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  INSINCERE

  Detective Elizabeth Ireland Crime Thriller Series, Book 2

  Joanne Clancy

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2015 Joanne Clancy

  The moral right of Joanne Clancy to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  About the Author

  Joanne Clancy is an Irish mystery writer, from Cork, Ireland. She is an avid reader, a self-confessed Kindle addict, and a tea fiend!

  Joanne's books combine murder, mystery, and suspense with a twist of psychological drama. Her crime books have consistently hit the Amazon paid bestseller lists in Crime, Thrillers & Mystery.

  She is a Kindle All-Star and an Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award quarter-finalist.

  Joanne is currently working on her twenty-seventh book, SOON, which is available to pre-order now at Amazon.

  Books by Joanne Clancy

  Detective Elizabeth Ireland Series:

  Tear Drop

  Insincere

  Soon

  The Ellis Jones Mysteries:

  Traceless

  If You Tell Anyone

  The Detective's Wife

  The Gift

  I Should Have Told You

  Before I'm Gone

  Open Your Eyes

  Return to Me

  Crime Novels:

  Killing Time

  Watched

  A Daughter’s Secret

  Killer Friends

  Shattered

  The Offering

  Romance Novels

  The Unfaithful Series:

  Unfaithfully Yours

  Revenge

  Web of Deceit

  The Secrets & Lies Trilogy:

  Secrets & Lies

  Aftermath

  Redemption

  Unforgettable Embrace

  The Wedding Day

  Available to buy at Amazon or free with Kindle Unlimited

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Book Description

  She loves me. He loves me not.

  "Someone is trying to kill me," said the distressed woman. "You're the only one who can help me."

  The mysterious death of her brother years ago compelled Detective Elizabeth Ireland to leave her family home. Now, she finds herself chasing the dark heart of a serial killer whose seemingly motiveless murders force her to confront her own unresolved tragedy.

  When dangerous secrets begin to emerge, the past and the present collide with explosive consequences.

  Get three best-selling mystery books for FREE!

  Details can be found at the end of TEAR DROP.

  Chapter One

  "Someone is trying to kill me."

  "You should call the police." Elizabeth sighed. Ever since the Tear Drop case her face had been splashed all over the newspapers: Elizabeth Ireland, former detective with The London Metropolitan Police and occasional consultant to Cork City's Murder Unit. She was used to getting random calls from strangers with nothing better to do.

  "It's too late to call the police," said the woman. "You're the only one who can help me."

  Elizabeth managed to suppress a sigh.

  "You have to listen; you're the only person I can trust."

  "Do I know you?" Elizabeth snapped. She could hear a hint of an accent, but she couldn't place where it was from.

  "My name is Natalie Doyle. You may have heard of me."

  "I'm afraid not."

  "I'm an artist."

  "Is that so?" Elizabeth glanced at her watch and stifled a yawn. She was in no mood for a crank caller; all she wanted was her bed and sleep. "Natalie, it's getting late. Don't you have anything better to do with your time?"

  "I need to talk to you. We have to meet; I can't divulge more over the phone. Trust me; you'll be interested in what I have to say. Meet me in an hour by the church in Kinsale."

  ***

  Elizabeth checked the clock on the dashboard. It was almost 1a.m. She parked the Range Rover and jumped out, locking it behind her. Traces of chatter carried on the night air as the last of the stragglers left the village pub and wandered home. She shivered, wishing she hadn't agreed to meet the mystery caller.

  Elizabeth huddled into her coat as she set off along the coast road. Alone in the dark, the church seemed far away, and the only sound was the water hitting off the rocks far below. By the time she reached the church, she was completely unnerved. She often drove out that way to relax and listen to the sea, but that was always from the safety of her car. She was beginning to wonder if she had made a mistake in coming out there alone, especially when there was no sign of Natalie Doyle at the door of the church where they'd agreed to meet. She checked her watch. Natalie was already twenty minutes late.

  Elizabeth pulled her coat tight around her. The wind had picked up and was starting to cut right through her. It was difficult to imagine it was almost spring. In the distance, she watched the golden glow from the houses scattered across the peninsula, while overhead, the stars twinkled in the black sky.

  Nervously, she checked her watch again. She glanced around one last time. Something caught her eye at the edge of the pier where the cliff dropped away to the dark water below. Intrigued, she decided to have a look. A pair of brown boots was perched on the edge of the stone, placed together neatly, beside a small handbag and a mobile phone.

