‘Listen, Conor, I can’t trawl through every possible reason why somebody might have fallen out with Leo Galvin. I don’t want you going around suspecting half of the village. But …’ he hesitated, as if grappling for the right words ‘… to give you an idea of how complicated it all became, it took us a little while to learn that several people owed him money. You might say that any one of them had the motive to hurt him, but I don’t think that any of them was to blame.’

Conor was intrigued as to who might have been in the priest’s debt, but was wary of asking. ‘How come, ahm … how come people owed him money?’

‘Gambling debts, mainly. He was a useful poker player, was Leo Galvin. And then he lent money to a few others, like …’ His father pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘What I’m saying to you is to go no further than this room.’

‘Okay.’

‘Two or three people in the village were in a bit of difficulty, and they borrowed money from him, money they couldn’t pay back.’ Shock must have registered on Conor’s face for his father quickly added, ‘Now, I don’t for a moment believe that any of them was involved in his death. But that’s the reason I’m telling you this: so you can see how easy it would be to jump to conclusions, and how wrong you’d be.’

‘I understand.’

‘Not a word to anyone, now. You promise?’

‘Promise,’ said Conor, who paused, then asked another question. ‘After all this time, do you really think you’ll get to the truth?’

His father drained his glass. ‘I do.’

Chapter 8

‘What do you make of Conor?’ asked Nina, as she swept the brush across her toenails. She wasn’t convinced that bright red – or, to use its actual name, Acapulco Sunset – was her colour. Tess had insisted otherwise. That was Tess for you: hardly a penny to her name, yet she’d come home swinging a shopping bag full of make-up, half of which she’d given to Nina. ‘Imagine if we had this many colours in Ireland,’ she’d said. ‘Wouldn’t life be so much better?’ Nina didn’t know whether to be worried about her friend’s spending or embarrassed by her generosity.

‘I think he’s made the right choice,’ said Tess, from the other side of the sitting room where she was painting her fingernails a metallic blue. ‘And not because of his dad. You know Conor, he’s so determined. So … what’s the word? Dogged. That’s it. I reckon he’ll make a great guard. Tom didn’t look impressed, mind.’

‘I wanted to give him a dig. He could have made more of an effort to look pleased. What’s his problem, do you think?’