The voice, his father’s voice, rings out again and I see him flinch. He hauls me along the path, babbling all the time.

‘She was only trying to get away, just like you. She was trying to run. But he didn’t care. He grabbed her, threw her to the ground as if she were a piece of dirt, and it was my fault. It was all my fault. But I knew if I opened my mouth and told anyone what he did, he would kill me. Him and his cronies, they would kill me. Those big brave men. They’d do whatever they had to do to protect him. He told me that. He told me “Son or no son, you’re dead if you speak.” I had no doubt that he meant it.’

Shock hits me with such force that I struggle to breathe, but as I turn to run, I find myself face to face with Frankie Heaney, his expression a snarl.

‘You were warned, wee girl. You can’t say you weren’t warned.’

Chapter Fifty-Two

Ingrid

Frankie Heaney’s face radiates anger. His brow furrowed, his muscles tense. He does not shout. He probably knows he doesn’t need to. There is enough menace in his low, quiet voice to get his message across.

My eyes dart around him, trying to figure out if there is a way I can push past him and run to my car. So it had been him. He had pushed her and he had let Jamesy Harte take the blame. As had Niall. And Declan, what had he known?

‘Mr Heaney,’ I say, knowing that I am about to lie. ‘I’m not sure what it is that you’re talking about. Is this about Kelly? About the vandalism to my car?’

He reaches out his hand and pokes one long, bony finger at my chest. Jabbing and bruising, pushing me backwards.

‘You just couldn’t keep your nose out of it. There’s no story here, Ingrid,’ he says. ‘There never was. Not beyond what the courts found. Kelly Heaney was murdered by Jamesy Harte and now he’s dead, too.’

‘Murdered,’ I say, my voice barely audible. ‘Jamesy was murdered.’

‘He’ll not be missed,’ Frankie Heaney scowls. ‘He should’ve kept himself to himself when he got out.’

‘Da.’

I hear Niall behind me.

‘This is nothing to do with Ingrid. Just let us get back to our cars.’

His voice is pleading. All of his cockiness and self-assured bravado has seeped into the muddy ground with the rain.

‘You’re right there, son,’ Frankie says, not shifting his gaze from mine. ‘This has nothing to do with Ingrid here and yet, she can’t seem to leave it alone. We’ve tried to tell her.’

‘She will!’ Niall says, his voice thick with fear. ‘Won’t you, Ingrid? You’ll drop all this and you won’t mention it again.’