  She peered over the edge at the rocks bound with seaweed. Someone was down there. A woman was face down, coat twisted, one leg trapped awkwardly beneath her. Elizabeth remembered Natalie's last words to her on the phone: "Someone is trying to kill me." With a pang, she realised that someone had succeeded.

  Chapter Two

  Elizabeth sighed loudly as Derek Delaney walked towards her. She should have known he'd be the first detective from the Murder Unit on the scene. He was the last person she wanted to see. It was going to be a long night. Police officers were busy securing the area. One of them was making an inept attempt at questioning her.

  "You know what, Lizzie," Delaney said as he drew near. "People have a strange habit of dying around you."

  "Ne
ver the right ones, unfortunately," she retorted.

  He almost smiled.

  "Who is it this time?" he asked.

  "Sir, we haven't been able to identify the body yet," a young officer piped up.

  Delaney silenced him with a glare. "I wasn't asking you, I was asking her. Maybe you should trot along and help your colleagues put up some more tape like a good little boy. Make yourself useful for a change. I'll take over here."

  The officer didn't bother arguing. Few of them dared question him; Delaney had a reputation of ruining someone's day just for the fun of it.

  "Did you learn your people skills in Police College or do they come naturally to you?" Elizabeth asked as the officer scurried away.

  "Self-taught." He grinned down at her. "I'm the best teacher I've ever had. Are you going to answer my questions or do I have to handcuff you and take you down to the Station?"

  "You wouldn't dare."

  "Try me." He chuckled to himself. He was well used to laughing at his own jokes. "So who is it?"

  "How the hell do I know?"

  "The desk sergeant said you mentioned a name when you called it in," Delaney said, pulling out his pen and notebook for effect.

  She rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to slap him. "I said I had arranged to meet someone here."

  "Who?"

  "Natalie Doyle. She said she was an artist. I don't know if that's her on the rocks, but I think it's a strong possibility."

  "Think?" He enunciated the word carefully.

  "As I said, I think she might be Natalie Doyle, but I didn't want to risk contaminating the scene by getting too close."

  "Why did you come all the way out here to meet someone you don't even know?" Delaney asked.

  She hesitated. "Natalie wanted to tell me something."

  "Like what?"

  "I don't know. She said it was too dangerous to tell me over the phone."

  "Dangerous?"

  "Yes, that's what she said. What are you, a parrot? What are you doing here anyway? Where's Frank?"

  Detective Chief Superintendent Frank Murphy was head of Cork City's Murder Unit. Frank and Elizabeth had been seeing each other ever since she arrived in the city from The London Metropolitan Police.

  "The Chief is a busy man," replied Delaney. "Unlike you, he has a job to do. Anyway, why would he want to waste his precious time on a suicide?"

  "What makes you so sure she killed herself?"

  "I spoke with one of the uniforms on the radio while I was driving here," replied Delaney. "He gave me the full rundown: boots neatly placed beside her phone and handbag. It's classic suicidal behaviour, which is why I don't understand why you're bothering the Murder Unit with her death. You should have called the local police; they could have handled it."

  "I didn't call the Murder Unit," she said, trying her best to ignore his jibes. "I phoned Frank. I didn't realise that his calls were being diverted to you. Don't you think you should leave it up to the pathologist to decide how she died before jumping to uneducated conclusions?"

  "Wow, that's a brilliant idea: let's call in a pathologist. I would never have thought of that. What would we do around here without your top class crime-solving skills?"

  She tried to ignore him, knowing he was trying to put her in her place. She was well aware that she was a former detective, that she meant nothing, that she was just a civilian. Yes, she consulted for the Murder Unit occasionally, but Derek Delaney had never appreciated her presence on the team. In fact, her believing that she could help was merely another strike against her.

  "Let's get on with it, shall we?" she said.

  "There's no rush. I don't have anywhere else to be or anything else to do. Let's make a night of it. I'll take your statement; then we can both get on with what we do best, although who knows what that is in your case."

  "Whatever." She sighed.

  "That's better. I like a woman who knows her place," he said, seeing the resignation on her face.

  However, he didn't get a chance to enjoy his pathetic victory as one of the uniforms hurried towards them. "Sir," he said nervously.

  "What is it?" Delaney snapped, redirecting his hostility towards the officer.

  "It's the dead woman, sir."

  "What about her?"

  "She was shot."

  Delaney was speechless, but there was a look of excitement on his face. Elizabeth knew instantly what he was thinking. It was The Shooter.

