A farmer called Anthony O’Malley had owed two hundred pounds. He hadn’t been at the party, however. He’d been in the County Hospital in Ennis being treated for pneumonia. A woman called Gertie MacMahon, whom Conor recognised as Father Galvin’s housekeeper, had owed fifty pounds. The idea of Gertie breaking a set of traffic lights, let alone killing her boss, was unthinkable. Also in the priest’s debt was Timmy Moynihan. But in January 1982 Timmy couldn’t have hurt anyone. A kick from a bull had broken his leg and left him on crutches. Apart from a trip to the bathroom, he’d spent the entire evening on the sofa in the Crossans’ front room.

The final name on the list surprised Conor. He spent some time looking at it, considering it. The more he thought, the more the entry made sense. The investigating officers had acted on the information but, faced with trenchant denials, they’d taken it no further.

That didn’t mean they’d been right.

Chapter 33

Tom was on the television, doing battle with a particularly pompous current affairs presenter. A daily newspaper had carried a series of stories about rural crime: an elderly couple tied up, their house ransacked; a bachelor farmer beaten over the head with a shovel, his attacker escaping with just twenty-five euros; a six-year-old girl abducted, then abandoned five miles away. The minister for rural and regional affairs had been put forward to promote the government line. There was no cause for complacency, he said, but no reason for alarm either. Unlike some politicians he didn’t look sweaty or shifty under the studio lights. Nina remembered what he’d said about school debates. She thought he was doing well.

Julian didn’t agree. ‘Would you look at him?’ he said. ‘Trying to be on both sides of the argument. People aren’t fooled by that any more.’

She hugged a cushion to her chest. ‘What else can he say? If he accuses the paper of exaggerating, they’ll stamp all over him. If he says the situation is out of control, he’ll be in even more trouble.’

‘You always defend him, don’t you?’

‘No. I’m telling you what I think. What’s wrong with that?’

‘What’s wrong is that you haven’t thought it through. You see, you have this …’

Nina zoned out while her husband put her straight. If she responded, they’d get enmeshed in one of those circular arguments that could last for days. She suspected that after twenty-three years of marriage most couples didn’t listen to each other. Tom was an especially contentious subject. She hadn’t mentioned their coffee in Kilmitten. It would only have given Julian an excuse to deliver one of his speeches about Tom’s lack of credibility.

She rose from the sofa. ‘I’m going to bed.’