Chapter 40
Garda Lei held out the clipboard. ‘Good morning, boss. Everyone is taking second, even third looks around the house. Are you all trying to keep me busy?’
‘Who else was here?’ Lottie asked, just as she noticed Sam McKeown’s name, the last one on the log yesterday. ‘What was he doing here?’
‘He didn’t say, but he took a good look around the garden before getting the key from me. He wasn’t that long inside. Did he not tell you? I was sure you’d have—’
‘Thanks, Lei,’ Lottie interrupted him. The young garda would talk for ever if allowed to. ‘You can give me the key and I’ll check in with Detective McKeown later. I think it’s time to stand you down. You can go back to the station.’
She shivered with a tinge of sadness. Three people had been murdered here, including a child, and somehow it felt like she was intruding on a personal loss.
She shook it off. She was doing her job.
Taking a fresh look after a few days of gathering information and hoping something would lead to the killer.
In the kitchen, she stood at the island and checked all around. It was still in a state of untidiness. ‘What about the pizza delivery guy?’
‘We checked him out,’ Boyd said. ‘The time on the receipt attached to the boxes is correct. He dropped the food and left; everything was confirmed by the guests and his employer.’
‘Okay. Just double-check to be sure.’
He made a note of it while she walked around. ‘What are you looking for?’
‘Something doesn’t sit right with Sadie taking the clothes. Or borrowing them… I don’t know.’ She scanned the kitchen and went over to the fancy-looking coffee machine. ‘Caroline and Cam seemed to be well enough off. You’d need a degree to operate this.’
‘Not really.’ Boyd joined her. ‘It’s a dupe of the Sage model that can cost over a grand. This one is a couple of hundred.’
‘Is that so? What about the Quooker tap? That’s a few grand, isn’t it?’
‘This is an ordinary tap that looks like the real deal. See? It doesn’t boil the water.’
‘Mm. Was Caroline trying to copy her friend’s house?’
‘Possibly.’
They moved to Cameron’s study. ‘Now that has to be a genuine Eames chair.’
Boyd inspected it and sat on it. ‘Afraid not. I think you can get something similar in B&Q.’
‘So, the Healys furnished their home in flat-packs and inexpensive imitations of the versions in the Clarke house.’
‘Looks that way.’ He walked around the desk. ‘Desk is definitely IKEA.’
She hadn’t noticed all this before, and now it jarred.
She was finding it hard to get a grip on Cam and Caroline’s true personalities.
In light of what she’d heard from Caroline’s mother about the clothes, was it possible that Caroline might have purchased expensive attire and then sold it on to Sadie?
If she was buying on impulse things she couldn’t afford, then maybe.
But that would allow her mask of wealth to fade away.
‘Perhaps there was conflict rather than friendship between the two women.’
‘Anything is possible where women are concerned,’ Boyd said.
‘I hope that was a joke.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Not in good taste.’
However, she half agreed with him. Something had gone on between the women.
Was Caroline jealous of Sadie, or was Sadie angered by all this?
When had it started? Was there even an affair between Caroline and Thomas?
Maybe her lover showered her with gifts of clothes.
Possible. Had Sadie found out and it had soured their friendship?
When and how did they even become friends?
What was their true relationship? Too many questions as usual.
Boyd said, ‘Thomas Clarke didn’t design this house. I wonder if the Healys just couldn’t afford his fee and he wouldn’t lower it. That would cause aggro.’
‘We can see if Liam Scanlan can offer us a better insight into their financial affairs. Best to be well armed before we fire any more shots at Clarke.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Before that, I want a look around upstairs on my own. Get a bit of heat going in the car. I won’t be long.’
This was her third time to walk around the house.
Upstairs, it felt strange in an eerie sort of way.
She wanted to look at Freya’s room with a child’s eye.
The teddies were a throwback to a younger age, but still indicated a child holding onto something she’d cherished.
A happy childhood, or a comfort blanket to ward off disharmony?
She knew everything had been examined in the house, so she lay on Freya’s bed, the same bed where the girl had died. Did she know her killer? Was she really already dead before she was strangled, as the toxicology analysis suggested? The poor child. Lottie felt a breeze of sorrow wafting over her.
She stared at the ceiling, looking up at it like the child would have done at night. Hairline cracks criss-crossed the white paint. A larger crack ran the length of the wall down the side of the built-in wardrobe. Definitely sub-par workmanship. What was she missing?
‘Talk to me, Freya,’ she whispered in the stillness.
What did the girl feel when she was in this room?
Did she spend all her time on her iPad? Nothing here drew her towards any sadness that Freya might have experienced prior to the murder.
No unusual vibe. No sign of cruelty or abuse.
Just the visible trappings of love. So what the hell had happened to make this family a target?
Standing up, her legs stiff and her back aching, she looked out of the window.
She and Sadie had stared out of Caroline’s bedroom window the other day.
Had she been standing beside a murderer?
That thought made her tremble. The trees in the woodland surrounding the garden were heavy with the weight of all the rain they’d experienced.
Some were leafless, but the garden was clear of leaves despite being muddy from the party.
Had Cameron or Caroline swept them up? Before the party, possibly.
Had the bins been checked? She hoped so.
Or maybe they went to compost. Was there a compost bin?
She thought the garden was probably too small to warrant one.
In Caroline and Cameron’s room, in contrast to Freya’s, she experienced a sense of turmoil.
Was it from the up-close-and-personal strangulation that had been inflicted on Caroline as she lay on the bed?
Or something that had festered in the walls of their marriage?
The unexplained bruise on the woman’s back nagged at Lottie.
The bruises on her arms, too, as if she’d been held down.
The lies she felt she was being fed, the secrets as yet unlocked.
None of it sat right with her.