  Three times the gunman known as The Shooter had struck and three times the Murder Unit had drawn a blank. Cork City was in the grip of a series of apparently motiveless murders; the Murder Unit had never been under so much pressure from the anxious public and the overexcited media to find the killer.

  It seemed that the Shooter was deliberately trying to ensure that there were no connections between the victims, instead teasing the detectives with the suggestion of a link, and then doing a U-turn to throw them completely off the trail again. The only real connection was that he fired one bullet at each victim and always carefully picked up the empty shell casings.

  Elizabeth had tried to push the case from her mind. She had tried to stay detached and uninvolved for Frank's sake. It was his career, not hers, and she couldn't pretend a place for herself into existence. She kept herself busy with her private investigator business, where she specialised in tracing lost relatives and missing persons, now it looked as if her life was about to get a whole lot busier.

  Chapter Three

  It was 4a.m by the time Elizabeth signed her statement at the Station and was free to go. She tried calling Frank, but he wasn't answering his phone. She made her way back to her apartment and thought about making coffee, before taking a few sleeping pills instead and lying down on the couch.

  The sound of the intercom buzzing jolted her awake. She stumbled off the couch to the door and pressed the button.

  "It's Frank," crackled a voice from seventeen floors below. "Can I come up?"

  "Sure, but where's your key?"

  "I wanted to make sure you were awake."

  "I am now." She buzzed him in.

  "You look like crap," Frank said brightly when she opened the door.

  "Good morning to you too," she grinned, leaning in for a kiss. "How was your night?"

  "Crap." She couldn't help noticing, as he shrugged off his coat, how great he looked even with his dark hair dishevelled and his unshaven face. "I hear Delaney gave you a tough time."

  "Who told you?"

  "The officer who took you to the Station mentioned it."

  "Cooper?"

  "Cooper, yeah. He felt bad for you. He heard the way Delaney spoke to you at the church, but he didn't want to say anything until he was sure that Delaney was out of earshot. Apparently, he was out of line."

  "Being out of line is one of Delaney's best skills."

  "Delaney's been having some issues," said Frank tentatively. "Things are changing too quickly for his liking. He's convinced that he's being frozen out. He's always thought he should have been head of the Murder Unit, not me."

  "Isn't it about time he got over it?" Elizabeth said. "It's not my problem if he feels snubbed."

  The hesitation before Frank answered was brief. "Do you want me to have a word with him?"

  Nothing would have made her happier than to see Delaney in trouble, preferably fired, so that she would never again have to deal with his pathetic attitude. However, she also knew how much Frank needed him. Delaney was an arrogant asshole, but he was a good detective.

  "Forget it," she sighed. "Would you like some brekkie?"

  "Do you know what time it is?"

  "Shock me."

  "It's almost two," he said, regarding her critically. "Did you take sleeping pills?"

  "A few."

  "I wish you wouldn't take those things. They're no good for you."

  "They help me sleep."

  "You'd sleep better if you looked after yourself."

  "Should I become vegetarian and do Pilates t
hree times a week?

  "You know I'm right."

  "I think this is a severe case of the pot calling the kettle black," she said, opening the refrigerator door and peering inside. "I'm afraid we don't have many options: it's either a slightly mouldy cheese or a jar of olives."

  "Don't worry; I came prepared." He handed her a carton of chilled orange juice and a paper bag of pastries.

  "You think of everything," she grinned at him as she bit into a pain au chocolat.

  "Someone has to. Are you going to tell me about last night?"

  "There's not much to tell."

  "It was risky going to the church alone. Anyone could have been waiting for you. You could have been killed," said Frank.

  "I wasn't.'

  "Not this time, but what about the next time, or the time after that?"

  "I had to meet her; she said someone was trying to kill her. She intrigued me. So was it Natalie Doyle in the water?"

  "Yes, it was Natalie," said Frank. "Her brother, Lucas, identified the body this morning."

  "How did he look?"

  "Blank, cold, like he didn't believe it was really her, but at least he didn't cry."

  Elizabeth understood what he meant. When she'd worked at The Met, she'd found herself wishing that people wouldn't make a scene. It didn't matter how much training she had, she never knew how to help someone through losing a loved one. "Did you speak to him?"

  "Not really. He wasn't up to answering many questions. He said was that he left the house shortly before nine last night. He and Natalie lived together. He didn't realise she was gone until the police turned up at his door this morning."

  "Poor him, that must have been awful."

  "He didn't give anything away, but he didn't understand what she was doing at the church." He paused, wondering if he should continue. "He asked about you."