Patrin crossed over the muddy ground to his own mobile home and climbed up the steps. His Uncle Bartley was hunched over the Formica-topped dining table, wearing only his trousers, his green braces looped over his round hairy shoulders. He was holding a mug of strong tea in both hands and staring at the television, although the sound was muted and his eyes didn’t appear to be focused.

‘Uncle Bartley,’ said Patrin. ‘Uncle Bartley!’

‘Jesus, Pat, do you have to shout so fecking loud?’

‘Uncle Bartley, I found Timbo Coffey. He’s lying by the road above there by The Bridle and he’s pure dead.’

Uncle Bartley looked at him as if he were speaking in a foreign language. Then he said, ‘Timbo? Timbo Coffey? Well, that’s no surprise at all. I always knew that he would come to a sticky end. Sorry about your breakfast. Do you fancy a mug of scaldy in your hand?’

‘I told this one feen I saw digging his garden, but we should be after telling the guards, too, shouldn’t we? We don’t have to give them our names or nothing.’

‘No, boy, no. You’ve told that one fellow that you’ve found him, haven’t you, so there’s no need to bother. He’ll be ringing the guards himself, won’t he? It’s not like Timbo was related to us or nothing like that. Not that I know of, any road. I’ll go to his wake, though. A wake, that’s always a good excuse for a couple of gatts or more.’

He paused, and then he said, ‘I think there’s some biscuits if you’ve a mouth on you.’

*

Gardaí Micky Phelan and Neasa O’Connor were the first to arrive at the scene where Timbo Coffey had been found. The man who had been digging his garden was standing by the side of the road and flagged them down.

‘Macklin Delaney,’ he said, as they approached him. ‘It was me that called you.’

‘You say there’s a body?’ asked Garda Phelan.

‘Just along there, in the bush, like. An old fellow by the look of him.’

‘And you’re sure he’s dead?’

‘The crows seem to think he is. They’ve been pecking away at him something desperate and I haven’t noticed him raising any objection.’

Garda Phelan walked along the road and as soon as they saw Timbo Coffey’s body with his tan jerkin and his check shirt they recognized him immediately.

‘Oh, God in Heaven,’ said Garda O’Connor. She took several tissues out of her pocket, folded them over, and held them up against her nose before she leaned closer to make sure that it was really him. ‘By the state of him, I’d say he’s been here since we slung him out of The Bridle. I told you we should have given him a ride back to Water Lane.’