Chapter 78
Boyd paced the kitchen. Lottie wasn’t answering her phone. He wanted to be with her, but he was trying to keep Rose calm. It was like the woman could sense his anxiety.
‘I know there’s something wrong, so you better tell me, young man.’
This sentence was on repeat. As was his reply.
‘There’s nothing wrong, Rose.’
‘It’s about Peter, isn’t it? He didn’t come in for his dinner. Did someone hurt him?’
‘No, it’s not Peter.’ Boyd knew Rose’s Garda husband was decades dead.
‘It’s a dangerous job being a guard. I know there’s something wrong, so you better tell me.’
The cycle began again. Boyd’s patience was wearing thin. He boiled the kettle for what must have been the tenth time. Even though Rose refused to drink any tea, it gave him something to do, a reason to turn away from her. No wonder Lottie was always teetering on the edge of exhaustion.
‘Hey, Gran, why are you still up?’ Katie asked as she came into the kitchen.
‘Up where?’
‘I’m bringing you to your room and then I’ll get you a cup of cocoa.’ Katie took Rose’s arm and helped her up from the chair. ‘Is your ankle still sore?’
‘Why would it be sore?’
‘You twisted it on the stairs.’
Katie gave Boyd a sad wave as she hustled her gran out of the kitchen. When he heard Rose’s door open then shut, he grabbed his coat, left a note on the table for Katie and ran out to his car.
He felt torn. He should be helping Kirby and McKeown at the crime scene, but he wanted to see Lottie, to hear first-hand how Chloe was doing.
Lottie’s car was in the set-down area. Luckily it hadn’t been clamped. He found a parking space and sprinted back through the murky mist.
After making enquiries, he made his way up to the surgical level.
He was too impatient to take the lift, so he flew up the stairs.
He was girding himself for whatever news Lottie might have about Chloe when he realised she was not alone.
He stopped before she saw him and backed around the corner.
What was Matt Mooney doing here? What was going on?
Back in the car, he tried to deny the emotions swirling in his chest. He had no right to feel any sort of jealousy. He had ended things, not Lottie. He no longer had any claim on her heart. He had made that clear despite her attempts to rekindle their relationship in her own awkward way.
One positive way he could help was to find whoever had hurt Chloe. He sped through the town.
After parking, he pulled on his rain jacket and a woollen hat and found Kirby, who relayed the full story. Or as much of it as he knew at that point in time.
‘What’s McKeown at?’ Boyd asked.
‘Interviewing the bouncer at the Court pub. Trying to find witnesses.’
‘Do you think it’s the work of Liam Scanlan?’
‘It could be, but why would he target Chloe? Surely he wouldn’t know her relationship to Lottie? Not that that connection is any reason to stab her daughter.’
‘It must be him, otherwise she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I find that hard to believe.’ Boyd had to focus. ‘Chloe was at a party in Cafferty’s. Have you talked to those inside yet?’
Kirby made a scene of checking his watch. ‘I’d say most have left by now. I hadn’t time to go in there yet.’
‘It’s okay. I’ll take a quick look.’
Boyd was anxious to get moving. He had to distance himself from the place young Chloe had been almost killed.
It was warm in Cafferty’s. It should have been buzzing with a crowd, but it appeared to be empty.
Darren, the barman, looked bewildered. ‘It’s yourself,’ he said.
‘You heard what happened outside?’
‘Awful business altogether.’
‘She was in here earlier, I believe,’ Boyd said. ‘The girl who was stabbed.’
‘I wouldn’t know. It was manic all night before they headed to a nightclub. Two parties. One in the beer garden and the other down the back. A lot of the regulars had decamped to Wallace’s for their quiet pints.’
‘Notice anything unusual? Anyone acting suspiciously?’
‘Jeez, man, everyone acts funny on booze and God knows what else they snort in the loos. Not funny ha ha, just out of character, you know what I mean?’
Boyd tried to keep his frustration under wraps. He turned his phone towards Darren. It displayed a photo of Chloe. ‘This is the girl. Do you remember her in here tonight?’
‘No, and I told you, the place was jammed. Inside and out. My granny could rise from the dead and walk in and I wouldn’t have noticed her.’
‘Any of the other bar staff around?’
‘I told them to go home. It’s as dead as a graveyard here now.’
Irritation edged into Boyd’s words and his hands twitched to hit something. Someone. ‘Jesus, Darren. Look at the photo again. Please. Try to recall if you saw her. Where she might have been. Who she might have been talking to.’
The barman shook his head slowly. ‘I spent the night behind the bar, up to my elbows in pints of Guinness. It was three or four deep out there at one stage.’
‘Grand so. I’ll be back tomorrow to talk to the other staff. I’ll phone you beforehand.’
‘Sure thing.’
Boyd turned away and glanced around the space.
He walked out to the beer garden. Helium balloons lingered above his head.
Streamers fell from the walls and curled around abandoned pints on tables.
A few stragglers remained dotted around both spaces.
He showed them Chloe’s photo but was met with shoulder shrugs and slurred denials.
He hoped McKeown was having more luck at the pub down the street.
Before he left Cafferty’s, he wondered if Dermot Macken had provided the party balloons. The week had started with murders after a party, and here he was again, at the aftermath of another.
He went back to ask Darren where the balloons came from.
‘Haven’t a clue. Sorry.’
Boyd slapped his damp hat back on his head and left.
McKeown had been waiting for Kirby to ask him why he’d been in Gaol Street and not at home.
But the fat fuck was too stupid to ask. The boss would, though.
Once she got her head together. He had a ready answer when and if needed.
Working late. Loads of CCTV to search through.
Decided to stay the night in Ragmullin and get back to it early in the morning.
That was the excuse he’d given his wife on the phone earlier, and no one could debate it.
He’d been in the office as it had emptied, and he didn’t think anyone had noticed him in Cafferty’s.
It was too busy and people were too drunk.
And it had no CCTV. He pushed out his chest, a photo of Liam Scanlan in his hand as he stood with the bouncer at the Court pub.
‘See this man around tonight?’
‘Can’t say that I did.’
‘Take a good look,’ McKeown insisted. ‘A young woman was stabbed around the corner.’
‘Yeah, I’m not blind. I can see all the activity over there. Doesn’t stop this lot having a good time. We have a licence to stay open late.’ He indicated the pub behind him, people milling around oblivious to the drama up the street.
McKeown waved the photo in front of his face. ‘This guy has already stabbed two women this week, one of them my colleague.’
‘Oh, I heard about the young guard. Awful. This town is a no-go area some nights.’
McKeown didn’t enlighten him that Martina was stabbed in the late afternoon and Clarice at home in the morning. ‘This guy is our number-one suspect.’
‘They all look the same to me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Those office types. Getting drunk out of their skulls on a Friday night after a week twiddling their thumbs. Did he work in the council?’ He nodded down the street.
‘No, he worked around the corner. Hallblack Lane.’
‘Jesus, that’s where that murdered accountant had his office.’
‘This dude worked for him. Hence he is also a suspect for the Healy murders.’
‘Should be locked up. How can I help you?’
‘You saw him tonight, didn’t you?’
‘Wouldn’t swear on a stack of bibles, but he might have been around.’
‘Thanks a million, man.’ McKeown took down the bouncer’s details.
This was going to be so easy.
Once Chloe Parker died on the operating table, he’d be safe.