He tapped at the screen and handed it to me. Molloy stood at my shoulder while I looked at the front page of the online Irish Independent.

I read the headline. Charities boss Bob Jameson dies in mysterious circumstances in Donegal on eve of charity cycle … I looked up. “Uh oh.”

“I know,” Molloy said with a sigh. “We could do without the eyes of the country on us when we don’t have the proper personnel to deal with it. He was quite the big wig in the charities sector apparently.”

I scanned the article. “Chief executive of the charity he founded, for ageing and dementia, with care homes in Sligo and Galway. They’re raising money for a third in Dublin. That must have been what the cycle was for.”

Molloy added, “He also headed up a Nigerian charity at one point and he’s been on the board of a number of Irish hospitals.”

“Yikes. Lots of friends in high places.” I handed the phone back to him. I could read the full article on my own phone or laptop later.

“Exactly,” he said, putting the phone back into his pocket. “Right. Now I definitely need to get going.”

“Thanks for talking to me about this, I know you didn’t have to.”

He took a deep breath. “I suppose I could do with an extra brain, with us being completely cut off.” I smiled, flattered, until he shot me a half smile. “Plus, I know you won’t be able to resist sticking your nose in anyway so you might as well have the full facts.”

There wasn’t much I could say to that. The man had a point.

“We’ll do our best to find out what happened to him, look at his background, family and friends, emails, financial transactions, anything that could tell us what occurred in the days leading up to his death. But our priority must be to keep people safe, from the floods and any other threats.”

“Of course.”

“We know he died sometime between quarter to twelve last night when he arrived back at Mary’s B & B and four a.m. this morning when he fell on Maeve’s jeep. I’ll put an appeal out to see if anyone saw anything, but I’m willing to bet that Maeve was one of the few people driving on Mamore Gap on such a dirty night.”

“Apart from the killer. Or killers.”

He nodded wearily as he reached for the door handle. “Anyway, I’d better get back out here. McFadden’s going to need my help.”

He was right. During the ten minutes or so that we’d been talking, I’d heard the station phone ring at least six times.