It was nearing four in the afternoon and the sky was bulging with black clouds when Lottie arrived at the burned-out cottage.

Looking over at the wet embers, now cordoned with crime-scene tapes, she zipped her jacket to her neck and tucked her hair into the hood. The temperature had dropped significantly and an east wind was gathering pace across the miserable fields.

Listening to the roaring wind and the rainwater drip-dripping from the bare branches above her head, she stretched her arms and legs. She felt like she’d been cooped up in the office all day, when in fact she had been out for most of it. Once her name was ticked off by the garda standing at the small iron gate, she walked towards the cottage.

The roof had caved in, which didn’t make much difference as the internal structure and personal effects had been either burned or saturated by fire hoses and the elements. But once it was deemed safe to do so, it’d be searched. SOCOs would have a hard job going through it, she thought.

A glare of lamps was lighting up the rear. She headed there. Gardaí and SOCOs were busy bagging and tagging the plants found in the insulated outhouse. Just as well the fire hadn’t reached that far.

To the left of the outhouse she noted a galvanised shed. Three walls stood haphazardly and its front lay open with a sagging line of washing hanging beneath the roof. Denim jeans, jogging pants and T-shirts. All blackened with smoke. They might be dry by Christmas, she thought.

She walked up to the SOCO standing with a clipboard in his hand.

‘I’m assuming you wouldn’t get those in a garden centre,’ she said.

‘Definitely not,’ he replied. ‘Cannabis plants might be a tad expensive for the likes of those places.’

‘Not very discreet about it, were they?’

‘Out here in the countryside you can grow just about anything without anyone passing the slightest remark. They’re just plants, if you don’t know any different.’

‘Was it locked?’

‘Chains and combination lock, nothing a good pair of shears wouldn’t cut through.’

He turned to check off another bag of plants being dragged by one of his colleagues to the waiting technical bureau van.

Lottie walked around the yard. From the hedge she could see smoke rising from the chimney of a house in the distance. There wasn’t anything to done here, and as she returned to her car, she wondered if Mick O’Dowd knew what was growing close to where his cows grazed.

---

The Land Rover was parked haphazardly at the side of the farmhouse. Net curtains were draped across sash windows, and the front door had been painted green a long time ago, going by the weather-beaten look of it. The satellite dish on the chimney creaked eerily in the growing gale.

A dog, big and black, raced out and circled the wheels of her car. Lottie switched off the engine and got out, praying it would back off. It didn’t.

‘Go away. Shoo. Scram. Good doggie.’ She twisted in circles, trying to keep the animal from jumping up on her. A Rottweiler with yellow teeth, dripping drool. ‘Get off, dog!’

‘What’s all the commotion?’ A man turned the corner of the house. ‘Down, boy. Mason, lie down.’

The dog snarled and threw Lottie a lingering look before turning and strolling to its master.

‘Who are you?’ he said, chaining the animal to a hook on the barn wall. Wisps of long grey hair poked out from beneath his peaked tweed cap. Lottie surmised he must be at least seventy.

‘Detective Inspector Lottie Parker.’ She flashed her ID. ‘And you are…’

‘I think you already know who I am.’

‘Your dog doesn’t seem to like me, Mr O’Dowd. But I’m not too bad once you get to know me.’ She smiled at the attempted joke.

O’Dowd’s grimace curled his face into an unreadable expression. ‘I hope you won’t be here long enough to get to know.’ He glanced at the ID and his hand swallowed hers in a firm shake. ‘What can I help you with?’

She tried not to visibly recoil as the wind carried his body odour towards her. He smelled like someone who hadn’t washed after sex. Lottie shuddered, thinking it was probably a long time since O’Dowd had engaged in such an activity.

Planting her feet firmly and facing the rising wind, she said, ‘I was in the area. Wondered if you knew anything about the cottage up the road, the one that burned down?’

‘Spoke to a detective this morning.’ He sniffed, shaking his head. ‘Do you not talk to each other?’

He turned and walked towards one of the large sheds.

Lottie followed. ‘We do, but I’m the curious sort. Like to hear things first hand. If you don’t mind.’

‘I do mind, and I’m very busy. My day’s been upset enough already. I’ve cows in the milking shed waiting for me.’

‘Don’t let me delay you. Go ahead. I’ll watch, you talk.’

