Chapters (59)
- Copyright Page
- About the Author
- Also by
- Praise
- About the Book
- Dedication
- Part One
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Part Two
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Acknowledgements
- Discover more from Rachael English . . .
- Prologue
- Part One
- Chapter 1
Her husband was less conciliatory. ‘Leo was a good man. You’re too young to remember that.’ Although his hands were swollen with age, he held his back as straight as a soldier on parade. He’d clearly given considerable thought to what he wanted to say. ‘You know what I learned from our family’s tragedy? Everybody forgets about the victim. The only reason people remember Leo’s name is because he was a priest. That gave him novelty value. I guarantee you, other men and women were murdered that year and, apart from their families, nobody talks about them. People don’t forget criminals, though. Take the three fellows who died the day you were shot. If you went out now and asked someone their names, they’d say “Warren Burke”. They’d know him because his family are gangsters, and gangsters are interesting. I doubt anybody could give you the names of the other two.’
‘Dessie Hartigan and Keith Fraser,’ said Conor, in a quiet voice.
‘My point is this: I always felt that people in Kilmitten were so wrapped up in themselves, and in which of their neighbours might have been responsible for Leo’s death, that they forgot about the victim. I’m not saying my brother, the Lord have mercy on him, was a saint … I wish he hadn’t been so fond of gambling … but he deserved better.’
Conor couldn’t argue. He believed the impact of the priest’s death had been blunted because he’d been viewed as an outsider. No matter that he’d lived in the village for more than a decade, in the eyes of some locals he wasn’t really one of them.
Hannah tapped her husband’s wrist. ‘To be clear about what you’re saying to us, Inspector Varley—’
‘Conor, please. Like I told you, this isn’t official business.’
‘To be clear, you think Leo’s killer might still be alive?’
‘I don’t know. And I don’t want to make this any more difficult for you.’
She fixed him with her blue gaze. ‘Not knowing exactly what happened to Gregory’s brother, and why it happened, is a terrible burden. Over the years, we’ve come to accept that we’ll never get the full story: that either Noel O’Grady took it to the grave … or that someone else was responsible and has managed to stay quiet. I’ve heard other guards say that crimes tend to be solved quickly or not at all. That doesn’t give us much hope.’
Conor placed his cup on a lace coaster. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, do you have any idea why somebody might have wanted to harm Father Leo?’