at the ducks. Instead, his eyes roved hungrily around the room.
“Perhaps I should send a man ’round for a few hours to go through Joseph’s belongings. Some of these decoys are antiques and collector’s items. His estate needs drawn up. You can lock our man in; even search him when he comes out. Just an hour or two is all he’ll need to document anything of value.”
“And have him rummage through possible evidence? You should know better than to suggest that.”
“Yes, yes, of course, you’re right.”
O’Hare glanced again at Daly and took measure of the solid air of suspicion that was forming between them. He tried to change tack.
“Have you formally identified the body as Joseph’s?” He leaned toward Daly, groping for a more cordial footing to their conversation.
“If not, then you’re trespassing in the home of a missing man, and we have two crimes to solve instead of one. You think it was impossible that he was killed in such a way?”
“It does strike me as strange.”
“What I find strange is that when a police officer calls you this morning you drop everything and hightail it out here. That’s strange. Devine was a minor staff member who left your office a good while ago.”
“Oh dear,” sighed O’Hare. “Everything about this setup—the surroundings, the decrepit state of the place—strikes me as highly unusual. I can’t imagine why he came here in the first place.”
“Anyone who moves to a place like this is trying to escape something. Traffic jams, the rat race, boredom, the past,” suggested Daly. “It wasn’t just for the long rainy afternoons and the occasional sunset.”
O’Hare’s face turned grave. “I fear we are in for a few unpleasant surprises. You must tell me if any sensitive documents turn up. This could be very bad for the firm’s reputation.” A crude grimace distorted his mouth, and he whispered, almost to himself, “the past is an overflowing shit-pot of trouble and Devine has stirred it all up with a big stick.”
“This man’s murder is the only unpleasant surprise I care about. We’ll be working hard to catch his killers. If anything comes up, we’ll let you know.”
O’Hare took a final anxious glance about the living room. Devine’s death had tightened a coil of fear around him. His nervousness reminded Daly that, as a solicitor working during the Troubles, O’Hare had probably carried a gun in self-defense. They were violent times, and solicitors were the least likely group of people to attract new friends.
“You don’t look well,” said Daly.
O’Hare kneaded his arm. “High blood pressure. The doctor says I should spend more time on the golf course. If it wasn’t for Devine ringing me on Thursday I’d be there now.”
“That would explain your anxiety,” said Daly. “What did he ring you for?”
“It was a strange conversation.” O’Hare’s face was pale and grim as he spoke. “He said he wanted to talk, but not on the phone. When I asked where, all he said was ‘You’ll see.’ He said he wanted some information about an old case. He also admitted to removing some important files. But he wouldn’t be drawn any further. I tried to chat to him about general things, the weather, his health, where he was living. He told me he had found a wonderful location on the lough. ‘A good place to die,’ were his words. I began to suspect his mind was losing its footing.”
Just then, a shout from Irwin drew their attention outside. Some of the officers had found the remains of a fire at the bottom of the garden. The solicitor followed Daly out.
Amid the fine gray ashes was a box of partially burnt papers. O’Hare recognized the box and began beaming like the sun. His self-confidence returned and he reached for the charred files with a sense of triumph.
“Hang on. Nothing can be removed from the fire,” warned Daly. “Not even by our officers. We have to follow our procedures.”
“Why?”
“There’s building
“Perhaps I should send a man ’round for a few hours to go through Joseph’s belongings. Some of these decoys are antiques and collector’s items. His estate needs drawn up. You can lock our man in; even search him when he comes out. Just an hour or two is all he’ll need to document anything of value.”
“And have him rummage through possible evidence? You should know better than to suggest that.”
“Yes, yes, of course, you’re right.”
O’Hare glanced again at Daly and took measure of the solid air of suspicion that was forming between them. He tried to change tack.
“Have you formally identified the body as Joseph’s?” He leaned toward Daly, groping for a more cordial footing to their conversation.
“If not, then you’re trespassing in the home of a missing man, and we have two crimes to solve instead of one. You think it was impossible that he was killed in such a way?”
“It does strike me as strange.”
“What I find strange is that when a police officer calls you this morning you drop everything and hightail it out here. That’s strange. Devine was a minor staff member who left your office a good while ago.”
“Oh dear,” sighed O’Hare. “Everything about this setup—the surroundings, the decrepit state of the place—strikes me as highly unusual. I can’t imagine why he came here in the first place.”
“Anyone who moves to a place like this is trying to escape something. Traffic jams, the rat race, boredom, the past,” suggested Daly. “It wasn’t just for the long rainy afternoons and the occasional sunset.”
O’Hare’s face turned grave. “I fear we are in for a few unpleasant surprises. You must tell me if any sensitive documents turn up. This could be very bad for the firm’s reputation.” A crude grimace distorted his mouth, and he whispered, almost to himself, “the past is an overflowing shit-pot of trouble and Devine has stirred it all up with a big stick.”
“This man’s murder is the only unpleasant surprise I care about. We’ll be working hard to catch his killers. If anything comes up, we’ll let you know.”
O’Hare took a final anxious glance about the living room. Devine’s death had tightened a coil of fear around him. His nervousness reminded Daly that, as a solicitor working during the Troubles, O’Hare had probably carried a gun in self-defense. They were violent times, and solicitors were the least likely group of people to attract new friends.
“You don’t look well,” said Daly.
O’Hare kneaded his arm. “High blood pressure. The doctor says I should spend more time on the golf course. If it wasn’t for Devine ringing me on Thursday I’d be there now.”
“That would explain your anxiety,” said Daly. “What did he ring you for?”
“It was a strange conversation.” O’Hare’s face was pale and grim as he spoke. “He said he wanted to talk, but not on the phone. When I asked where, all he said was ‘You’ll see.’ He said he wanted some information about an old case. He also admitted to removing some important files. But he wouldn’t be drawn any further. I tried to chat to him about general things, the weather, his health, where he was living. He told me he had found a wonderful location on the lough. ‘A good place to die,’ were his words. I began to suspect his mind was losing its footing.”
Just then, a shout from Irwin drew their attention outside. Some of the officers had found the remains of a fire at the bottom of the garden. The solicitor followed Daly out.
Amid the fine gray ashes was a box of partially burnt papers. O’Hare recognized the box and began beaming like the sun. His self-confidence returned and he reached for the charred files with a sense of triumph.
“Hang on. Nothing can be removed from the fire,” warned Daly. “Not even by our officers. We have to follow our procedures.”
“Why?”
“There’s building
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