He kept walking, hand raised, directing her. ‘You need wellington boots around here.’

‘So this is a milking shed, is it?’ Lottie scanned the large barn. Two rows of cows, heads through wrought-iron bars, chewing hay, their teats connected to milking machines behind them.

‘I’m sure you don’t want an agricultural lesson.’ He took off his waxed jacket and hung it on a post, then began checking the machines, tightening and loosening as he went.

She loitered at the door. ‘How many cows do you have?’

‘Thirty. Used to have up on two hundred. Not much business in dairy any more, but it keeps me busy. I do a bit of beef farming as well. Heifers and bulls.’ He pointed to a row of animals away on the far side of the shed.

‘Jesus, they’re huge,’ Lottie said, sizing up the animals standing on a slatted floor. They seemed to be as wide as they were tall. She turned back to the cows being milked. ‘Do those things… hurt the cows?’

He laughed sardonically. ‘Why don’t you ask them?’

Folding her arms, she leaned against the wall. ‘Maybe another time,’ she said. ‘Tell me about the cottage. Who lived there?’

‘Never saw anyone. Heard a car with a heavy exhaust, couple of times a week. Carving doughnuts on the road, no doubt. But they didn’t bother me. So I never had reason to call anyone about it.’

‘Until this morning.’ She unfolded her arms and stepped further into the enclosure, holding on to one of the bars. The cow beside her lifted its tail.

‘Righto. Until this morning.’ O’Dowd looked over. ‘Wouldn’t stand too close if I was you.’

‘Why not?’ Lottie jumped out of the way as shit flowed from the cow’s arse down to the straw-covered floor. ‘Okay, I get it.’

He laughed. She thought it sounded more in derision than amusement. Resuming her vigil by the door, she had to shout above the noise of the machinery.

‘You were at home when you saw the flames, that right?’

‘I was in my house, getting ready to start the day. Looked out the window. Like Bonfire Night up there, it was.’ He nodded his head in the direction of the cottage. ‘Got into my Land Rover, so I did. Rushed up the road. Once I saw how bad it was, I rang the fire service.’

‘Did you notice anyone in or around the cottage?’

‘There was a car out the front, but I wasn’t sure if there was anyone inside the cottage or not. And the flames were raging. I’m not young, nor a daredevil, so I didn’t venture past the gate.’

Lottie watched O’Dowd working his way down the line of cattle, kicking up straw as he went.

‘So you didn’t go closer to see if anyone needed help?’ she asked.

The muscles of O’Dowd’s broad shoulders seemed to constrict under his tartan shirt before he trekked back to her. He wiped his hands on a clump of hay and pulled on his jacket.

‘I’m no hero, Inspector.’

‘Do you know who owned or rented out the cottage?’

‘Haven’t a clue. Maybe through an estate agent?’

Outside the barn door, the beast of a dog eyed Lottie suspiciously and growled.

‘Why do you need such a dangerous animal?’

‘I live alone. It’s isolated out here. Mason is partly for company, mainly for protection. He’s a good guard dog.’

Lottie was going to ask if he had a dog licence, but decided not to push her luck.

‘He doesn’t chase your livestock?’

‘I have him well trained.’ He untied the chain and held it in his hand, the dog straining on the end of it. ‘Was there anything else?’

‘You live alone. Married?’

‘No.’

‘Kids?’

‘Why all these questions?’

‘Like I said, I’m just curious.’

He looked up at the clouds rolling across the sky. ‘There’s a storm coming. You should head back to town.’

‘What are those?’ Lottie pointed to three large blue plastic barrels standing near the second barn.

‘Propcorn.’

‘Popcorn? You’re having me on?’

‘Not popcorn. Propcorn. It’s an acid. To mix in with the oats and barley for the cattle feed. I use the barrels to collect rainwater once they’re empty of the acid and washed out.’

‘What’s that machine over there?’ She pointed to a large piece of equipment with massive steel rotors.

‘A free course in agriculture you want, is it?’

‘Just—’

‘Curious. It’s a slurry agitator. Are you finished now? I’m very busy.’ He loosened his hold on the chain and the dog snarled.

Her brain was squeezing with an uneasy sensation. Was O’Dowd hiding something? Or was he just a citizen who had reported a fire?

