Page 108 of The Guilty Girl

‘Any sign of the murder weapon?’

‘Still searching.’

‘Anything suspicious in the tub?’

‘It’s rank, but no evidence of blood. I’m just being thorough and professional.’

‘I like thorough and professional. Good work, Gráinne.’

‘Thanks. The shattered glass from the patio door has been sent to the lab for analysis. There’s blood on some shards. I’ll let you know as soon as we get a match. It’s more than possible it’s Jake Flood’s. The state pathologist confirmed that the wounds to his back were consistent with having been pushed through glass. She extracted fragments embedded deep in the skin of his lumbar region. She’ll call you once she has a prelim report.’

Inside the house, Lottie located the phone and signed for it. When she pressed the activate button, the screen flashed on. PIN required. 2% battery. Hopefully she would find clues here to reveal the real Lucy McAllister. But she needed the PIN to unlock it. Another job for the technical team.

She placed the evidence bag containing the phone into her bottomless pit of a handbag. Then, feeling the need to have another look around the house, she climbed the stairs. She wanted to get a sense of Lucy’s family life.

After a cursory look in the main bedroom, she made her way into Lucy’s room. It was clear that SOCOs had been in. Lucy had been murdered in one of the guest bedrooms at the end of the landing and her own room bore no evidence of the bleeding, dying girl having been hurt in it.

It was a typical teenager’s room. Lucy had had the luxury of a queen-sized bed with white linen bedding. Streaks of fake tan were evident where she and her friends had sat while it dried. Running her hands under the pillow and mattress, Lottie came up empty. On the bedside cabinet there was a lamp and a crystal glass three quarters full of clear liquid. She dipped a finger in and tasted it. Vodka. She turned up her nose at the memory of her old habit that she’d overcome. On the dressing table there was an overcrowded assortment of cosmetics and the kind of jewellery only a teenager could love.

Opening each of the drawers, she failed to find a diary, and there were no photos stuck to the mirror. Not unusual – all that stuff was now kept on phones and the cloud. On her hands and knees, she looked under the bed. Not even a speck of dust. Sarah Robson seemed to be more thorough here than in her own home.

There were no obvious hiding places like she’d discovered in Jake Flood’s room. Though what Lucy might have wanted to hide, she had no idea.

The en suite resembled a disaster area. Streaks of tan and a multitude of fingerprints smudged the walls, sink and mirror. All checked by SOCOs. The towels were teal in colour. Exactly like the one covered in blood found in Hannah’s bag.

An unzipped rucksack lying under the sink bore the name Ivy Jones. Lottie teased open the flaps. Cosmetics, two tins of dark tanning mousse and a stained tanning glove. Jeans, sweater, shirt and underwear. A pair of canvas runners – Lottie recognised the designer motif. Hardly worn if the soles were anything to go by. Rich girls. But what about Hannah?

She made her way to the bedroom next door.

The bed was made up; nothing on the dressing table. Though forensics had been through the room, she glanced under the bed. Clean and clear. Opened drawers. All empty. On the bedside cabinet she noted a small bottle of perfume, an inexpensive eyeshadow palette and a tube of Primark mascara. Was this the room Hannah had been allocated to get changed in? The cheap cosmetics pointed to that being the case. It made Lottie feel sad for Hannah. The girl had been denied the pre-party fun with the others. Had they treated her as an outcast? If so, it was cruel. Was it motive for murder though?

Seeing nothing else of significance, she sighed. She’d have to wait for the SOCO report. They were still working in the room where Lucy had been found. The phone offered her the best hope of a clue as to why the girl had been murdered.

As she made her way back to her car, she wondered if Sean might be able to remember anything else about his four a.m. visit to the house.

It was worth a try.

And she should really check in on her mother.

51

On her way back from the McAllisters’ property, Lottie drove round by her own house.

She was greeted by raised voices coming from the kitchen. Should have kept on driving.

Katie and Chloe were standing on either side of the table, feet apart, hands on hips, screaming at each other.

‘What’s going on?’ Lottie had to shout it twice before the girls noticed her in the doorway.

‘Oh, you’re home,’ Chloe said, folding her arms defensively.

‘Is something wrong, Mam?’ Katie picked up a cloth and began wiping down the table.

‘What’s the argument about?’ Did she even want to know?

‘She started it,’ Katie said, pointing the damp cloth in her sister’s direction.

‘Did not.’