Page 30 of The Guilty Girl
The small terraced house, two doors down from the cycle shop, was plain and simple. It could do with a coat of paint, but who was she to criticise anyone given the state of her own place?
She waved at John Kenny, whom she knew from Sean and Boyd getting their bicycles repaired with him.
‘Nice morning,’ he said, ready to chat.
‘It is,’ Lottie replied.
‘Rain later on, though.’
She kept walking and he went back into his shop.
Kirby rang the doorbell. When no one came out, Lottie leaned in by him and pressed down hard on the bell. Eventually the door was opened.
The boy standing there was thin as a rake, hungry-looking. Wary eyes, the pupils so wide they practically obliterated the colour from the irises. Cormac O’Flaherty was twenty years old, but he looked about sixteen, in his bare feet, a creased blue T-shirt and cut-off jeans showing pale freckled legs.
‘Can I help you?’ His short red hair stood to attention, highlighting an angry thread of acne across his forehead.
Lottie got a whiff of his sour breath. Not long out of bed. Unperturbed, she stepped over the threshold. ‘Okay if we come in, Cormac?’
‘Hey, you can’t just waltz in. Who are you?’
She slid past him into a small kitchen. Kirby had to wait until the boy let him pass, the house was that tiny.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Parker and my colleague is Detective Kirby.’ She looked over her shoulder as Cormac closed the door with a shake of his head.
‘Okay, but what is it you want?’ he growled.
‘You might need to put some shoes on. We’re taking you to the station, to have a chat about last night.’
Cormac shifted from foot to foot. ‘What’s wrong with talking here?’ He pulled out a chair but remained standing, rubbing a hand over his flaring forehead.
Lottie sat in an effort to force him to do likewise. As she did, she heard a soft hum that sounded like a washing machine. It came from behind a door close to where she sat. ‘Are you doing a wash?’
‘So what? It’s my house.’
‘You live alone?’
‘With my dad.’
‘And where is he?’
‘Syria. Army peacekeeping. He’ll be home in October. Talk to him then if you like.’
She’d had enough of this. ‘Get your shoes, I haven’t time to waste.’
Cormac’s bluster deflated and he seemed to morph into the boy his petulance portrayed. ‘Why do you want to talk to me?’
Lottie paused, considering her options. The minutes were ticking into hours, and with each tick, she was losing precious ground on Lucy’s killer.
‘Sit for a minute and I’ll explain.’
‘What if I don’t want to sit?’
Kirby stuck out his chest, shirt buttons ready to pop. ‘The sooner you sit down, lad, the sooner we’ll be out of your hair.’
Cormac dragged out a chair and sat.
Kirby remained standing at the head of the table. The room was so small he was still close to the front door.