“The barrister Crossan?” He recalled seeing or hearing the name somewhere. Yes, with one of Kilmartin’s cronies, that was it. Grumbling about Crossan demolishing some case brought against an IRA man.

“The very one. It was his work that got the charges dropped against Eoin the next day.”

Maura’s voice dropped lower. Minogue imagined her shielding her words from someone passing in the hall, Mick most likely,

“Well, it came up in the course of a chat that you were a Guard, and, of course, in no time at all he knew your exact department. Very interested he was and all. Well, Matt, I don’t know how I should put this to you, I’m not much good at this…”

Minogue sensed the awkwardness betokened some transaction in the rural commerce of obligations felt and favours returned. He could feel Maura’s nervousness, the effort it had taken her to tell him, and his irritation disappeared.

“I’m not the sworn enemy of the legal profession, Maura. Officially, at any rate. What’s Crossan about here now?”

Her voice was almost a whisper now.

“He mentioned the name Jamesy Bourke to me. Do you remember him?”

“Bourkes out by Kilrannagh? Wasn’t there some trouble with them years ago?”

“That’s them. Jamesy’s the only one left. He was in prison these years. He only got out a few months ago and he’s living up above in the mother’s place since. It’s only a shed really. Walks the roads like Methuselah with the beard and a big stick he carries. Talks to no one except himself or his dog. They say he went cracked in prison. The locals’re afraid of him too.”

“Do you recall what he ended up in prison for?”

Maura’s reply came in a whisper. “He murdered a girl.”

Minogue placed the chocolate on his tongue.

“And that’s what Crossan wants to get in touch with me about?”

“Well, to make a long story short. Mr Crossan had left an envelope about it with me a week ago so’s I’d give it to you and you coming down. But he phoned today, asking would you be down soon-”