Page 128 of The Guilty Girl

A knife.

The shadow morphed into a body and slid into the room, snake-like. His mouth opened and words slipped out, fuelling the air with something like rat poison.

‘Ah, Sharon, were you expecting to find someone else here?’

One step after another, he moved further into the room, until he was close enough to hold the knife under her chin, nicking her soft skin. Such was her terror that she felt the warmth on her leg before she realised with mortification that she had wet herself. The bag of change felt like a ton of wet bricks, sticking to her belly.

‘Ah, the baby needs a nappy,’ he scoffed. ‘Have you lost your tongue as well?’ The mouth curved downwards, the face twisted in a sneer. ‘How about I cut it out? That way you can never tell lies like your stupid brother.’

The smell of his breath was overwhelming, but her fear of the knife beneath her chin overrode all else. She thought of her mam at home without Jake; now she’d be without her too.

He must have seen something in her eyes, because he lowered the knife and eyed her quizzically.

That was when she screamed. But such was her terror, only a strangled squeak came out of her mouth.

* * *

My wings are fluffed up and preened. I feel so good at having snared this treasure at last. The knife in my hand is gleaming like the North Star, lighting up the fetid room. I laugh at her childlike scream. She sounds like a chicken squawking. I advance as she backs up against the wall and slides to the floor, her thin shoulders shaking.

‘Don’t cry,’ I say. ‘It makes your face so ugly.’

‘Go away.’

‘Jake cried. He even screamed. Bad boy.’

‘Piss off and leave me alone.’

‘Oh, I have a fighter on my hands. That’s so cute.’ I walk around the dirty floor, my nose wrinkling at the smell of her piss. That makes me angry. I had wanted to swoop in and take what was mine. To relish her innocent charm and fly away with her under my wing. I had plans for her, but now I am not so sure.

‘Dirty little girl. You disgust me. Pissing all over yourself. Not nice.’

She is struggling to unbutton her jeans. She sticks her hand down inside and I am about to tell her to stop because I have to take a photo first when she drags out a revolting plastic bag.

‘Take this for the drugs Jake had and please leave my mammy and me alone. Please.’

I shake my head and kick the bag out of her hand. Silver coins roll across the floor and settle somewhere among the detritus.

‘I don’t want your money. I want you.’ I take my phone out then and hold it up, smiling as she cowers behind her elbow.

‘Now be a good girl and smile for the camera.’

61

Lottie deposited an increasingly agitated Cormac in a cell to wait for a solicitor. She contacted the army liaison officer for troops abroad on peacekeeping duties, who promised to get a message to Cormac’s dad. She gave the lad his inhaler that he’d left behind yesterday and made her way to her office.

She asked Garda Thornton to organise a duty solicitor for Cormac until they had word from his dad, and was told there would be a few hours’ delay. She reckoned the delay might suit the boy. He needed time to think about telling her the truth. DNA evidence didn’t lie, but there were three plausible reasons for Lucy’s blood being on his shirt.

One, Cormac had killed Lucy and drugged Hannah so she would have no memory to dispute his version. Two, Cormac and Hannah had killed Lucy together. Or three, Hannah had killed Lucy, and Cormac had helped her clean up and escape afterwards. But there was also a fourth option. Neither of them had had anything to do with the murder but they had stumbled upon Lucy’s body while her blood was still wet. Like Sean had.

At her desk, she got a message informing her that a knife had been found in the canal by the divers searching for anything to do with Jake’s death. She rested her chin on her hand. How did Jake Flood fit into any of her scenarios? And what about the threat against Albert McAllister’s business – to expose him for fight fixing and his clients for drug use – was it even relevant? And then there was the question of who had had sexual intercourse with Lucy prior to her death. No one had come forward. No lab results yet.

Her head was spinning with permutations.

She decided Cormac could stew until his solicitor arrived; Hannah likewise. She was trying to get her head straight on how best to conduct both interviews when her computer pinged with an email from Jane Dore. The pathologist’s preliminary report on Jake Flood.

After reading it, she decided it was time for a quick team meeting. She’d seen Superintendent Farrell get into her car a few minutes earlier, so the coast was clear.

The incident room was taking on the usual hectic day two shape. The boards were filling up and the room hummed with activity as detectives and uniforms tried to find a spare chair.