to check with first responders, though she was sure they would not have done that.
She noticed a pillow on the floor. Had the woman been smothered? Not for her to speculate. She was well aware that there could be unseen wounds. The pathologist would confirm cause of death.
The door of the next bedroom was ajar. She put out a gloved finger, shoving it in further. She could see without stepping inside.
A child.
‘Jesus,’ she gasped, and felt her throat constrict. She smothered a cry.
The girl couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen years old. Angelic in death. Hands crossed on her chest, bare feet crossed at the ankles. Also, it seemed, arranged after death. She was dressed in a pink party dress with an intricate crocheted lace collar.
Something about the dress perturbed Lottie. Was it because it was old-fashioned? Perhaps. Or maybe she was distressed because this was a dead child. Gone too soon, echoed in her brain.
Making her way back down the stairs, all she could think of were Kirby’s words about his head being fried. She couldn’t afford for hers to be the same. She had to concentrate. Absorb everything and evaluate it in a professional manner.
The bottom line. A family had been obliterated.
Was it an open-and-shut case of familicide? That in itself was a horrific crime – a double murder and suicide. But could it be something even more sinister? She felt a cold shiver of foreboding trickle down her spine and settle in the small of her back.
Evil had visited this house, lurked within the walls, oozed up with the heat from the floors, and it chilled her.