‘What are you two looking at?’ Lottie asked. She had fire in her belly but quelled it. ‘Fill me in.’
‘A call came in half an hour ago,’ Maria Lynch said, curling her hair on top of her head before pulling on a knitted hat. ‘James Brown was found hanging from a tree at his home. Reports from uniforms suggest it’s a suicide.’
‘Suicide my arse,’ Lottie said. ‘The same day his colleague is murdered? God almighty, when was the last time we had a murder, let alone two?’
Memory man Boyd said, ‘Three years ago, when Jimmy Coyne killed Timmy Coyne in a family feud. You nailed him.’
‘It was a rhetorical question,’ Lottie said. ‘Where’s Larry Kirby?’
She glanced around. The incident room throbbed with activity. Maps of the town coloured the bare walls, reports were building up in trays and detectives were busy on the phones.
Buttoning up his jacket, Boyd said, ‘No doubt Kirby’s hanging out in a pub with his actress girlfriend.’
‘Are you jealous, Boyd?’ Lottie asked.
Lynch said, ‘I’ll go start up the car, it’s probably frozen solid.’ She escaped.
‘You look like shit,’ Boyd said.
Lottie said, ‘And I love you too. Come on.’
Six kilometres outside Ragmullin, the forest road was lit up with the flashing blue lights of two squad cars. The roads were almost impassable and snow continued to fall heavier than it had since Christmas Eve, bulky flakes freezing as they fell.
An ambulance and fire engine, wheels chained, blocked the narrow laneway leading to Brown’s cottage. Fire engine? Lottie shook her head. Lynch just shrugged.
Boyd abandoned the car and they walked the rest of the way along tracks made by the other vehicles. Their legs sank to their knees as they trudged through the depths of snow.
A gaunt, pale-faced man sat in a squad car with two uniform gardaí outside the inner crime scene tapes. Lottie was pleased with these precautions. A suspected suicide could easily be something else.
‘Derek Harte,’ Garda Gillian O’Donoghue said, pointing to the man in the car. ‘He found the deceased. He’s in a very distressed state.’
‘Talk to him, Lynch. Find out exactly who he is and why he’s here. If this is something other than suicide, he’s our number one suspect,’ Lottie said.
‘There’s a briefcase on the ground beside the deceased’s car,’ O’Donoghue said.
‘SOCOs can check it out when they arrive, then get it to the station.’ Lottie headed into the courtyard, Boyd beside her.
A spotlight blazed eerie shadows toward a tree. She averted her eyes for a moment to concentrate on a paramedic standing against a snow-camouflaged car.
‘You didn’t cut him down?’ she asked.
‘No. I could see he was dead and the man who found him was muttering about the victim knowing your woman murdered in the cathedral, so I thought I better call you guys. Just in case, like.’
‘I suppose you watch CSI?’ Lottie said. The man’s face flushed. ‘You don’t have to answer that,’ she added.
‘I got the fire crew to put up the spotlight. Pitch black out here in the sticks.’
‘Why the fire engine?’
‘Haven’t a clue,’ the paramedic said. ‘Can I smoke?’
‘No,’ Lottie and Boyd said together.
Turning away from the paramedic, Lottie looked up at the suspended body of James Brown highlighted by the temporary light.
‘I had a feeling Brown wasn’t being totally honest with me today. If I’d pressed him, I possibly could have discovered something that might have saved his life.’
‘Maybe he murdered Sullivan and afterwards, full of remorse, hung himself,’ Boyd said.
‘He murdered Sullivan? Will you look at him? A skinny, five foot nothing. He couldn’t kill a cold.’
‘In a fit of angry passion?’ ventured Boyd.
Lottie glared. ‘You talk pure shite sometimes.’
Brown’s body swayed slightly in the snowy breeze. His head hung sideways, twisted toward her. Eyes open wide. Staring into nothingness. Lottie turned away from the body and slogged through the snow.
‘What’s wrong?’ Boyd asked. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘Maybe I have,’ she said.
She stopped and looked around the scene. A chair, lying on its side, partly submerged by the avalanche of snow; briefcase on the ground beside the car and another car parked behind it. Then she noticed a key in the front door. Garda O’Donoghue was writing down whatever the paramedic had to say. Everyone had tramped through the site. Lottie doubted SOCOs would find anything useful.
‘Any suicide note?’ Lottie asked.
O’Donoghue shrugged. ‘I scouted round when I got here. Didn’t see anything outside, though if there is a note it’s buried and saturated. Jesus, I’ve never seen so much snow in all my life.’
‘Did the Harte guy go inside?’ Lottie asked, pointing to the key.
‘Not that I’m aware of,’ O’Donoghue said.
Lynch popped up at Lottie’s shoulder.
‘Harte says he is a friend of Brown and drove over to see him when he heard about Susan Sullivan’s death.’
‘How did he know about Susan?’
‘Brown phoned him. When he arrived he saw the body straight away and called emergency. He was here, staring up at Brown, when our first car arrived. Didn’t go near the house. So he says anyway.’ Lynch swept away the clumps of snow, causing the ink to run on her notebook. ‘He’s genuinely in an awful state. Will I get a car to take him home or do you want to interview him tonight?’
‘I’m too tired to formulate proper questions. We’ll bring him in for questioning in the morning,’ Lottie said. She spied an alarm box on the wall over the door. ‘Ask him if he knows the alarm code.’
‘Do you want me to call in the morning, too?’ asked the paramedic, a smile burning to his ears.
‘Garda O’Donoghue has your statement,’ Lottie said. ‘Thanks for your help.’
‘Oh, I nearly forgot,’ he said. ‘I found this stuck in the snow by the door.’
Lottie looked at the man’s gloved hand holding a small green flashlight.
‘You picked it up?’
‘I sure did,’ he said. His eyes widened. ‘Oh, sorry. Maybe I should’ve left it there?’
‘Maybe you should have.’ Lottie slipped the flashlight into a plastic evidence bag and snapped it shut. ‘Was it on or off?’
‘I switched it off. To save the battery.’
She felt like thumping him and turned away before she did.
‘Shithead,’ Boyd said under his breath as the paramedic retreated.
‘Boyd, one of these days someone, besides me, is going to hear you and you’ll get a broken nose. Get the SOCOs out here.’
Her phone buzzed. Corrigan.
‘The boss wants to see us in fifteen minutes,’ she said. ‘Has that man seen the weather?’
Back in town, standing outside the station, Boyd lit a cigarette. The snow eased slightly and frosty night air hijacked the smoke. Lottie wished she could have a drag, but it would be one too many. She never stopped at one of anything. Addictive personality disorder, her mother was fond of telling her. Thanks Mam.
Stepping in to the warm reception area, she checked her phone. No messages. No missed calls. She rang home. Chloe answered.