‘Can I use the bathroom?’ she ventured, a ruse to get inside the house for a snoop.

He took a step towards her, the dog circling his legs. ‘Doing a bit of decorating inside. You can use the outside one, though I wouldn’t recommend it.’

He pointed to an open door on the side of the shed. Lottie could see the ground running green.

‘Ah, it’s okay. I’ll manage until I get back. You’ll have to give a formal statement about the fire. You could do it now if you like.’

‘No, I don’t like. Told all to your detective.’

‘That was informal. Call into the station, or I can send someone out to you tomorrow.’ By now, Lottie was fed up with him.

‘I’ll go in when I get time. Satisfied?’

‘I suppose you heard about the murder and abduction over in Carnmore?’

‘Aye, I did.’

Was that a flicker of a shadow rolling across his face? Or was it just the wind churning light through the trees?

‘Did you know Tessa Ball?’

He lowered his head and was silent so long she thought he had slipped into a trance. At last he looked up from beneath wrinkled eyelids, crow’s feet imprinting deeper lines. ‘Everyone of an age knew Tessa.’

‘Care to tell me about her?’

‘Nothing to tell. She’s gone now, that’s all.’

‘Oh, come on. I can’t find out much about her.’

‘You’re better off. Now let me get back to work.’

‘Farming here long?’ Something was keeping her from leaving. A gust flung a steel bucket across the yard and the dog barked.

O’Dowd paid no heed. ‘All my life. Worked with my father until he died way too young. I kept the farm going.’

‘And your mother?’

‘You do ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’

‘Part of my job.’

‘My pedigree has nothing to do with you. And you’d do well to mind your own family history, Inspector Parker. Not all coated in the white paint of glory, is it now?’

Lottie had been about to head to her car. Now she stopped and half turned to O’Dowd, feeling the blood drain from her face. He knew he’d struck a chord, because she saw him raise a hand. In apology?

‘What do you mean?’ She scrambled the words through her lips.

‘Nothing. Just shooting my mouth off.’ He laughed. A feline tinkle, like breaking glass.

She stepped towards him. The dog strained on the leash. She didn’t care. Walking into O’Dowd’s space, her voice a whisper in the gale, she said, ‘What do you know about my family?’

‘Look, drop it.’ He tightened his grip on the chain, rolling it up a notch, dragging the dog closer to his leg. ‘I just meant we all have skeletons in cupboards we want to keep locked away from prying eyes. Yourself included.’

Lottie’s jacket buffeted open and the wind cut through her like a sharp blade.

‘I’d really like to know what you mean.’

‘I think you already do. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve a busy evening ahead. I’ll call into the station tomorrow when I’m in town.’ He tipped the peak of his cap and motioned with his free hand to her car. ‘You’d best be getting off with yourself before the storm grabs a hold of you.’

Still feeling as if a claw had snatched at her heart, Lottie got into her car and reversed out of the gate. As she drove away, she could see in her rear-view mirror O’Dowd standing watching. A curtain twitched at an upstairs window. The wind? Or someone there?

She shook off the shiver. Had he threatened her? Did he know something about her father? Or was it about Eddie, her dead brother? Whatever it was, he had spiked her interest in him when she felt he was in fact trying to divert her.

And the fire. Wouldn’t any normal human being ensure there was no one inside the burning cottage? Do all in their power to rescue them? But O’Dowd had apparently watched the place go up in flames while one man was burned to death and another was left hanging on to life by his fingertips. Another shudder up her spine. He had no fingertips.

---

O’Dowd watched the inspector’s car crest the hill, heading into town. He sighed with relief. She hadn’t noticed the bicycle at the side of the house. He wheeled it into the second shed, beside the milking parlour. Closed the door. Tied up the dog.

He pulled off his boots, banged them against the step, scraping away most of the cow dung and muck, and left them to dry out. The kitchen was clean but empty. Moving into the hall, he shouted up the stairs.

‘You can come down now, girleen. The guard is gone.’

He waited a moment before seeing her pop her head over the banister.

‘No need to be afraid.’

She pushed her spectacles back up her nose, and with wariness in her steps as well as her eyes came down the stairs.

‘Sit yourself down and I’ll make you that cup of tea now,’ he said, and went to boil the kettle.