The morning awoke with a sepia sky, the clouds low and watery. The storm died with the night but it left a trail of destruction in its wake.

Lottie was in the station before any of the others. No sign of McMahon, either. She flicked through the news on her phone app.

Farming land in the midlands had flooded; rivers had burst their banks and overflowed. There was a special report from Ragmullin. Cathal Moroney, with his flashy white teeth. The lower end of the town was now sinking in the waters of the river. The greyhound stadium was a mini lake; all racing cancelled for the foreseeable future. One picture showed mucky brown water streaming from the front of Carey’s electrical shop; a plastic-covered washing machine bobbing just inside the door. The council had a Boil Water notice in place as Lough Cullion, the drinking water supply, had been contaminated with run-off from surrounding farms.

She wondered what state Mick O’Dowd’s farm was in this morning. And where had he disappeared to? Could he have killed Emma? Was she related to him?

She lifted the phone and called Jane Dore to ask about Emma’s post-mortem.

‘Later today, I hope. Marian Russell’s body is here also. She succumbed to septicemia as a result of her wounds. I’ll send over the prelims when I have them completed.’

Lottie hung up. Marian’s death would be officially classed as murder. Three victims from one family. Was it the same murderer? Could there be more than one psycho at work around the town? She hoped not.

Kirby shuffled in, his coat hanging over his arm, and grunted, ‘Good morning, boss. Some mess out there after the storm.’

‘Some mess in here too,’ Lottie said. ‘Get everyone into the incident room as soon as they come in. We need to get a handle on this.’

‘Handle on what?’

Lottie looked up. Detective Inspector David McMahon stood in the doorway, his mop of dark hair glistening with dampness.

‘Sir,’ she said, picking up a file and making a hasty exit. Why had she called him sir? He was the same rank as her. Get it together, Lottie, she scolded.

At the incident boards, she moved Emma Russell’s photo to the victims’ side, joining her mother and grandmother. She folded one hand around her waist, then rested her elbow on her wrist and contemplated the pictures. The burned man now had a name. Jerome Quinn.

‘He’s the odd one out,’ she said aloud.

‘Maybe he’s the link that holds it all together.’

She hadn’t heard McMahon enter the room. Now he stood beside her, tall and arrogant. The prick.

‘What evidence do you have to support your theory?’ she asked.

‘I could ask you the same question,’ he said.

Boyd, Kirby and Lynch joined them and sat down with a few other tired-looking detectives. This should be interesting, Lottie thought, as McMahon turned in unison with her to face the troops.

‘Will you introduce yourself?’ she asked.

Buttoning the jacket of his suit over a slim-fitting shirt, he took a step forward, leaving Lottie in his shadow.

‘Detective Inspector David McMahon. And don’t call me Big Mac or anything like that. I’ll answer to sir or David.’ He smiled, reminding Lottie of Cathal Moroney’s white veneer grin. He was still speaking as she uncrossed her arms and held them straight by her sides. Trying to appear as tall as him because she knew she would fail in making herself look as important.

‘I’m with the Garda National Drugs Unit. As your investigations into the murder of Tessa Ball have uncovered a substantial quantity of drugs, this investigation now falls under my remit.’

‘Hey, hold on a minute!’ Lottie jerked alive and grabbed his sleeve, quickly dropping her hand when he looked down his nose at her. ‘Sorry. But we retain the right to investigate alongside you. I believe there’s more to this than just a drug crime.’

McMahon turned slowly and pointed a finger at the picture of the burned man.

‘Jerome Quinn,’ he said. ‘Second in command to his half-brother Henry “Hammer” Quinn. Do you all appreciate who we are dealing with now?’

A murmur greeted his question. He continued. ‘We suspected he had a long-time girlfriend, but he’s unmarried. Plenty of bimbos sniffing around him.’

‘Bimbos! Ah, come on now, you know you can’t speak like that,’ Lottie said.

‘You know what I mean. Hangers-on, wanting a bit of the action. Free swag and all that.’

Lottie scowled.

McMahon said, ‘Jerome disappeared over fifteen months ago and went to ground.’

‘Underground in Ragmullin?’ Boyd said.

‘There’s a criminal element operating out of this town. Someone got greedy. The Russell family was slap bang in the middle of it.’

‘Their murders might have absolutely nothing to do with the drugs,’ Lottie said when none of her team were forthcoming.

McMahon unbuttoned his jacket, shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and strutted around the perimeter of the room. ‘Marian’s tongue was cut out. Her daughter was in a relationship with small-time crook Lorcan Brady. Was Marian about to squeal? Did someone try to stop her?’

