The young garda parked the squad car in the station yard. It took Lottie a moment to realise where she was. A sharp knock on the window and she jumped in her seat.

‘What the…?’

A face peered in at her, the light attached to the wall beaming down behind it.

She stepped out of the car in a daze.

A hand was thrust towards her. She looked down at it and then up at the face. No one she recognised. A head of black hair meant he was probably younger than her. Even in the obscure light she could see his skin was dark. Tanned? She couldn’t make out the colour of the eyes. Not here, anyway. As he stepped back to give her room to shut the car door, she noticed he was a good head taller than her, with shoulders broad enough on which to hang a door. He smirked, and before he opened his mouth, she knew arrogance percolated in the pores of his skin.

‘David,’ he said. ‘Detective Inspector David McMahon. National Drugs Unit. Seconded from Dublin Castle to take command. You must be Detective Inspector Parker.’

Take command? Arrogant prick, she thought. ‘You can take all you like, but I’m still SIO on the murder cases. And the new one.’

‘New what?’

‘Murder.’ Lottie brushed past him and glided up the steps and in through the door. She wanted to bang it in his face, but it was on a slow hinge. She left him standing in the rain. And she knew his mouth was open.

---

‘I’ll take this office, shall I?’

He was heading into what would soon be her new office, as yet unfinished, without a door.

‘No you won’t. That’s mine.’

‘Looks like no one has moved in. It’ll do.’ In he marched, pulling off his coat, shaking rainwater over the new beige carpet. He moved a ladder from one wall to the other and eyed the decorator’s table.

She slapped the ledger she’d taken from O’Dowd’s house onto her desk and flopped into her chair.

‘Can I get a chair and a computer?’ he asked.

‘You can piss off back to Dublin,’ she muttered under her breath.

‘What was that?’

‘You can talk to Superintendent Corrigan about that.’

‘I will.’

His voice was deep: a baritone. Or was it a bass? Jesus, she was so exhausted she could cry.

‘Didn’t think you’d be here until tomorrow,’ she said.

He came and sat at Boyd’s desk. She wanted to yell at him to get his arse off her friend’s chair, but she hadn’t the energy.

‘After the fire victim was identified, I knew you wouldn’t have the expertise to handle it,’ he said.

‘What are you talking about? Lorcan Brady is a small-time crook. No need for you to disturb your evening.’

‘Lorcan Brady? No, not that whippersnapper.’

‘Who then?’

But she knew. McMahon had got word before she had. The stabbed and burned man must have been identified through his dental records. Big-time crook, if it brought a detective inspector out of his cushy Dublin office while a biblical storm raged.

‘Jerome Quinn,’ he said.

‘One of the Quinns?’

‘Second biggest drug family in the country. Jerome split from his half-brother a couple of years ago and disappeared from our radar. Interesting to note he’d most probably been living under your very nose here in Ragmullin.’

‘He never came to our attention.’

‘Correct, but it was some haul of cannabis he had growing, wasn’t it?’

Lottie could hear the reprimand in his tone. Wait till he found out about the heroin they’d discovered in Brady’s house.

‘Not to mention the value of the heroin from Brady’s house.’

So he already knew. Unable to think of a suitable reply, she remained mute.

‘You look tired,’ he said. ‘I’ll check into my hotel and we’ll take this up in the morning. Should be an open-and-shut case. I’ll be out of your hair in no time.’

She felt her hand reach up to her straggly locks. A natural reflex. Maybe he wouldn’t be too bad after all.

‘And I want a computer in here, first thing.’ He fetched his coat and was out of the door before she could pull her thoughts together to frame a suitable reply.

‘What the hell?’ she said to the four walls.

Her phone beeped. Katie.

‘I meant to ask when you rang earlier, Mam, will you pick something up from the supermarket for dinner? And a tin of formula for Louis. Oh, and while you’re at it, maybe another pack of nappies. Ta. You’re the best.’

‘Sure,’ Lottie said, and the call died. She leaned over and rested her head on the desk. She didn’t realise she’d fallen asleep until she felt a tap on her shoulder.

‘You’d better go home, Lottie.’ Boyd.

She stretched and glanced at the ledger, still in the evidence bag. ‘I need you to have a look at this.’

‘Tomorrow,’ he said. ‘And there’s no sign of Arthur Russell at the B and B or at Danny’s. No one has laid eyes on him since he was released.’

‘Shit. Surely he didn’t kill his own daughter?’

‘Anything is possible.’

‘I wonder if he knows Marian is dead?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Let’s recap.’ She sat up as straight as her tired spine allowed. ‘Tessa Ball is dead. Marian Russell, her daughter, is dead. Marian’s daughter Emma is dead. Three members of one family. Who benefited from their deaths? What is the motive? And who had it? Arthur? O’Dowd? I can’t get my head around it.’

‘Lottie?’

‘Yes?’

‘It can wait until tomorrow. Go home.’

‘Where’s everyone?’

‘Still at O’Dowd’s. There is a search party out for him and Arthur Russell. But the storm is playing havoc. The town is flooded. The river burst its banks. I had to drive here the long way round.’

Lottie jumped up.

‘I hope my house is okay.’ The river skirted around the side of the estate where she lived. She remembered Katie’s call. Surely she would have mentioned if the house was in danger of flooding? Then again…

‘Will you come grocery shopping with me, Boyd? I haven’t the energy.’

‘What?’

‘Please?’

‘The things I do for you.’