‘I don’t know exactly.’
‘Do you have a till receipt? That will show when you made your purchases.’
‘What is this about?’
‘Can you answer the question?’
‘Not until you stop this game.’
‘Did you walk or drive?’ She wasn’t giving in that quickly.
‘I refuse to answer.’ He leaned against the wall and folded his arms. She could see the outline of his abs beneath the damp white T-shirt.
‘Maybe what I have to say will make you more cooperative.’ She paused, watching him closely but he seemed to be back in control of his emotions. Even his pallor had improved. Why? Did he feel no longer under threat? Did he relish being the dominant party in the room? Let’s see how you digest this then, she thought. ‘We found a body about an hour ago. Out at Lough Cullion.’
He cocked his head to one side, diminishing his six-foot-two height a little. ‘Is that why you’re quizzing me? I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I didn’t harm anyone.’
‘The person we found was brutally murdered and the body stuffed in a barrel and set afloat. A hole in the bottom of the barrel ensured it got no further than shallow water on the shoreline.’ She let that sink in. Hopefully Grainne would be able to rescue some evidence.
‘And?’ His eyes darted between her and Boyd. She figured he was working hard to keep his emotions under control. ‘What has that got to do with me?’
‘I’m sorry, Frankie, but we believe the body is that of Owen Dalton. Your husband.’
The effect of her words was instantaneous. His arms unfolded as if by remote control and he slid down the wall to the floor.
‘No! It can’t be Owen.’ A distinct quiver in his voice. ‘You’re wrong.’ He looked up, pleading, his lips trembling.
‘There is no mistake. It is him.’
‘But why?’
‘I thought you might be able to tell me that.’ She felt awkward standing while he was on the floor. But she knew if she squatted down to his level she might not be able to get back up.
Boyd must have noticed how ill at ease she felt. He leaned towards the distraught man and offered his hand. ‘Here, bud, you need to stand up.’
Frankie took the hand and Boyd hauled him upright.
‘I need a drink, and I want to know what happened.’
He moved out of the room and Lottie followed him into a narrow kitchen. The decor reminded her of Éilis Lawlor’s kitchen.
As he ran water from the tap into a silver goblet, she said, ‘Did Éilis Lawlor advise on your kitchen design?’
‘I don’t know. Owen organised all that. I can’t believe it. He can’t be dead.’
She waited while he refilled the goblet and gulped down the water with much the same speed as the first glass. Pulling out one of the two stools at the counter, she indicated for him to sit. She felt instantaneous relief as at last she took the weight off her feet.
‘What can you tell me about Owen that might have caused someone to kill him?’
‘Did you stop to think you are dealing with a psychopath? There is no reason for anyone to kill Owen.’
‘I need to understand the victim to find his killer.’
‘I don’t believe… I can’t believe he’s dead. Not until I see his body. It makes no sense. Owen was everything to me. This is just bizarre.’
‘Any confrontations recently? Upset clients? Money troubles?’
‘None that I know of. Why is this happening to me? First Jennifer, now Owen.’