‘Hold on a minute there.’ Boyd was up and out of his chair. ‘We only have it on hearsay that Emma Russell was involved with Lorcan Brady.’

‘Didn’t you find cash hidden in her room, Inspector?’ McMahon said, without looking at Boyd. ‘Didn’t you find a hoodie she may have been wearing?’

‘That’s true, but—’ Lottie began.

‘Wasn’t her body found a few miles down the road from where Brady and Quinn were assaulted and burned?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Didn’t you find unidentified plants hidden at the Russell home?’

Lottie nodded.

‘I rest my case.’

‘Bollocks,’ Kirby said, and jammed his e-cig into his mouth.

Lottie closed her eyes, waited for an arrogant tirade. Deathly silence reigned as she counted. She reached nineteen before McMahon spoke.

‘Have you a more reasonable hypothesis to offer, Detective Kirby?’

When Lottie opened her eyes, McMahon’s suit jacket was once again buttoned up and he was standing at the opposite end of the incident boards.

‘If I was to go along with your scenario,’ she said, ‘which I’m not ready to, tell me why Tessa Ball was killed.’

‘Wrong place, wrong time,’ he offered.

‘Bullshit.’ Boyd.

‘You have the floor,’ McMahon said, and folded his arms. Lottie didn’t dare turn her head, but she could imagine he had a sneer plastered over his closely shaven face.

‘Right,’ Boyd said, and mimicked McMahon’s earlier tour of the room. ‘Marian Russell rang her mother Tessa at 21.07 on the night of Tessa’s murder. We believe Emma left to go to Natasha’s at 18.30 and arrived home sometime after 22.30. We can assume that Marian let someone she knew into her house, as there was no sign of forced entry. Whoever it was wanted Tessa there. That was the reason for the phone call. We could assume the person was Arthur Russell, as he has no alibi from 19.30 on that evening – a domestic situation that got out of hand.’

‘I will indulge this line of thought for the moment,’ McMahon said. ‘Tessa was attacked and murdered. Marian was taken away, in her own car, to Lorcan Brady’s house. There she was tortured and mutilated. The next day she was pushed out of the car at the hospital. It’s been confirmed that was the car found burned out at Lough Cullion the same morning that Lorcan Brady and Jerome Quinn were tortured and burned in a cottage just outside Ragmullin.’

‘That cottage was once owned by Tessa Ball,’ Lottie said. Time to get her investigation back in her own hands.

‘And a criminal was renting it.’

‘She signed it over to Mick O’Dowd.’

‘The farmer on whose property her granddaughter was found murdered. He rented the cottage to Quinn, therefore he may also be involved in the drugs ring.’

Lottie couldn’t dispute his argument. Didn’t mean she had to buy into it. ‘We’re still looking for O’Dowd. When we find him, we’ll get some answers.’

‘Depending on whether he’s still alive or not.’

‘Of course he’s alive.’

‘Appears to me you haven’t been successful in keeping many suspects, or witnesses for that matter, alive so far. Where do you think this O’Dowd character could be? His Land Rover is still at the farm, I believe.’

‘A quad bike is missing,’ Lottie said.

‘Not an ideal getaway vehicle, is it?’

‘He might’ve had—’

‘Enough!’

Superintendent Corrigan moved to the front of the room. Lottie hadn’t noticed him arriving.

He shook hands with McMahon and clapped him on the back. ‘Good to have you in our neck of the woods.’

The two-faced bastard. Lottie planted a smile on her face, careful not to catch Boyd’s eye.

‘Great to be here, Superintendent. I’ll have this solved in a matter of hours. I’m heading to speak with Lorcan Brady once I wrap up this meeting.’

‘Brady can’t speak…’ Lottie stopped. Had she been kept out of that loop also?

‘I was informed earlier that he’s ready to have a wee chat with me,’ McMahon said.

‘I think I should be the one to—’

‘Great stuff,’ said Superintendent Corrigan, cutting her short. ‘Off you go, David, and I’ll have a wee chat with my team.’

Lottie noticed the realisation dawning on McMahon. He’d been outsmarted at his own game. She couldn’t help a grin curling at the corner of her mouth as she watched the Dublin DI shake Corrigan’s hand and leave the room.

‘Shut the feckin’ door,’ Corrigan instructed once McMahon had left.

‘With pleasure,’ Kirby said, dragging himself out of his chair.

‘Now, I want a full update from the senior investigating officer. Inspector Parker, that’s you, in case you had been misled by that Dublin hotshot in a suit. You have ten minutes to consult with your team. Then I want you in my office. With answers. Understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’