I figured Fallon probably hadn't. Stolen rings were low priority; simply by sending someone like Harvey out to check, Fallon had covered himself should anyone make a fuss that their loss wasn't being treated seriously. In reality, we all accepted that stolen goods generally stayed lost. I could also understand why Fallon picked people like Harvey to do the job: he had clearly approached it with the same seriousness as he would a murder inquiry. In fact, I decided to follow Fallon's lead.
'John, perhaps you could help me with something else. Tommy Powell in Finnside Nursing Home claims he had an intruder in his room last week. I promised we'd send someone out to check. Would you take a run out, if you get a chance?'
He nodded eagerly. 'I'd love to,' he said.
'Thanks,' I replied, looking back to my paperwork in the hope he'd take the hint and leave. He didn't.
'My pleasure, sir. If there's anything I can do to help with the Cashell case. You know, I could…' He didn't get any further, as Burgess shouted that Costello wanted to see me.
When I went into his office, he was speaking to someone on the phone and had a copy of the Belfast Telegraph on the desk in front of him. He spun the paper round to face me while he agreed with whatever was being said to him on the other end of the line. Then he pointed at an article on the front page, apparently a story concerning the latest UN debate over the efficacy of Hans Blix's Inspection Team, and the inevitability of a war in Iraq. I failed to see the relevance of the story and shrugged my bewilderment. Costello frowned and stabbed a finger at the bottom of the page, without interrupting his conversation. I sat down when I saw the short piece to which he had pointed, under the heading, 'Puma on Prowl in Donegal?'
The story told, in sensational detail, how sheep in the area of Lifford were being terrorised nightly by an unidentified creature. It also quoted an eyewitness, the Derry man who had spotted the creature on the way home from a wedding, giving a much fuller description than the one he had provided for our desk sergeant when he had phoned that weekend. He had, he said, contacted the local Garda, but felt that his complaint was not taken seriously. Now poor animals were suffering due to Garda reluctance or inefficiency. As a side-bar to the story, the paper had included a table of facts about pumas and what to do if you encountered one, including the suggestion that, when face-to-face with a puma, it is best not to panic, but rather pretend that it is not there.
By the time I had stopped reading and put the paper down, Costello was holding the phone in his hand, the mouthpiece covered. 'Do you know anything about this?' he said, lifting the paper, as though to check whether the story was still there, then throwing it across his desk. It skimmed across the polished surface and slid onto the floor. I picked it up.
'A bit. The Derry man left a message. I only got it today. I thought we had more important issues.'
'Well, this might explain Anderson's complaints about his sheep.'
'Possibly,' I agreed.
'Except we look like spare pricks at a funeral not doing anything about it. RTE have been on the phone. Again.'
'Twice in one week. We've hit the big time.'
'Three times,' Costello corrected me. 'You got the pathologist's report, I take it?' I nodded. 'What do you think?'
I recounted my thoughts on reading it, including my view that perhaps Terry Boyle had parked at Gallows Lane to sleep off the effects of overdrinking. Costello let me speak, then passed me a booklet of typed sheets.
'Forensics' report,' he said. 'Bloody detailed. I've one of those forensics boyos on the phone, except he's put me on hold. Car was parked and the engine was off when he was killed, they say.' With that, we both heard a tinny voice over the phone line. Costello listened for a few seconds before announcing that he was putting the phone onto speakers, which took rather longer than it might have. Eventually, I was introduced to Sergeant Michael Doherty, who had written the report.
'We discovered a fair bit from the car, Inspector,' Doherty began. 'The victim was likely shot by someone standing outside the car. On the driver's side. We recovered the bullet from the bodywork behind the passenger seat. Ballistics tests are being carried out at the moment. I'll say this – it must have been a scare for whoever was sitting next to him.'
'Was there a passenger?'
'Almost definitely. You see, blood spattering is a definite science, Inspector. When your victim was shot, his blood should have spattered all over the inside of the car. But around the passenger seat, there's significantly less blood than there should be. My guess is that someone was sitting beside him – someone who was covered in blood when they got out of the car. Now, their seats were pushed right back and, though your victim's clothes were badly burned, we can tell his trousers were unbuttoned and unzipped when he was killed, so I'd say he was up for some hanky-panky.' Doherty laughed in a vaguely embarrassed way and continued, 'The important thing is that your victim's window was wound down. Obviously the glass was blown out in the fire, but the mechanism was down near the bottom of the door.'
'His window was open?' Costello interrupted. 'So what?'
'The weather wasn't great that night. I don't know about you, but if I'm about to strip off for a bit of action in the back of the car, the last thing I'd do in the middle of winter is wind down my window. A bit chilly round the nether regions, eh?' His laugh rattled from the speaker again. 'No, my guess would be-'
'That he opened the window to his killer,' I said.
'Just so,' Doherty agreed.
'Why not just shoot him through the window?' I asked, as much thinking aloud as seeking a response.
'Maybe whoever did it wanted to be sure that they had the right person. Or wanted to see his face. Or wanted to make sure they didn't hit whoever was sitting beside him in the car.'
'Maybe,' I agreed.
Doherty made a few final observations, then hung up. Costello had listened grimly to the whole conversation without speaking. He sat opposite me, his hands clasped. 'So,' he said finally. 'What do you think?'
'Seems like forensics have done the thinking for us: he picks someone up – or is picked up by someone – parks in the lay-by for a bit of sex; there's a tap on the door, opens the window and bang.'
'What about the person in the car with him? An accomplice?'
'Hard to see it otherwise. How did his killer know where to find him, unless he followed him? Why not kill the passenger too? And why burn the car, unless they were scared that the passenger had left some evidence. Either that, or it was some poor innocent out for a night's fun who's wandering around Lifford in shock, covered in blood.'
'Jesus, Ben, we need to clear up some of this quick. Two killings in a week. We'll start to look incompetent.'
When I came out of the office, Harvey was still sitting opposite my desk. He stood when I approached, his cap held in his hand.
'Everything alright, sir?' he asked.
I nodded. 'Can I help you with something else?' I asked, lifting some of the paperwork from my desk.
'Sergeant Burgess asked me to tell you that Officer Moore from Ballybofey was on the phone, sir,' he said. 'He said it was important.'
Ten minutes later we were on our way to pick up Whitey McKelvey.
Chapter Six
Tuesday, 24th December
It was late afternoon and the sky was the colour and texture of slate. The moon was beginning to shine from behind a thick bank of cloud that threatened snow, and the air was cold and dry.
Three cars left Lifford station on the way to Castlefinn where, Moore had reliably informed me, McKelvey was staying with some cousins who were camped in a picnic area. I knew the place he mentioned. Learning from the problems encountered in Strabane, Donegal County Council had placed height-restriction bars across the entrance to all public areas – lay-bys, car parks and so on – to stop the travellers from using them. The group that had taken over the area outside of Castlefinn had arrived in the middle of the night in early August and had spent several
