Eventually he succeeded in lighting the cigar, while Lynch spoke briefly with the uniformed officer.
‘Put that out, Kirby,’ she said. ‘We have a bit of a walk after we get down on the bank. Should have worn my trousers.’ She set off down the steps located to the side of the bridge.
Standing in a huddle of uniforms at the bottom were the two youngsters who’d made the grim discovery.
‘We should have a chat with them first,’ Kirby said.
‘They’re being looked after. I have all the details. Come on, lazy bones.’
He would have taken the words as an insult from anyone else, but he’d worked a long time with Lynch, so he just chuckled to himself and set off after her. Maybe things might get back to normal now that she had returned to work. And hopefully Sam McKeown would shift his arse back to Athlone. McKeown had been a good addition to the team when he’d filled in for Lynch, but he tended to rile Kirby for no good reason.
‘Is it far?’ he shouted at Lynch as she headed along the grassy verge by the railway tracks.
‘Only about half a mile.’ Her voice carried back to him on the warm morning air.
‘Only?’ he muttered. He found a grubby handkerchief in his pocket and dabbed away the perspiration dripping down the folds of skin on his neck.
As they rounded the next corner, the white-suited scene-of-crime officers came into view. Kirby trotted after Lynch. She was almost suited up by the time he reached the huddled group. He grabbed a suit for himself, but before he could attempt to pull it on, he found himself forced to bend over, hands on knees.
‘You okay?’ Lynch said.
‘Catching my breath.’
‘Maybe you need to join a gym.’
‘I have no energy for it.’ He raised his head and studied her. Lynch had retained very little of her baby weight, and her face was slimmer than he remembered. He put a finger up to his own flabby jowls and thought maybe she had a point.
‘Get that suit on and hurry up, for God’s sake,’ she said.
He muscled his way into the tight forensic suit, hat, booties and gloves. He could smell what awaited them even before he entered the warm tent. He pulled his mouth mask up over his nose, but was still inclined to gag.
‘Not a pretty sight,’ said Jim McGlynn, head of the SOCO team. Kirby knew that the man enjoyed his banter with his boss, Detective Inspector Lottie Parker, though neither she nor McGlynn would ever admit it.
‘Oh my God,’ Lynch said, her forehead paling beneath the short whisper of fair hair that had escaped from her hood.
‘Jesus, Jim, what is it?’ Kirby stalled at the entrance to the tent. He felt his head wobble. The heat or the cigar? Maybe the gym wasn’t a bad idea. Scrap that. He couldn’t afford it.
‘Will you give me a chance?’ McGlynn sounded irritated.
Once he’d regained his equilibrium, Kirby peered over Lynch’s shoulder for a better look. Tight between two sleepers was a body, or more correctly, part of a body. Torso, no head. Legs cut off at the hips, arms at the shoulders. It was hard to tell if it was male or female. And it was small, very small. The skin was putrid and oozing in places, and in other places, it looked like …
He scratched his head. ‘Was it frozen?’
‘Yep. She’s been thawing out for quite a few hours by the looks of it. Hopefully frozen shortly after death, so we may get lucky.’
‘Lucky?’ Kirby itched to get the hell out of the tent.
‘Yes, Detective Kirby. Freezing a body close to time of death preserves DNA and fibres. We might get samples to analyse forensically and possibly inform us of the cause of death.’
‘Good, good,’ Kirby said. ‘And time of death?’
‘Won’t know anything until the state pathologist does her work. Where is she?’ McGlynn stared at him accusingly.
‘I’ll check if she’s on her way. You think the torso is female?’
‘At the moment, yes.’
‘When do you think she was killed?’
‘My middle name is not God, so I have no idea. Are you going to let me get on with my job?’
Kirby took his chance to escape out into the fresh air, quickly followed by Lynch. She looked green in the face when she whipped off her mask. She spoke to a uniformed officer at the entrance to the tent as she stripped off the protective clothing and stuffed it into a brown evidence bag. Kirby moved to her shoulder.
‘You okay?’ he said.
‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘Jane Dore will be here within the hour.’ She shook her hair loose, as if freeing each strand of the stench that clung there. ‘What the hell is that in there, Kirby?’
‘I’m not sure, but if I was pushed, I’d say it’s the body of a child.’
Seven
Lottie wasn’t one bit happy as she stood in front of her new superintendent. She herself had been in line for the promotion after Superintendent Corrigan had formally retired on grounds of ill health. She had been overlooked for the temporary position in favour of David McMahon last time around, but this time she had not even bothered to put in an application. McMahon had spewed on his bib and was spending his suspension kicking pebbles on Dollymount Strand while Internal Affairs raked up the dirt on him. From what Lottie had heard, there was enough to fill two wheelbarrows. Karma, she thought. And yet he was on paid leave pending a full hearing.
To date, she had had little interaction with Deborah Farrell, who’d been promoted quickly up through the ranks. Lottie was glad to see a woman getting the job, but not so sure she wanted to be working under this particular one. There was little grapevine chatter to draw on, so she had to depend on official sources, which were tight-lipped.
Deborah Farrell had arrived in Ragmullin two months previously with a steady record. At forty-five she matched Lottie in age, but Lottie had a good three inches on her. That was something, at least, she told herself. Not much good sitting down in an interview, though. Farrell’s eyes were a dark shade of grey, and her hair, an insipid brown, was tied in a tight bun at the back of her head. Not one strand was loose. Even her hair didn’t suffer insubordination. But her white uniform shirt was in need of an iron, an epaulette had come undone on her shoulder and her tie lay in a knot on the desk.
She ran a ringless finger around the open collar. ‘Detective Inspector Parker.’ A statement, not an enquiry.
‘That’s me, Superintendent Farrell.’ Lottie sat up straight.
‘We can drop the formalities. Okay if I call you Lottie?’
‘Sure.’
‘Outside that door I’m Superintendent Farrell, but between ourselves I’m Deborah.’
‘Fine by me.’ Lottie had no idea where this was headed, and wrong-footed by the superintendent’s cosy tone, she couldn’t decide whether she should be relieved or wary.
‘Detective Sergeant Boyd is off on sick leave, but I have an application here requesting his return to work on a part-time basis.’
‘Really?’ Lottie leaned forward. News to her.
‘I’d like to have your opinion on the matter. I believe you and Boyd are … intimate?’
Heat flared on Lottie’s skin before she could prevent the blush. How to handle this? With the truth, she supposed.