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‘Rough waters?’

‘Stormy enough.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yeah, Kirby, I agree. It’s shit.’

He puffed on his cigar. Coughed a little before putting it away. ‘Need to give up these bastards.’

‘I agree.’

‘You’re no saint yourself.’ He smiled, his eyes twinkling. ‘You smoke too.’

‘Only occasionally, and I haven’t done so for a long time. Mainly when I’m stressed. Which is now.’

‘Well you’re not getting one of my cigars. Listen, there’s something else I wanted to tell you.’

‘Fire ahead.’

‘It’s to do with Bryan O’Shaughnessy.’

‘Just what I don’t need to hear.’ She stifled a groan. ‘Did you find something on PULSE?’

‘No. It came to light while I was investigating Edie Butler’s murder.’

‘I’ve a feeling I’m not going to like this, Kirby.’

‘Maybe or maybe not. Do you want me to tell you?’

‘Jesus, you’re here. Spit it out.’ She realised she sounded contrary. ‘Sorry. I’ve had a stressful morning.’

‘Maybe you should buy a pack of Silk Cut purple?’

‘Shut up.’ She grinned, and some of the tension left her body.

‘It turns out Edie Butler knew your Mr O’Shaughnessy. She used to live around here before she was married. Over twenty-five years ago or so. They were a bit of an item back then, according to the owner of the salon where Edie worked.’

‘This gets weirder by the day. I don’t know what to make of that nugget.’

‘The thing is, I will have to talk to Bryan in relation to Edie’s murder.’

‘I’d say he was nowhere near Ragmullin. He spends all his time on the farm. Let me speak to him.’

‘You can’t do that formally. You’re on leave.’

‘I’ll rescind my leave then.’

‘Superintendent Farrell won’t allow it if she learns the reason why.’

Lottie marched in a circle around Kirby, kneading her hands into each other. ‘I have to do this. You can take the lead. You see, I’ve heard some terrible stuff this morning that may be relevant to the murders. Bryan is either wholly involved, or alternatively, he could be a target.’

‘It never ceases to amaze me how you can confuse me.’ Kirby scratched his curly hair. ‘What did you hear?’

She decided to tell him. ‘I spoke with a woman called Ann Wilson. She’s a dressmaker in Spiddal. Her husband is a local councillor and a bit of a bollox, per Sergeant Mooney.’

She related some of the story without the grotesque imagery Ann had conjured.

‘That’s horrific,’ Kirby said. ‘Nowcan I talk to Mr O’Shaughnessy?’