The badge pulled back, and Detective Wallace’s chin came into view. From over his shoulder, I made out the round face of DS Judge, which didn’t make any sense. After Wallace caught her participating in the lynch mob that attacked Briarwood, surely he’d have suspended her?What’s she doing here?
Ryan sighed. “I’m guessing they’re here for you,” he said.
“Tell them I’ve gone to the pub.”
“We can hear you, Mr O’Hagan,” Inspector Wallace said.
“Fine. You can come in. But don’t let any of those bloodsucking journalists follow you.”
Ryan buzzed them in, slamming the gates shut behind them to keep the surging press out. Reluctantly, I left Simon’s office and went down to the entrance hall to speak to them. Ryan came with me, because I couldn’t remember where the entrance hall was, but he darted away before the coppers could get a look at him. I wished I could do the same.
Wallace and Judge stood on the stoop, looking all staunch and officious. Judge stared up at the ornately-carved ceiling, her mouth dropping open in awe. I shoved my hands in my pockets and grinned up at them, hoping to unnerve them. Growing up with my uncle in Dublin had given me an ingrained distrust of the police. We usually dealt with them in the Irish way – by being complete gobshites. “What can I do for you, officers?”
“Is Maeve Crawford here? What about your other friends who live at Briarwood?”
“Just me. Arthur had a wee accident, and the others are at the hospital with him.” I didn’t know where Blake and Rowan had gone after they’d had that fight with Maeve, but Inspector Wallace didn’t need to know that.
“That’s fine. We have to speak to you all at some point, but you can fill in the others when they return. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
I led them into the blue drawing room – the only room with sofas with a location I could remember. “I’d offer you coffee,” I shrugged. “But I don’t know where the kitchen is, and I haven't got the magical superpower that allows me to conjure the butler at will.”
“That’s fine.” Inspector Wallace sat down. Judge stood behind him, pacing the length of the couch as she inspected the singed bookshelf and stacks of damp books Simon had piled up ready for recycling. I flopped down on the sofa opposite, placing my boots on the table, all casual-like.
“What happened here?” Judge pointed to the charred edge of the bookshelf.
I ignored her, because she was partly responsible for Corbin’s death, and I didn’t owe her an explanation. “What’s she doing here?” I asked Wallace, indicating Judge. “Why does she still have a badge after what she did?”
“Shehas a name,” Judge shot back.
“Sonia was working undercover for us,” he said. “We believed the villagers would be more likely to accept her presence, since she’d been at the church.”
“But you yelled at her?”
“She’d taken too long to alert us about the danger. If we’d had an alert sooner we might’ve prevented the fire from spreading. I didn’t realise at the time she had a concussion.”
“A concussion?” I raised my eyebrow at Judge. More like a bout of fundamentalism.
“Someone knocked me over when the crowd surged into the castle. I think I hit my head. I was woozy, felt like my thoughts weren’t my own,” she said, her eyes boring into mine.My stomach squirmed. She remembered hearing the conflicting voices in her head. It was going to be hard to explain that away.
“You’re not in any trouble. We’re here to keep you updated on the case.” Inspector Wallace leaned forward and knitting his fingers together. “We’ve taken statements from several of the people at Briarwood last night. There’s a lot of chatter about you in the village, Flynn. Especially concerning a controversial piece of art that appeared overnight in the town square.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” I said.
“That incident at the pub suggests otherwise. That statue is an impressive piece of work. What’d you use to attach it to the plinth?” Wallace narrowed his eyes at me. “I saw Bill Riley out there the other day with his jackhammer and he didn’t even make a dent in the base.”
“The only thing that could hold it in place is magic,” I wiggled my fingers at him, grinning. Itwasthe truth. My Ma always said you should tell coppers the truth.
“Fine,” Wallace sighed. “We’re still conducting investigations, you understand. But from what DS Judge has told us, this statue of yours?—”
“Not mine,” I grinned. “Although I bet the fella who did it was rakishly handsome.”
“—along with that scuffle in the pub inflamed some old tensions within the village. That, combined with a ludicrous rumour that a dead woman has been spotted at your castle, seemed to be the motivation behind this attack. Apparently this dead woman – one Aline Moore – used to live at the castle, and she had a reputation as a bit of a cult leader. She filled Briarwood with all sorts of derelicts and runaways and flower children. People thought they were up at the castle having orgies, taking drugs, conducting satanic rituals. Parents feared for their children. And then she disappeared.”
“Seems like a load of bollocks to me,” I uncrossed and crossed my legs.
“I thought so, too. But then I dug around in the council records and discovered that an Aline Moore was the last owner of Briarwood House, and that she had indeed disappeared in mysterious circumstances, as reported in theCrookshollow Courier, and that this very year the ownership of the castle would pass to her only surviving relative – her daughter, Maeve.”
“Aye. Maeve is the daughter of Aline. What of it? They look alike, but it takes a special kind of eejit to see Maeve through a window and assume she was a ghostie.”
