Annabelle nodded. If Lottie didn’t know better, she could have sworn her friend was about to cry.
‘Are you sure everything’s all right? With you and Cian?’
‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
Lottie laughed. The sound seemed to take away the tension. Annabelle laughed too. They both knew things hadn’t been right with Cian for a long time. Hence Annabelle’s numerous affairs. ‘Maybe we can go for dinner sometime.’
‘You get off the drink and get yourself sorted out first.’
Lottie pulled on her jacket. At the door, she turned.
‘You get yourself sorted too.’
Outside, the clouds burst and rain crashed down from the heavens.
Twenty-Seven
The cottage, situated in Dolanstown, a couple of kilometres from Ragmullin, was a smouldering wreck. Water from fire hoses flowed down the potholed road and settled in puddles on the leaf-clogged drain.
‘How long do you reckon it’s been raining for?’ Kirby said, getting out of the car. He yanked up his trousers to keep the ends from getting wet and buttoned his coat.
‘A week,’ Lynch replied.
He zapped the car locked. Patted his pockets; found his e-cig. Twisted it, trying to get it to work. ‘Feckin’ bollocky yoke.’
‘Try a mint, or gum,’ Lynch offered.
Getting it ignited at last, he inhaled and blew out white smoke before dropping the metal tube back into his pocket.
‘Meant to ask, why didn’t you relieve Gilly from her duty at the Kelly house this morning?’
‘Come on, Kirby. It’s a bum job. And she’s young enough to cope with doodling on her phone all day.’ Lynch looked over at him. ‘Did you have to cancel a date with her last night, or what?
‘Or what.’
She laughed. ‘You never learn.’
Kirby tried to keep up with Lynch’s short, quick steps. They stopped beside a fire truck and surveyed the scene.
‘You smell that?’ he asked, sniffing the air.
‘I smell burning. Wood, smoke, plastic and…’
They looked at each other.
‘Cannabis,’ they said together.
Kirby scratched his bushy damp hair. ‘A grow house?’
Lynch agreed. ‘Could be.’
They approached a small, thin man with a peaked cap. Kirby eyed the brass name badge and introduced himself.
‘So, Chief Cox, what do we have?’
‘Single-storey nineteen fifties cottage. Roof’s about to cave in.’
‘Any casualties?’
‘One deceased and another who should be dead but is somehow still alive.’
‘Male or female?’
‘Both male. The dead man is just inside the back door of the house. Charred bone, that’s all that’s left of him.’
‘Where’s the man who survived?’ Kirby asked.
Chief Cox pointed to the ambulance firing up its engine with a whoop-whoop of its siren. Lights flashing, it began to move.
Kirby ran. ‘Hey, you… wait.’
The ambulance halted. Kirby leaned against the door, breathing in bursts. ‘I need to speak to the patient.’
The paramedic lowered the window and leaned out.
‘Who are you?’
‘Detective Larry Kirby.’
‘Look, I’m sorry, but if I don’t go now, you’ll be speaking to a corpse.’
Kirby debated his options and nodded. ‘Which hospital are you headed for?’
‘Ragmullin is the nearest, though he might have to be airlifted to Dublin. Bad burns and no fingers.’ He shifted the ambulance into gear.
‘No fingers? Burned off?’
‘More like hacked off with a saw.’
As the ambulance drove away in a blaze of lights and wailing sirens, Kirby turned to Lynch. She shrugged her shoulders. Chief Cox joined them.
‘When can we look around?’ Lynch asked.
‘It’ll be a few hours before we deem it safe. As I said, the roof is about to collapse. Structure is unsound. But the fire’s out.’
‘Any idea how it started?’ Kirby was pulling on his e-cigarette again as he eyed the tendrils of smoke creeping up from the house.
‘Damage is substantial. Either they had an unprotected gas heater jammed up against the door, or someone poured petrol through the letter box. That’s a guess at this stage.’
‘Like a petrol bomb? Jaysus. Who lived here, do you know?’
