Free WHYTE LIES by KC Acton Page B

mind whirled with questions. She stood up and poured herself a strong black coffee. “No point going to bed now, eh Sausage?” She picked up her cat and snuggled his soft fur as he purred in her arms. She fed him, then jumped in the shower and got ready for work.
    Killarney Police Station was deserted when Faith pulled in at 7 a.m. She grabbed a coffee from the machine outside the incident room before heading inside. She was shocked to see Kelly fast asleep at his desk. His legs were propped up on a chair, his head was thrown back as he snored, and his suit jacket was flung over his front. Empty fish and chip wrappers from the previous night’s dinner were shoved into the bin beside him. She coughed, making him jump. He almost fell off his chair when he saw her.
    “Have you no home to go to, Kelly?”
    “You could say that; the wife’s kicked me out.”
    “I see. Any particular reason?” Faith asked a little more kindly. Now, his late-night phone call made more sense.
    “She’s found herself another man,” he replied, avoiding eye contact.
    “I see.”
    He flushed with embarrassment and rubbed his eyes. Faith prayed he wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t cope with emotional meltdowns at the best of times, let alone one from Greg Kelly. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.”
    “Will do, boss.” He coughed, trying to cover the crack in his voice.
    “Here, drink this,” she said, handing him the coffee. “You look like you need it more than me.”
    He smiled wanly at her, gratefully accepting the strong black coffee. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention this to anyone,” he said.
    “I won’t say a word. I’ll be in my office if you need me.” She turned on her heel and retreated to her office, closing the door behind her. She watched the team arrive one by one: Martin Plunkett was first to arrive at 7.30 a.m., looking fresh-faced and shiny, without a hair out of place, followed by Nora at 8 a.m. sharp, bearing coffee and cakes.
    “Thanks, Nora.” Faith bit into a blueberry muffin, too tired to care about the calories. “Good morning Byrne. Kind of you to join us.” She glanced at her watch as Byrne crept into the room, half an hour late, full of mumbled apologies.
    “My alarm didn’t go off. Sorry, boss.”
    “Let’s get started,” said Faith, ignoring Byrne’s excuses. “Kelly did a great job tracking down the Gleesons’ emails, phone logs and Facebook chats, which I spent most of last night reviewing. A few things need to be further investigated. Daniel Gleeson was active on Facebook, posting photos of his daughters and chatting to his friend, Steven Garrett. Some of those conversations were revealing. However, Amira remains an enigma. She’s only in a few photos, and Daniel seldom mentions her in his chats to his friend.”
    “Maybe one of them was having an affair?” suggested Plunkett.
    “It’s interesting you should say that,” said Faith. “Amira was married before she married Daniel.”
    “But I thought they met at university,” said Plunkett.
    “They did, but soon after graduating from Trinity College, Amira went to Australia, where she married Max Edwards. I’d like you to research Amira’s time in Australia, Plunkett. See if you can track down Max, and find out if Daniel knew about his wife’s first marriage. Speak to friends of the couple, see if they have any more information. Find out why Amira went to Australia, and why she left without Max. Byrne, you can give Plunkett a hand with that.”
    “Will do, boss,” Byrne and Plunkett chimed in unison.
    “What do we have so far?” Faith turned and surveyed the whiteboard. “We have the dispute between the Gleesons and Layla al-Nin over the family home; the breakdown in the once-close relationship between the sisters; and Layla’s opinion that Daniel was an abusive husband, but we can assume that her opinion is biased. We have no DNA or forensic evidence at the scene of the crime, other than