I Hear the Sirens in the Street

It was something Matty had said.

The dog.

It was a mean animal. An Alsatian, yes, but trained to be a mean. I’d bet a week’s pay that it was primarily a guard dog. As Matty pointed out, on a sheep farm you’d want a Border Collie, but Martin McAlpine’s herd was so small he didn’t need that much help with the round up and so he’d got himself a good watch dog instead.

“Stop the car,” I said to Matty.

“What?”

“Stop the bloody car!”

He put in the clutch and brake and we squelched to a halt.

“Turn us around, drive us back to the McAlpines.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“Okay.”

He put the Rover in first gear and drove us back down the lane. When we reached the stone wall, Matty killed the engine and we got out of the Rover and walked across the muddy farmyard again.

I knocked on her door and she opened it promptly.

She had changed into jeans and a mustard-coloured jumper. She had tied her hair back into a pony tail.

“Sorry to bother you again, Mrs McAlpine,” I said.

“No bother, Inspector. What else was I going to do today? Wash the windows a second time?”

“I wanted to ask you a question about Cora? Is that the name of your dog?”

“Yes.”

“And you say your husband was going up to bring the yearlings in, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And did he normally take Cora with him?”

“Yes.”

“So she wasn’t tied up?”

“No.”

“Hmmm,” I said, and rubbed my chin.

“What are you getting at?” she asked.

“Was Cora always this bad-tempered or is this just since your husband was shot?”

“She’s never liked strangers.”

“And you say the gunmen were waiting just behind the stone wall, right out there beyond the farmyard?”

“They must have been, because Martin didn’t see them until it was too late.”

“You say they shot him in the chest?”

“Chest and neck.”

“Did you hear the shot?”

“Oh, yes. I knew what it was immediately. A shotgun. I’ve heard plenty of them in my time.”

“One shot?” Matty asked.

“Both barrels at the same time.”

“And when you came out your husband was down on the ground and the gunmen were riding off on a motorbike?”

“That they were.”

“And you couldn’t ID them?”

“It was a blue motorbike, that’s all I saw. Why all the questions, Detective?”

“Who investigated your husband’s murder?”

“Larne RUC.”

“And they didn’t find anything out of the ordinary?”

“No.”

“And the IRA claimed responsibility?”

“That very night. What’s in your mind, Inspector Duffy?

“Your husband was armed?” I asked.

“He always carried his sidearm with him, but he didn’t even get a chance to get it out of his pocket.”

“And you ran out and found him where?”

“In the yard.”

“Whereabouts? Can you show me?”

“There, where the rooster is,” she said, pointing about half the way across the farmyard, about twenty yards from the house and twenty from the stone wall. Not an impossible shot with a shotgun by any means, but then again, surely you’d want to get a lot closer than twenty yards and if you got closer, wouldn’t that have given Captain McAlpine plenty of time to get his own gun out of his pocket?

“Mrs McAlpine, if you’ll bear with me for just another moment … Let me get this clear in my mind. Your husband’s walking out to the fields, with Cora beside him, and two guys come out from behind the stone wall and shoot him down from twenty yards away. Cora, who was for taking my head off, doesn’t run at the men, and he can’t get his gun out in time?”

Her eyes were looking at me with a sort of hostility now.

“I’m only telling you what the police told me. I didn’t get there until it was all over.”

“But Cora was definitely loose?”

“Yes, she was.”

“Why didn’t the IRA men shoot her? She must have been all over them.”

“I don’t know … Maybe she was frightened.”

“She doesn’t seem like a dog easily cowed to me.”

Mrs McAlpine shrugged and said nothing.

“And why didn’t your husband pull his gun? They come out from behind the wall with shotguns. He must have seen them.”

“I don’t know, Inspector, I just don’t know,” Mrs McAlpine said in a tired monotone.

“Not if his back was turned,” Matty added.

“But Cora would have smelt them, no? She would have been going bonkers. They’re going to see a slavering Alsatian running at them. Wouldn’t that have given him a second or two to go for his gun?”

“Evidently not,” she said.

She reached into her jeans, took out a battered packet of Silk Cut and lit one.

She was pale and wan. Not just tired, something else … weary. Aye, that was it.

“They killed him. What difference does it make how they bloody did it?” she said at last.

I nodded. “Yes, of course. I’m sure it’s nothing,” I said. “Nothing important … Anyway, I’ve taken up more than enough of your time.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. These days all I’ve got is time,” she said, looking searchingly into my face, but I was the master of the blank expression – training from all those years of interrogation.

She puffed lightly on her fag.

“Maybe we should be heading, boss, before the rain bogs us down,” Matty said.

“One final question, if you don’t mind, Mrs McAlpine. I noticed some of the farm buildings back there, but I didn’t see a greenhouse. You wouldn’t have one at all, would you?”

“A what?”

“A greenhouse. For plants, fruits, you know.”

She blew out a line of smoke. “Aye, we have a greenhouse.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I took a wee look.”

“What for?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say, but it will only take a minute.”

“If it’s drugs you’re after, you won’t find any.”