Free Deadly Intent by Anna Sweeney Page B

obliged to delve into each and every circumstance of this terrible crime. But would it be fair to say,
cig
, that all the evidence so far points to one particular individual who has already come to our attention this week?’
    Redmond eyed the sergeant resentfully.
Cig
indeed. It was a familiar form of address, abbreviated from the Irish word for inspector,
cigire,
which always sounded to him a bit like someone who was a good kicker. By using it so publicly, Fitzmaurice was putting himself on a par with a senior officer, while also conveniently reminding everyone of his own part in the earlier investigation.
    Fitzmaurice continued. ‘The individual I’m referring to is Dominic Scurlock, of course. He had a motive for murder, and as he demonstrated to us up at Cnoc Meala last night, he’s more than capable of being violent.’
    Superintendent Devane got to his feet slowly. ‘I’m very grateful to you, sergeant,’ he said, ‘because you’ve just reminded me of another vital point I’d like everyone to take on board. We’re at the very beginning of our work here, and we’re certainly not yet in a position to identify the most likely suspects. The pathologist is still at the scene, and rather than finding answers, we’re adding new questions to the list.’
    Redmond glanced again at Fitzmaurice, who was sitting back with his arms folded complacently on his chest. Clearly, he was unconcerned about his colleagues’ opinions of him. He was broad-shouldered and well built, with the kind of corrugated head of hair that was typical, to Redmond’s mind, of seasoned Gaelic footballers, local councillors and other such pillars of the rural community.
    He tuned in again to Devane’s ponderous voice. ‘I’d like to leave you now with some of the difficult questions we face. Why was Oscar Malden murdered in Beara, rather than anywhere else? Can we establish a link between his death and any other incident or development that took place while he was on holiday – for example, the alleged antagonism between himself and another guest at Cnoc Meala? Or alternatively, can we establish that the perpetrator followed Malden to Beara with the express intention of killing him, on account of a business dispute, or bitter rivalry over a woman, or a simple lust for money?’
    Devane was milking his centre-stage role to the full. He was an old hand at detaining an audience in their seats.
    â€˜We’re checking the obvious possibilities already. Did anyone with a record of violence arrive in Beara in recent days, for example, someone just released from prison, or a person known to suffer from a particularly dangerous psychosis? What about Malden himself – what kind of a personal life did he lead, and was he making or losing money these past few months? There’s also that old reliable question – who will benefit most from his death?’
    A queue formed at the top of the room when the briefing finally drew to a close. Task sheets were handed out from the jobs book in which details of the evidence would be compiled. Gardai chatted about which would be more tedious, to sit at a desk poring over long lists of phone records, or to be sent on door-to-door expeditions up and down the peninsula. The challenge was not just to endure the boredom – it was to notice the sort of minor deviation from everyday routines that could turn an investigation on its head.
    Redmond was handed his own task sheet. He was to assist with witness interviews for the next two days. He tried not to smile too broadly as he turned back to a group of colleagues.
    â€˜Well, look at the trouble you’ve gone and landed us in!’ A young woman from Bantry station laughed as she lobbed the remark at him. ‘Sure we’d all be better off if you’d only stuck to the script and found a dead sheep on the mountainside.’
    A male garda snatched Redmond’s sheet to see