Molloy dragged a stool over and sank onto it. “I’m told that we’ve had a month’s worth of rain in the past twenty-four hours.”

“What about the council?” I asked.

“The county council are out trying to fix things as best they can, and we’ll have defence force crews to put up temporary bridges as soon as possible. But there’s only so much they can do until the rain actually stops.”

I looked towards the door. “It’s stopped now, hasn’t it?”

“For the moment, but there’s more to come, according to the weather forecast.”

“Jesus Christ,” McFadden said. “It’s apocalyptic.”

Molloy nodded wordlessly as if he’d run out of the energy to speak.

“So where are the extra beds going to come from?” McFadden asked. “All the B & Bs are booked up with the charity cycle.”

Molloy said exhaustedly, “We’re just going to have to work something out. They’ve opened up the Foyle Arena in Derry as a rest center for motorists who can’t get home from there, so we’ll have to do something similar. The hospital must keep a few beds free in case anyone is injured. So we may have to open up the county council offices or the Beacon Hall and work out something there.” He pressed his hand to his forehead. “It looks as if we’re in trouble.”

McFadden and I were silent. It seemed unnecessary to add that we were already in trouble with an unsolved death and a possible poisonous snake on the loose. There was something that I thought I should share with Molloy about Bob Jameson’s death, so I asked if I could have a word with him. He handed McFadden a list of calls to make, and we headed towards the back office.

Molloy closed the door behind him, took off his heavy Garda coat and hung it sopping on the coat rack. I didn’t see how it was going to dry before he had to put it back on again. There was a chill in the room, though the heat was on, but the old storage heaters had never been particularly efficient.

He rested his backside on the desk while I stood against the wall, giving me a flashback to the way things had been when we had just been colleagues and friends of a sort. One way or another we’d been part of each other’s lives for a long time.

He folded his arms. “What’s up?” he asked.

“Bob Jameson was bitten by a snake?” I said.