Borderlands by Brian McGilloway

phoned that weekend. He had, he said, contacted the local Garda, but felt
that his complaint was not taken seriously. Now poor animals were suffering due
to Garda reluctance or inefficiency. As a side-bar to the story, the paper had
included a table of facts about pumas and what to do if you encountered one,
including the suggestion that, when face-to-face with a puma, it is best not to
panic, but rather pretend that it is not there.
    By the time I
had stopped reading and put the paper down, Costello was holding the phone in
his hand, the mouthpiece covered. "Do you know anything about this?"
he said, lifting the paper, as though to check whether the story was still
there, then throwing it across his desk. It skimmed across the polished surface
and slid onto the floor. I picked it up.
    "A bit.
The Derry man left a message. I only got it today. I thought we had more
important issues."
    "Well,
this might explain Anderson's complaints about his sheep."
    "Possibly,"
I agreed.
    "Except
we look like spare pricks at a funeral not doing anything about it. RTE have
been on the phone. Again."
    "Twice
in one week. We've hit the big time."
    "Three
times," Costello corrected me. "You got the pathologist's report, I
take it?" I nodded. "What do you think?"
    I recounted
my thoughts on reading it, including my view that perhaps Terry Boyle had
parked at Gallows Lane to sleep off the effects of overdrinking. Costello let
me speak, then passed me a booklet of typed sheets.
    "Forensics'
report," he said. "Bloody detailed. I've one of those forensics boyos
on the phone, except he's put me on hold. Car was parked and the engine was off
when he was killed, they say." With that, we both heard a tinny voice over
the phone line. Costello listened for a few seconds before announcing that he
was putting the phone onto speakers, which took rather longer than it might
have. Eventually, I was introduced to Sergeant Michael Doherty, who had written
the report.
    "We
discovered a fair bit from the car, Inspector," Doherty began. "The
victim was likely shot by someone standing outside the car. On the driver's
side. We recovered the bullet from the bodywork behind the passenger seat.
Ballistics tests are being carried out at the moment. I'll say this - it must
have been a scare for whoever was sitting next to him."
    "Was
there a passenger?"
    "Almost
definitely. You see, blood spattering is a definite science, Inspector. When
your victim was shot, his blood should have spattered all over the inside of
the car. But around the passenger seat, there's significantly less blood than
there should be. My guess is that someone was sitting beside him - someone who
was covered in blood when they got out of the car. Now, their seats were pushed
right back and, though your victim's clothes were badly burned, we can tell his
trousers were unbuttoned and unzipped when he was killed, so I'd say he was up
for some hanky-panky." Doherty laughed in a vaguely embarrassed way and
continued, "The important thing is that your victim's window was wound
down. Obviously the glass was blown out in the fire, but the mechanism was down
near the bottom of the door."
    "His
window was open?" Costello interrupted. "So what?"
    "The
weather wasn't great that night. I don't know about you, but if I'm about to
strip off for a bit of action in the back of the car, the last thing I'd do in
the middle of winter is wind down my window. A bit chilly round the nether
regions, eh?" His laugh rattled from the speaker again. "No, my guess
would be—"
    "That he
opened the window to his killer," I said.
    "Just
so," Doherty agreed.
    "Why not
just shoot him through the window?" I asked, as much thinking aloud as
seeking a response.
    "Maybe
whoever did it wanted to be sure that they had the right person. Or wanted to
see his face. Or wanted to make sure they didn't hit whoever was sitting beside
him in the car."
    "Maybe,"
I agreed.
    Doherty made
a few final observations, then hung up. Costello had listened