Superintendent Corrigan was pacing the incident room when Boyd returned.

‘Any news?’ he asked.

‘She’s in surgery. Doctors will know more in a few hours. I dropped her mother and her kids at the hospital. They’re very upset.’

‘Understandable. This is a right feckin’ mess,’ Corrigan said. ‘Glad you got there in time.’

‘Just about,’ Boyd said.

‘Why don’t you go home and pick up a shirt?’

Boyd looked down at himself. ‘I think I’ve one in my locker.’

‘Did you find anything at Farranstown house?’

‘Kirby is there with a few uniforms. They should find the file that was stolen from Lottie.’

‘Moroney’s father’s file?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And still no sign of O’Dowd or Arthur Russell?’

‘No, sir.’

‘If this Kelly woman is responsible for all the murders, why have we got Cian O’Shea in the cells?’

‘I think he killed the Moroneys but I’m still trying to figure it all out, sir.’

‘Figure it out pronto. Once you’ve found a shirt, go and interview him again.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Boyd stood in front of the incident boards as Corrigan left the room. Nowhere could he see how Cian O’Shea fitted into the equation. If he continued to refuse to speak, forensics would have to do the job for them.

As he was heading back up from the locker room, Kirby came down the stairs.

‘Found it!’ He held up Moroney’s manila folder.

‘Okay,’ Boyd said. ‘Time to find out why two innocent people lost their lives.’

‘There’s more than two innocent people dead in all this mess.’

‘Don’t start, Kirby. Because I might just throw you down those stairs.’

He took the file and stormed past Kirby, who looked at him, slack-jawed.

---

The light was fading as Boyd finished reading the file. He rubbed his chin and leaned back in the chair. The historical events that had happened in Ragmullin were tantamount to depravity. No words could describe it, but Paddy Moroney, in his unpublished report, had done his best. Boyd could see why it had never been printed.

McMahon strolled into the office, hung up his coat and started to unplug his laptop.

‘You done here, sir?’ Boyd asked.

‘I’ll be back for Lorcan Brady’s court appearance, though the doctors say it will be months before he can attempt rehabilitation.’

‘Did Brady have anything further to add?’

‘Solved the mystery of Arthur Russell’s jacket and the receipt.’

‘Go on.’

‘It took a while to understand him but I got the gist of it. Bernie Kelly sent Brady to keep track of Arthur’s movements the evening of Tessa’s murder. She needed him to be the prime suspect. Brady watched Russell have his two pints after his shift ended. When he left, Brady lifted the receipt and put it in the new jacket Bernie had purchased. She left it hanging on the rack in the house later that evening.’

‘Conniving bitch,’ Boyd said. ‘By the way, Detective Inspector Parker is out of surgery. In case you were wondering.’

‘I was, actually. But she should have joined the dots before she nearly got herself killed.’

‘Hey, wait a minute there.’ Boyd stood up and faced McMahon. ‘If you’d been doing your job, you’d have known Bernie Kelly was in a relationship with Jerome Quinn.’

‘No need for insubordination, Boyd. For your information, her name never came up in relation to Quinn. So back yourself down off that high horse.’

Sighing, Boyd shook his head. He was too tired to go into battle. He wanted to visit Lottie. To see with his own eyes that she was going to recover.

‘I’ve heard from Mr O’Shea’s solicitor,’ McMahon said, zipping the laptop into a black nylon bag. ‘He continues to claim he never laid a hand on the Moroneys.’

‘Maybe not, but once I have the forensic report back, it will tell us he laid a hand on the knife that was sticking out of Cathal Moroney’s chest.’

‘Ever think of doing a bit of drama?’ McMahon said.

‘What type of bullshit is that?’

‘You seem to love performing, once you have an audience.’

Boyd did a Lottie on it and counted to ten.

‘And just so you know,’ McMahon continued, ‘I’ve sent a SOCO team out to O’Dowd’s farm. Natasha Kelly insists her mother knocked him into the slurry pit and activated the agitator machine.’

‘Right, so,’ Boyd said, preventing himself from saying he wished he could knock McMahon into a slurry pit. He caught sight of Superintendent Corrigan entering the cramped office with his hand outstretched.

‘Great job, David. Thanks for coming to Ragmullin. Now drive safely on your way back to the city.’

‘Glad to be able to help,’ McMahon said, ending the handshake and picking up his laptop. ‘Whenever you’re thinking of retiring, give me the heads-up. I might be interested in coming down the country. I think I might be able to straighten out a few of your troops.’

‘Don’t you worry about us. We cracked this case and will stand with our heads held high. My troops are a credit to this force. And now you’d better be off, before another storm hits. What’re they calling this one, Boyd?’

‘Would you believe it,’ Boyd said, ‘it’s Carrie.’

‘On that note, I’ll leave you to it,’ McMahon said, pausing to put on his coat. ‘Give Detective Inspector Parker my good wishes.’

Corrigan waited until McMahon was down the corridor and out of earshot. ‘He’s a feckin’ arsehole.’

‘Agreed,’ Boyd said.

‘When you visit Parker, give her my good wishes and tell her that our Dublin friend has returned home.’

‘She’ll be happy to hear that, sir,’ Boyd said, but his mind was curdling with the thought of how Lottie would to react to the contents of the folder on his desk.