Even with Boyd’s coat over her shoulders, Lottie continued to shiver. Her jeans settled like a damp sheath on her legs, hair matted to her scalp. Balling up her fists, she thumped them against her head.

‘She was here, Boyd. All the time. God almighty, this is all my fault.’

‘No use going there, Lottie.’

‘That’s the point. We were here. Earlier. We saw the bike. We should have gone inside the house.’ She stared up into his eyes. The sparkle of hazel had turned to black. ‘Leave me alone.’

Without answering, Boyd shrugged and went to direct the SOCOs towards the barn.

She slumped down onto the doorstep. Looking up at the sky, she allowed the rain to run down her face, along with tears of helplessness. The white-suited SOCOs swarmed around the barrel holding the body of Emma Russell, sightless in her watery grave.

There were no stars in the sky, only bullets of rain shooting down the darkness. The storm howled like a banshee welcoming the dead, and branches crunched and cracked and fell to earth. The cattle in the second shed lowed long and hard. Another flash of lightning lit up the heavens, and a thunderclap followed.

Spotlights were erected by the team, and as she sat there on the lonely wet step, Lottie thought how surreal the night had become. A seventeen-year-old girl, submerged until she drowned. Without sympathy or pity. Without prayer or penance. Without remorse or guilt. Shoved into a barrel while rain pummelled her body and water flooded her lungs until her last breath left her being, her life extinguished in a strangled gulp.

Lottie felt her brain helter-skeltering inside her skull. A flutter of movement caused her to shift her focus down to her feet. A small bird, its wings drenched so badly it probably couldn’t fly. Its tiny body shivering. It was useless. So was she. Forcing herself, she tried to comprehend what had happened. Who was this monster she was dealing with? One thing was definite: Lorcan Brady and his partner had had nothing to do with Emma’s death. Brady was lying in hospital and the nameless man was already dead. So who then? Had O’Dowd killed the girl? It seemed most likely. Everything pointed to him. The bicycle in the shed. The fact that he had vanished. The lies he had told and the truth he had kept hidden.

Why had Emma’s grandmother, Tessa Ball, signed over the cottage to O’Dowd? How did she even come to own it? And who was the man stabbed to death in its embers? Why had Emma come here? Why was she dead? Why?

Sensing Boyd’s presence, Lottie glanced up. Silhouetted by the lights, the rain for a backdrop, he stood like a weary Grecian god, smoke from his cigarette swirling and dying in the cold night.

‘Want one?’ he asked.

‘Please,’ she whispered.

Crouching down beside her, he lit it for her.

The sound of tyres crashing through water caused them to look at each other. Lottie heaved herself up. A door slammed and heavy footsteps followed.

‘What the feck is going on here?’ Superintendent Corrigan bellowed against the storm.

‘Emma Russell. We found her. Drowned,’ Boyd said.

‘Drowned? What happened?’

‘Yes, sir. In a barrel used for Propcorn.’ Boyd started to explain. ‘It’s acid, used for animal feed. You mix it—’

‘All right. All right. What was she doing out here?’ Corrigan stretched his hand towards the activity in the barn.

‘I have to figure that out yet, sir,’ Lottie said. Throwing down the cigarette, she shoved her hands into her damp pockets and awaited the tirade.

‘Figure it out soon.’ Corrigan marched towards the SOCOs.

Boyd exhaled. ‘Narrow escape.’

‘Don’t speak too soon.’ Lottie watched the superintendent chatting with McGlynn, before he promptly returned.

‘First thing in the morning. My office.’ And he rushed back to his car.

Jane Dore arrived and suited herself up under an enormous umbrella held by a garda. Lottie nodded acknowledgement of the state pathologist’s presence and walked with Boyd to watch the SOCOs removing the teenager’s body from the barrel.

A man with a gurney and a body bag waited inside the roofless barn as incessant rain spilled down on top of it.

Boyd clutched Lottie’s elbow. She shook him off.

‘I’m fine. I’ve seen bodies before.’

The barrel was now on its side, water emptying quickly until only Emma’s fully clothed body remained inside.

Lottie caught McGlynn eyeing her above his mouth mask. Pools of emeralds, dimmed by the scenes he witnessed. Just like her own, she supposed. Along with another SOCO, he gently eased Emma free from the plastic drum and onto a Teflon sheet.

Stepping closer, Lottie looked down. The girl’s open eyes appeared to glare at her, questioning her, asking why she had let her down. Why she hadn’t saved her. There were scratches across her nose and forehead.

‘I won’t know cause of death until I do the post-mortem,’ Jane said, pre-empting Lottie’s question. She assessed the body. ‘Fully clothed. Jeans, shirt and sweater.’ Her fingers felt under the wet wool and cotton, checking carefully for wounds.

‘I assume she drowned,’ Lottie said.

‘You know what I say about assuming anything?’ Jane said.

Lottie sighed. ‘Let me know your findings.’

‘Of course.’

‘You didn’t give me a chance,’ Lottie whispered and reached out a hand to wipe a strand of hair from Emma’s death mask.

McGlynn dipped his eyes in warning, but Lottie had already turned away.