The Missing Ones by Patricia Gibney

Author:Patricia Gibney
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781786811509
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2017-03-16T00:00:00+00:00

FIFTY

Tom Rickard was letting her know he was busy, rattling desk drawers, stacking files in front of him and tapping his keyboard. Simultaneously.

His eyes appeared closer together, scrunched in a scowl.

‘I can do without your interruptions,’ he said, shuffling out of his suit jacket. He rolled his shirt sleeves, slowly and methodically, up to his elbows.

Ready for battle, Lottie surmised, wondering how he had ever spawned a son. Then again, he was a rich bastard. Sometimes money could compensate.

‘Why did you buy St Angela’s?’ she asked, without any preamble.

She had caught him on his way into work, hoping he might have a hangover like almost everyone else she’d encountered this morning. He wasn’t impressed with being doorstopped. Reluctantly he had allowed her a few minutes of his precious time.

‘That’s none of your business.’ Rickard ceased fidgeting.

‘I have two murder victims, both of whom worked on the planning application for the property you bought from Bishop Connor. I also have a dead priest. And you tell me it’s not my business?’

‘It’s simple,’ he said. ‘I bought St Angela’s because I happen to believe it’s a prime site for development. I’ve sunk a lot of money into this project and I stand to make profits from it in the future. I don’t appreciate you getting involved in my business affairs.’ He gave the drawer one last thump and folded his arms.

‘It is my business, if it helps me find a murderer.’ Lottie paused for effect. ‘Tell me, why did James Brown contact you after Susan Sullivan was murdered?’

‘Are you deaf? I’ve already told you I didn’t speak with him.’

‘The call lasted thirty-seven seconds,’ Lottie persisted. ‘You can say a lot in thirty-seven seconds.’

‘I did not speak with the man,’ Rickard said, his voice slow and determined, his veneers flashing.

‘Maybe it went to your voicemail. Did you check?’

‘I did not speak with him,’ he said, a snarl curving his mouth upwards.

‘How much did St Angela’s cost you?’ Lottie changed tack.

‘That’s definitely none of your business,’ Rickard said, unfolding his arms and thumping his desk.

Lottie smiled. Shaking the tree was working.

‘Mr Rickard, I’ve discovered you purchased St Angela’s for no more than half its market value.’ Bea Walsh had supplied Lottie with this news. ‘That information might interest the financial gurus in the Vatican. I hear they’re hard up for funds. What do you think?’

‘I think you’re out of your depth, Inspector. It’s of no concern to anyone how much I paid for that property.’ His nostrils flared like an enraged bull. ‘I don’t see how this has anything to do with your investigations.’ His face was getting redder by the second.

‘I beg to differ,’ Lottie said, calmly. ‘With the burden of expense this parish is carrying, I think the media will be very interested in your little deal.’

‘You better discuss it with Bishop Connor then.’

‘I intend to.’

Lottie felt like she was in a schoolyard sparring match. Rickard was adept at wheeling and dealing, and playing his cards close to his chest. She preferred to go straight to the suit of hearts.

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