‘No idea.’
‘Who called it in?’
‘Neighbour. Lives a mile or so up the lane. Saw the flames blasting into the sky early this morning. You’d best have a word with him. As I said, it’ll be hours yet before anyone can go on site.’
‘Thanks, Chief,’ Kirby said. ‘I’ll get my people to stand guard.’
‘That’s him, over there.’
A man wearing a green waxed jacket, and jeans tucked into mud-covered wellington boots stood leaning against an old Land Rover. He was chewing on the end of a fat cigar.
‘A fellow after my own heart,’ Kirby said. ‘Lynch, contact the SOCOs to tell them we’ll need them out here.’ He pointed to the car parked haphazardly in the drive. ‘And see if we can find out who that car belongs to.’
He marched over to the man and whipped out his ID.
‘Detective Kirby,’ he said.
‘Mick O’Dowd.’ The man tipped his flat cap with one work-roughened hand, offering the other in a shake.
Kirby looked into a face twisted in a knot of anger and guessed that the man was around the seventy mark. Bushy eyebrows with grey strands poking out and a nose that told the tale of a whiskey drinker. His cheeks were mottled with blood spots.
‘You noticed the fire early this morning, then?’
‘I did. On my way out to my cows sometime around five fifteen. It was like a firework display. Put my whole morning’s work back hours. Cows still haven’t been milked.’
Was this the reason for his anger?
Kirby said, ‘Did you hear anything before that?’
‘Like an explosion?’
‘Exactly.’ Kirby found his e-cigarette and began pulling hard.
‘No. Never heard a thing.’
Kirby sighed, a cloud of smoke exhaling with his breath.
‘You know who lived there?’ he asked, nodding towards the smouldering building.
‘Always been rented out. The original owner moved to the States, must be forty years ago now.’
‘That’s a long time to be renting out a property.’
‘It’s not my business. I’ve enough of my own troubles without concerning myself with others’.’
‘Don’t suppose you know who the estate agent is?’
O’Dowd pulled at his chin, thinking. ‘No. Don’t know.’
Kirby sighed again, deflated. ‘Here’s my card. We’ll need to take a formal statement. And if you remember anything else, please contact me.’
‘Told you all I know. I’ve work to be doing now.’ O’Dowd turned to his Land Rover.
‘You sure you’ve no idea who those men were?’ Kirby persisted.
‘Wouldn’t I tell you if I did?’ O’Dowd delved into the pocket of his jacket. ‘I think you might like this.’
Kirby smiled, nodding his head. He rolled the cigar around in his hand before slamming it into his mouth. O’Dowd handed him a plastic lighter, then climbed into the Land Rover and set off down the lane.
Kirby walked back to Lynch, cigar between his teeth, smoke rippling from the side of his mouth.
‘Grand man, but he’s like someone with anger management issues.’
‘What makes you think that?’ asked Lynch.
‘It was like he was itching to box the face off the first one who crossed him.’
‘He’s probably a very busy farmer who doesn’t like having his morning’s work interrupted.’
‘Know a lot about farming, do you?’ Kirby pinched out the cigar between two thick fingers and carefully placed it in his inside coat pocket.
‘I thought you’d given them up?’ Lynch eyed him suspiciously.
‘I did. A few puffs do no harm.’ Kirby marched back to the car. ‘We’d better get to the hospital before that fella dies on us.’
‘I had a look at the body,’ Lynch said.
‘Dead, was he?’
‘Jesus, Kirby.’ She stomped around to the other side of the car. ‘The man was burned to death. Have you no compassion?’
‘Oh, I’ve plenty of that. Did you find any sign of the cannabis we smelled?’
‘There’s a concrete shed down the garden. But the whole place is a swamp after the rain and the fire crew. Uniforms will have to remain here, and then we’ve to wait for the SOCOs to get clearance before they can work the site.’
‘We? Ha, you’ll be acting FLO for the rest of the day.’
‘Not if I can help it.’ Lynch shut the door with a smug bang.