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Bingo. This matched what Ann had told her. ‘Did you interview him?’

‘No, but I did some research on him. He was a priest for a time before being kicked out of the clergy. Something to do with child abuse, but it was all vague. No garda involvement. A cover-up by the Church if ever there was one.’

‘He became a chef after that. He lived in Ragmullin, where I work. He could be the killer.’ Lottie crossed her fingers, because she still had a sense that Imelda was not an innocent in all this.

‘But why?’ Imelda said quietly.

‘To silence witnesses and to stop you investigating further for your documentary.’

‘I’m still alive.’

‘There’s no one left to corroborate your story, though. They’re all dead. They can’t talk.’

‘That’s not strictly true.’ Imelda looked straight ahead as they walked.

Lottie sensed the young woman felt sad in her company. But was she really sad? Was there something else at play here?

‘How is that so?’ she asked.

‘I can listen to their voices, their stories. I have the recordings.’

‘You have?’ She stopped sharply and turned to Imelda. ‘Where?’

‘Safe.’ Imelda walked on slowly.

Lottie decided to leave that line of discussion for now. She didn’t want to spook her any further.

‘Bryan O’Shaughnessy. How do you know him?’ She wondered if she should tell Imelda about the DNA, but it wasn’t conclusive and she had no idea if the further analysis had been finalised. She’d have to ask Mooney.

‘I don’t know him,’ Imelda said, keeping her eyes cast downwards. ‘Not really. I spoke to him early on. His name came up.’

‘Who brought it up?’

‘I’d rather not say.’

‘There’s a lot you’re not saying, Imelda. Why is that?’

‘I need to have some bargaining power.’

‘With Mooney?’ Lottie paused as Imelda turned to face her.

‘No, with the killer.’

Mooney was relieved to see that Denis Wilson had been taken to one side by the Dublin detectives. Thank God, he thought. At least he hadn’t been allowed to leave the premises.

He walked around the outside of the Wilson house, pulling at his beard, rubbing his head, tugging his ear lobe, generally baffled and more than a little annoyed with himself.

Last night Ann had said she’d talk to him in the morning. Tell him about Imelda and maybe a whole lot of other stuff. Now she couldn’t tell him anything, because she was dead.

What had she to say that she didn’t want her husband to hear? And how or why had Imelda come into possession of Ann’s phone? What did Imelda mean when she said that Assumpta Feeney was the key to it all?

He was being sidelined, he got that. He hadn’t succeeded in securing an arrest or a quick result and people were still being murdered. The powers-that-be on the top floor with the huge windows overlooking the bay had not given him time to get his feet under the table let alone analyse the information his team had gathered. But the murders had come so close together, he had hardly time to draw a breath, never mind draw a clear image of who he should be investigating.

He could not rid himself of the fear he’d seen in Ann’s eyes the previous night when she spoke of her husband’s anger. That made him think of the altercation that had occurred earlier that day between Denis Wilson and Bryan O’Shaughnessy. He should warn the farmer, because as sure as night followed day, Wilson would be gunning for the man Mooney had arrested and released without charge.

He also wanted to determine if O’Shaughnessy had been anywhere near the Wilsons’ house last night. He’d have loved to interview the councillor straight away, but that had been taken out of his hands. Damn.

Had he missed something yesterday? Had the killer been lurking in the trees? Had Robert Hayes been following him? Watching the house, watching the Wilsons, watching Mooney leave? A shiver travelled up his spine and down his arms.