‘We want to ask you about Vincent Carney.’

Fergus looked like he was going to spit on the ground. Instead he pulled off his gloves and handed them to his assistant.

‘Finish these off, then bring in those bags of fertiliser, Charlie.’

‘There are five hundred bags!’

‘Then get one of the lads to help. Christ! Do I have to do everything?’

The other man nodded and tried to keep his expression neutral. He looked to be in his late thirties and the inspector could tell he was bristling at having to take orders from the boss’s charming son.

‘We can do this in the office,’ Fergus barked over his shoulder at the detectives as he strode ahead.

Tom and Ray dutifully followed. Once inside, the inspector shut the door and peered out through the window blinds. He watched as the employees on the shop floor cast surreptitious glances at the office and whispered amongst themselves.

‘It can’t be easy,’ he said, turning to face Fergus. None of them sat; instead, they hovered around a table strewn with various files, a phone and a desktop computer.

‘What?’ Fergus muttered.

‘Having to deal with that lot when you’d rather be out looking for your sister. I’m sure they’re well-meaning, but it’s just a sideshow for them, isn’t it?’

Tom was trying to be sympathetic. Fiona’s brother was prickly, but at the heart of it he was a young man trying to hold his family business together and deal with his baby sister vanishing off the face of the earth.

Fergus’s eyes flicked to the window behind Tom. His fierceness wavered. The inspector could see a slight softening in the boyish face hidden behind the beard.

‘Nosy bastards,’ he said, by way of response. ‘Look at them. Little worker ants. They’re trying to come to terms with me being the boss, that’s their main problem. Dad just comes in to oversee the orders – I’m in charge of everything else at the moment. I’m not as soft as the old man. I don’t give a shit if they need the afternoon off for a doctor’s appointment or to collect their kids. They’re paid to work.’

Tom sighed.

‘Alright, let’s talk. What happened with Vincent Carney?’

Fergus dropped onto the leather chair behind the desk. He was roughly the same size as his father and yet the chair swamped him.

‘He tried to feel Fi up. He scared her. Well, he must have. She told me about it and she didn’t tell me nothin’. It’s not right, you know?’

‘What isn’t?’

‘A pervert like that, allowed to live among normal people.’

‘She reported it, but you still went after him.’