Noonan looked back towards the yard.

‘What then? He made a run for it?’

‘I shouted at him to stop, I just wanted him to stop,’ Creedon said, shaking his head. ‘But everything happened so quick.’

‘Looks to me like he made a run for it, got as far as ­here –’ Noonan indicated the flattened patch of grass Judge had been lying on ‘– turned back to face you, and then took the shot to his guts. Does that sound right?’

Creedon shook his head.

‘It was a warning shot. A shot to scare him off.’

‘Dad,’ Bubbles said.

‘You’re telling me you weren’t aiming for him?’ Noonan said.

‘I swear on my life I was not!’ Creedon said.

‘You took an awful fucking chunk out of him for a fella you weren’t aiming for.’

‘He was the one came here,’ Creedon said. ‘He came here!’

‘Dad,’ Bubbles repeated. ‘Don’t say nothing more.’

‘You’ll be saying plenty more, both of you,’ Crean said. He unclipped a pair of handcuffs from his belt and sprung them open.

‘Garda Swift,’ he said, ‘can you please place these on Mr Creedon.’

‘I will come willingly,’ Creedon said.

‘This is how we’re doing it, Mr Creedon,’ Crean said as Swift took the cuffs from him. ‘There’s a team on the way and once this scene’s secured we’re going to run you and your son here down to the station and get everything on record. The cuffs are for your own security. Pronsius, you can do him from the front.’

Swift drew Creedon’s arms together in front of his waist and clicked on the cuffs.

‘Come here,’ Crean said to Noonan, walking a dozen paces off into the field, still tentative on his ankle. She followed.

Dennis Crean was ­forty-­nine years old to Noonan’s ­forty-­five. He had made Sergeant eighteen months ahead of ­her – later in his career relative to her, but before her, ­chronologically – and so, by the dictates of the informal but binding hierarchy that exists inside any official hier­archy, Crean was considered her superior, despite them sharing the same rank. Nobody had ever put it that way to ­her – nobody had ever had to, least of all Crean, who was impeccable in his behaviour towards Noonan. He was always careful to solicit her opinion and, often, to defer to her judgement. He gave her any amount of latitude and agency in her duties. But still, Noonan could never quite forget that that latitude and agency were only ever granted, and only ever his to grant. Noonan knew it, Crean knew it. She had made her peace with this arrangement a long time ago, and she tried not to hold it against Crean. If it wasn’t him, it’d just be another fella, and probably one less considerate. Crean was reliable, decisive and loyal. He was a good policeman.

‘How’s the ankle?’ Noonan asked him.