‘What do you mean?’ Almost instantly, Tom regretted the question. He didn’t want to hear the answer. His head was thudding. ‘Christ almighty, man, give it a rest, would you? You seem to have this notion, based on the shakiest of evidence, that my father had something to do with Leo Galvin’s death.’

‘That wasn’t what I said.’

‘You said everything but. Now, just so you’re clear about this, let me say it again: I don’t know anything about any loan, but I swear to you, my father didn’t kill Leo Galvin.’

‘Do you know who did, then?’

Conor started talking about Tom’s return to the house on the night of the party. Had he seen someone? Had something been wrong?

This, Tom hadn’t expected. He felt as if he was hovering above the room. He was so light he might fly away. He didn’t dare ask a question. He might reveal too much. ‘That’s bullshit,’ he heard himself say. ‘You’re deluded.’ He tapped his head. ‘Crazy.’

‘Calm down,’ said Conor. ‘The way you’re going, they’ll hear you next door.’

His voice was sharp. He was accustomed to these scenes. He was schooled in forcing information from reluctant witnesses. What an idiot Tom had been to think he could read Conor. The nervy, bumbling behaviour had been an act. A ruse. The thudding in Tom’s head turned into a swarm of wasps. While he’d been wasting time on Cyril Dinan, Conor had been plotting.

‘If this is an interrogation, aren’t you meant to caution me or something?’

‘It’s not an interrogation. It’s not even an investigation. I’m asking questions, that’s all.’

‘I can’t believe we’re having this stupid discussion.’

‘Well, we are.’

‘Actually, no, we’re not. I’m tired, I’ve a lot going on and I’m running late for a meeting. I’ve got to convince a man to resign, a man who’s too stupid to realise he did anything wrong. You can sit here for the rest of the day, if you like. I’ve done my best to talk sense to you. If you don’t want to listen, that’s your lookout.’

Tom returned to the desk and picked up his jacket. The buzzing in his head intensified. Persistent bastards, those wasps. He was at the door before he spoke again. ‘You know what, Conor? We’ve been friends for more than forty years, and I don’t want to fall out with you. Truly, I don’t. Let me tell you, though: if you think my father had anything to do with Father Galvin’s death, you’re wrong. As wrong as you’ll ever be.’

Chapter 35

‘Do I have to ask what you were doing?’ said Flan, his first words since Conor had confirmed his visit to the station in Templemorris.

‘I’d say you can guess.’