It had started to drizzle while they’d been inside, and the temperature had risen a little.

‘I’m going to see Queenie McWard,’ Lottie said. ‘I’ll drop you at the office. Find out what else Kirby has dug up.’ She crossed the road to the car park.

‘I need a doctor.’ Boyd was still rubbing his cheek.

‘You won’t die. But if you really feel you need one …’

‘That lunatic should be locked up.’

‘I’ll lock you up if you don’t shut up.’ She unlocked the car. ‘Get a grip.’

Boyd stared at her across the roof. ‘What’s eating you?’

‘Something was off in there. Did you feel it?’

‘Unsettling.’

‘I can’t put my finger on it. But it’ll come to me.’

‘Right. Why did you tell them that Lynn had had a child? That’s a bit of a conundrum, isn’t it?’

‘I wanted to see their reaction.’

She started the car and headed up under the bridge, past the train station. The traffic lights were red. The wipers swished across the windscreen, dragging scum with them, making visibility problematic.

‘Those brothers were straining at the leash,’ she said. ‘It’s like they can’t stand each other.’

‘Most siblings are the same.’

‘I loved my brother.’

‘He died when you were four. How can you remember that far back? He probably pulled your pigtails and you hated him for it.’

‘How’d you know I had—’

‘Just saying.’

‘Well don’t.’

She glanced at Boyd. His head was resting back on the seat, eyes closed, the red mark pulsing on his cheek. She wanted to reach out, to feel the tenderness of last night, but now was a different time. Now it was work. And that was the way it had to stay. Professional. Gripping the steering wheel, leaning over it, trying to see through the film of grease, she waited for the green light. She couldn’t start a relationship with Boyd. No way.

‘Hate,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘That’s what it was.’

‘I’m a bit lost.’ Boyd ran his fingers over his cheek and winced.

‘The tension in that room. Among the O’Donnell family. It was more than anger. It was pure hatred.’

---

Raindrops trickled down the window. The cemetery looked drab and grey in the distance. Lottie went up in the elevator, then made her way along the corridor to Queenie McWard’s room.

The old lady was half sitting up in bed, twiddling her rosary beads. She appeared to have aged thirty years.

‘Saw the fire last night. It was one of the teachíns.’

‘Teachín?’

‘That’s Irish for a little house. Did you not go to school? My Bridie did. Learned a lot. Got a job. Did she tell you that?’ Tears rested in the hard crevices of the old woman’s face. It was lined like a delta waiting for the tide to come in. ‘Until that good-for-nothing proposed marriage. That was all fine, but he was suffering from a broken heart.’

‘You mean Paddy?’

‘Yes, Paddy. Good-for-nothing, that’s what he is. Did I say that already?’

‘I’m sorry to have to ask questions at this sad time, Queenie, but have you any idea why someone would want to burn down their home?’

‘And murder my daughter and grandson? We are outcasts in this town …’

‘I don’t think that’s true at all. As long as I can remember, there’s been a traveller community in Ragmullin. Of course, there are the usual public order offences, but you get that everywhere and—’

‘Prejudice. That’s what’s rife. Always has been and always will be. That’s the reason the teachín was burned.’

Lottie sighed and stared at the ceiling.

‘Don’t be rolling your eyes, young lady. I may be old but I’m not blind. Not yet.’

‘I was just thinking. This may have nothing to do with prejudice. I think it might be related to something Paddy’s involved in.’

‘Paddy’s always involved in something or other. But when he married my Bridie, he promised me he was going to be good. I thought he was doing okay for himself and my girl.’

‘Doing what?’

‘This and that.’

‘Queenie, I need to know if he was into dodgy dealings; something that brought the wrath of someone down on his family.’

The old woman tucked an elbow beneath her birdlike frame and tried to raise herself up in the bed. The scent of lavender wafted from the sheets as Lottie leaned over to assist. A hand of bones with a ring on each finger pushed her away. ‘Don’t need your help.’

Once she was sitting, Queenie squinted over the rim of her spectacles. ‘Boxing. That’s what he was into.’

‘Bare-knuckle fights?’ Lottie thought of Kirby and Lynch, trying to get to the root of the activity.

‘Nothing illegal, so he said. Travelled the country to boxing clubs. Training young lads.’

That might account for his absences, Lottie thought.

‘My Bridie was in here crying like a baby more days than I care to count. Always about him. Her Paddy. She hadn’t a clue what he was up to. So I sent for him. Came in here like a lamb to slaughter, he did. I had my say and he had his.’ She clamped her lips together.

‘And? He told you he was teaching boys to box?’

‘He did. Boys and girls nowadays.’

‘But he was disappearing all night.’

‘I know. Told me that sometimes he had to stay over. If it ran late. That’s what he said.’

Lottie wondered where he stayed over. And why hadn’t he told her all this? If it was an innocent activity, surely he wouldn’t have been reticent in divulging it. She knew it was unusual for members of the travelling community to be unfaithful, but that was what she was thinking now. She’d have to get Paddy to reveal all, otherwise he was looking at a charge of manslaughter, if not murder.

‘He didn’t do it, if that’s what you’re thinking. Not this time, anyway.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Don’t get stroppy with me, young lady. I’m just telling it as I see it. Like I said, I’m not blind yet.’

‘I’m under a lot of pressure. What with the fire, the murder in the cemetery, a young woman missing after getting the train home, and the body at the lake, it’s all—’

‘Missing after getting the train? That’s what happened to the young lass years ago.’

‘I’m talking about Mollie Hunter. She’s been missing since Wednesday.’

Queenie slipped down in the bed, appearing to shrink in size as the sheet covered her bony frame.

‘What is it?’ Lottie asked, alarmed.

‘History repeating itself. That’s what it is,’ the old woman croaked.

‘I don’t follow you.’ Lottie wanted to escape out of the ward. Away from the smell of old people. Away from the creaking bones of Queenie McWard.

The old woman grabbed Lottie’s hand. She almost shrieked at the swiftness of the movement.

‘That girl was no good. No good for any relation of mine. But that wasn’t the real story. They thought he was no good for her.’ Queenie folded up in a fit of coughing. Foam gathered at the corner of her mouth and a bony ring-clad hand pulled at her lips.

Lottie pressed the call button for a nurse.

Medical staff filled the room, pushing Lottie to one side, and she watched as they worked vigorously on the little old woman.

‘Please don’t die, Queenie,’ she whispered.

She had so many more questions, but it looked like she wouldn’t be able to ask them. Not today.

She was moving towards the door when it dawned on her. She glanced back towards the scrum of medical staff. The silver Claddagh ring amid the gold bands on the skeletal hand.

She left the room. Left the hum of machines and the shouts of nurses and doctors. Left Queenie McWard to her fate.

---

Sitting in her car outside the nursing home, Lottie felt the rusting wheels of her brain begin to turn. Picking up speed. It was there. Within her grasp. She just had to think. Her phone rang.

‘This better be good, Boyd, because you’ve interrupted my thoughts. I was getting somewhere, and now it’s gone.’

‘You need to get to Carol O’Grady’s house now. I’ll see you there.’