Jim McGlynn wasn’t a happy camper.

‘I wish you two would toddle off to some other division. Didn’t I tell ye I’ve been looking forward to a nice easy ride into retirement? You keep screwing up my journey.’

‘Not our fault,’ Lottie said.

McGlynn was busy setting up his equipment to photograph the scene. ‘When I’ve finished here, I’m going to the cottage. It’s been deemed safe to enter at last.’

‘Let me know if you find anything.’ At the door, Lottie turned. ‘Will you get your team to go through the rubbish bags out the back?’

McGlynn nodded. ‘It all looks a bit too frantic in here.’

Boyd said, ‘Maybe the assailants were high on drugs.’

‘Possibly.’

Lottie looked at the streaks of blood lining the surface of the gnarled wooden table lying on its side. Chairs had been overturned. Doors were hanging off the cupboards and crockery had been smashed on the floor. Envelopes and paper were scattered everywhere and the sink looked like no one had washed anything in it in months. Food littered the counter tops along with two dead mice.

‘No fish tank,’ Lottie said. ‘Why all the fish food?’

‘Maybe that’s what he fed the dog with.’

‘Let us know your findings,’ Lottie said to McGlynn, and eased past Boyd into the hall. She got an evidence bag from one of the SOCOs and placed the purple hoodie into it.

Passing the acquiescent collie on the doorstep, she bent down to rub his head, but stopped. His fur was a crawling knot of maggots.

‘Jesus, Boyd! This dog needs a vet.’

Boyd shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ll contact the dog warden.’

‘But—’

‘He needs to be put down.’

Boyd took her elbow and guided her to the car.

---

Back at the station, after Boyd had gone off to log the heroin into evidence, Lottie stood in the middle of the office wondering which direction to lead the investigation.

‘Inspector Parker, my office,’ said Superintendent Corrigan, bursting through the door.

‘This is getting to be a habit,’ Lottie muttered at his retreating back.

Kirby raised his head. ‘A bad habit.’

Lottie strolled down the hall and into the superintendent’s office. Second time in the space of a couple of hours. Not good.

‘Sit.’

‘What’s up, sir?’

‘I’ve a report here detailing the findings at the cottage.’

‘That was quick.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I was speaking to Jim McGlynn fifteen minutes ago, and he said the cottage had only just been cleared as safe to enter.’

‘Not the feckin’ cottage. The shed behind it, if you want to be so particular about it.’

‘Oh, right. Sorry, sir.’

He pressed his spectacles tighter to his nose and read from the report in his hand. ‘A hundred and sixty kilograms of cannabis with a potential street value of three million euros.’

‘Holy cow. Under everyone’s noses.’

‘Some of it was still growing, but the bulk of it was packaged and found in crates buried under clay. Did you get any further with identifying the victims?’

‘Yes, sir. I suspect the man still alive is Lorcan Brady. He’s twenty-one, so he fits the description. I’ve just come from his house. Besides the kitchen looking like an abattoir, we found a substantial quantity of heroin. Not sure of the street value as yet.’

‘I made the right move so.’

Lottie shifted in her seat. She knew where this was going.

Corrigan continued. ‘I’ve informed the national drugs unit. They’re sending someone down to take over. Should be here in the morning. So what does that mean for your investigation, Inspector?’

‘I have until the morning to complete it.’

‘Correct. Get your skates on and find that runaway girl. She could be the link to all this.’

Lottie nodded and left as fast as she could. She knew Emma could be a link, but whichever way she looked at it, she didn’t see the girl fitting in with a drug ring. Something just wasn’t right with that scenario.

---

McGlynn contacted them to say he’d left his deputy at Brady’s house and was back at the cottage sifting through ashes. Lottie grabbed Boyd and they sped out to Dolanstown. Approaching the burned-out structure, she saw McGlynn’s white protective suit moving like a ghost in the blackened shell.

‘It’s hard to believe there was that amount of cannabis plants housed in the shed. What was going on?’ she said.

‘Someone tried to murder two men and succeeded in killing just one. Then the suspect burned the cottage down but didn’t take the cannabis. Weird,’ Boyd said.

‘Did the assailant even know about the drugs? What are we missing here, Boyd?’

‘I don’t know, but maybe SOCOs can find something to help us identify the other victim.’

They pulled on protective clothing, overshoes and gloves. The wind almost lifted Lottie from her feet as she walked up the path to the incinerated cottage. SOCOs had covered over as much of it as they could manage with tents, but the wind was playing with them as if they were kites.

Giving up on the hood of her Teflon boiler suit, Lottie let her hair fly about her face as she entered the charred remains.

‘Ah, the grim reapers,’ McGlynn said through his paper mask.

‘What’s that?’ Lottie pointed to the scorched object in McGlynn’s hand. She had no idea which room they were standing in. All furniture and fittings had been destroyed.

‘A bone,’ McGlynn said.

‘A bone?’ Lottie took a step closer.

‘Human?’ Boyd asked.

McGlynn remained silent as he placed it in an evidence bag, then bent down and picked up another one.

‘Jesus,’ Lottie exclaimed. ‘Are they… fingers?’ A gulp of saliva formed at the back of her throat and she thought she might be sick. Wind caterwauled through the gaps where windows had once protected the interior from the elements. It sounded like a banshee. A forewarning of death? She shivered.

‘I’ll collect everything and tag them, then inspect them back at the lab,’ McGlynn said. ‘I’ll let you know my findings.’

‘Anything else?’ Lottie asked.

The forensic man’s eyebrows arched. She was glad she couldn’t see his face. She knew it was a mask of scorn.

‘Okay, okay,’ she said. ‘We’ll let you get on with it.’

Her phone pinged with a message as she and Boyd headed back to the car.

‘Who’s that?’ he asked.

‘Kirby. Guess who owns the cottage?’

‘I’m in no mood for guessing games, Lottie.’

‘Mick O’Dowd. The liar.’