‘There was a car out the front, but I wasn’t sure if there was anyone inside the cottage or not. And the flames were raging. I’m not young, nor a daredevil, so I didn’t venture past the gate.’
Lottie watched O’Dowd working his way down the line of cattle, kicking up straw as he went.
‘So you didn’t go closer to see if anyone needed help?’ she asked.
The muscles of O’Dowd’s broad shoulders seemed to constrict under his tartan shirt before he trekked back to her. He wiped his hands on a clump of hay and pulled on his jacket.
‘I’m no hero, Inspector.’
‘Do you know who owned or rented out the cottage?’
‘Haven’t a clue. Maybe through an estate agent?’
Outside the barn door, the beast of a dog eyed Lottie suspiciously and growled.
‘Why do you need such a dangerous animal?’
‘I live alone. It’s isolated out here. Mason is partly for company, mainly for protection. He’s a good guard dog.’
Lottie was going to ask if he had a dog licence, but decided not to push her luck.
‘He doesn’t chase your livestock?’
‘I have him well trained.’ He untied the chain and held it in his hand, the dog straining on the end of it. ‘Was there anything else?’
‘You live alone. Married?’
‘No.’
‘Kids?’
‘Why all these questions?’
‘Like I said, I’m just curious.’
He looked up at the clouds rolling across the sky. ‘There’s a storm coming. You should head back to town.’
‘What are those?’ Lottie pointed to three large blue plastic barrels standing near the second barn.
‘Propcorn.’
‘Popcorn? You’re having me on?’
‘Not popcorn. Propcorn. It’s an acid. To mix in with the oats and barley for the cattle feed. I use the barrels to collect rainwater once they’re empty of the acid and washed out.’
‘What’s that machine over there?’ She pointed to a large piece of equipment with massive steel rotors.
‘A free course in agriculture you want, is it?’
‘Just—’
‘Curious. It’s a slurry agitator. Are you finished now? I’m very busy.’ He loosened his hold on the chain and the dog snarled.
Her brain was squeezing with an uneasy sensation. Was O’Dowd hiding something? Or was he just a citizen who had reported a fire?
‘Can I use the bathroom?’ she ventured, a ruse to get inside the house for a snoop.
He took a step towards her, the dog circling his legs. ‘Doing a bit of decorating inside. You can use the outside one, though I wouldn’t recommend it.’
He pointed to an open door on the side of the shed. Lottie could see the ground running green.
‘Ah, it’s okay. I’ll manage until I get back. You’ll have to give a formal statement about the fire. You could do it now if you like.’
‘No, I don’t like. Told all to your detective.’
‘That was informal. Call into the station, or I can send someone out to you tomorrow.’ By now, Lottie was fed up with him.
‘I’ll go in when I get time. Satisfied?’
‘I suppose you heard about the murder and abduction over in Carnmore?’
‘Aye, I did.’
Was that a flicker of a shadow rolling across his face? Or was it just the wind churning light through the trees?
‘Did you know Tessa Ball?’
He lowered his head and was silent so long she thought he had slipped into a trance. At last he looked up from beneath wrinkled eyelids, crow’s feet imprinting deeper lines. ‘Everyone of an age knew Tessa.’
‘Care to tell me about her?’
‘Nothing to tell. She’s gone now, that’s all.’
‘Oh, come on. I can’t find out much about her.’
‘You’re better off. Now let me get back to work.’
‘Farming here long?’ Something was keeping her from leaving. A gust flung a steel bucket across the yard and the dog barked.
O’Dowd paid no heed. ‘All my life. Worked with my father until he died way too young. I kept the farm going.’
‘And your mother?’
‘You do ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’
‘Part of my job.’
‘My pedigree has nothing to do with you. And you’d do well to mind your own family history, Inspector Parker. Not all coated in the white paint of glory, is it now?’
Lottie had been about to head to her car. Now she stopped and half turned to O’Dowd, feeling the blood drain from her face. He knew he’d struck a chord, because she saw him raise a hand. In apology?
‘What do you mean?’ She scrambled the words through her lips.
‘Nothing. Just shooting my mouth off.’ He laughed. A feline tinkle, like breaking glass.
She stepped towards him. The dog strained on the leash. She didn’t care. Walking into O’Dowd’s space, her voice a whisper in the gale, she said, ‘What do you know about my family?’
‘Look, drop it.’ He tightened his grip on the chain, rolling it up a notch, dragging the dog closer to his leg. ‘I just meant we all have skeletons in cupboards we want to keep locked away from prying eyes. Yourself included.’
Lottie’s jacket buffeted open and the wind cut through her like a sharp blade.
‘I’d really like to know what you mean.’
‘I think you already do. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve a busy evening ahead. I’ll call into the station tomorrow when I’m in town.’ He tipped the peak of his cap and motioned with his free hand to her car. ‘You’d best be getting off with yourself before the storm grabs a hold of you.’
Still feeling as if a claw had snatched at her heart, Lottie got into her car and reversed out of the gate. As she drove away, she could see in her rear-view mirror O’Dowd standing watching. A curtain twitched at an upstairs window. The wind? Or someone there?
She shook off the shiver. Had he threatened her? Did he know something about her father? Or was it about Eddie, her dead brother? Whatever it was, he had spiked her interest in him when she felt he was in fact trying to divert her.
And the fire. Wouldn’t any normal human being ensure there was no one inside the burning cottage? Do all in their power to rescue them? But O’Dowd had apparently watched the place go up in flames while one man was burned to death and another was left hanging on to life by his fingertips. Another shudder up her spine. He had no fingertips.
* * *
O’Dowd watched the inspector’s car crest the hill, heading into town. He sighed with relief. She hadn’t noticed the bicycle at the side of the house. He wheeled it into the second shed, beside the milking parlour. Closed the door. Tied up the dog.
He pulled off his boots, banged them against the step, scraping away most of the cow dung and muck, and left them to dry out. The kitchen was clean but empty. Moving into the hall, he shouted up the stairs.
‘You can come down now, girleen. The guard is gone.’
He waited a moment before seeing her pop her head over the banister.
‘No need to be afraid.’
She pushed her spectacles back up her nose, and with wariness in her steps as well as her eyes came down the stairs.
‘Sit yourself down and I’ll make you that cup of tea now,’ he said, and went to boil the kettle.
Thirty-Three
Lottie had swung a U-turn when she’d reached the main road, and headed to the Dead House in Tullamore. O’Dowd, whether intentionally or otherwise, had got her thinking about her father.
Jane Dore poured boiling water over a camomile tea bag.
‘So, what is it you want help with, Lottie?’
Lottie held the cup in her hand, letting the warmth thaw out her fingers.
‘The body that came in this morning. Have you carried out his PM yet?’
‘He’s on the table. Badly burned. But he didn’t die in the fire.’
‘What?’
‘I found a few nicks on his ribs. I’ve more tests to run, but in my opinion he was stabbed. No smoke in what’s left of the lungs, and that suggests he was dead before the fire.’
Lottie digested this information. Murdered. She had already suspected as much, seeing as the other victim had had his fingers hacked off.
‘Drug gangs,’ she said, half to herself. This would bring the GNDU – the Garda National Drugs Unit – to her district. ‘But it seems a bit extreme for a shedload of cannabis.’
‘I’ll email the preliminary results in the morning.’
‘How can we identify him?’