Deadly Intent by Anna Sweeney Page A

the hens scratching on the open ground. She tried to steady her own thoughts as she steered him away. She could see that Darina was wired up about the media invasion of the area, and she did not want to pressurise her to tell tales on Sal.
    â€˜You were very good to go to the party as a favour to Sal,’ she said gently. ‘I hope she appreciates it.’
    â€˜Oh, I’m sure, yes …’ Darina looked uncomfortable, pulling on a lock of hair that fell onto her face. ‘Sal is mad about him, Nessa, but I don’t know …’
    â€˜I hope she hasn’t been underhand, Darina, or given you any reason to be angry?’
    â€˜Oh no, I’m not angry at her, it’s nothing like that.’ Darina paused again and glanced over at Ronan, who was still slopping water in all directions. She led him down the path firmly and told him he could fill an empty wheelie bin which she pulled out from beside the hedge. When she returned, she had clearly decided to say her piece.
    â€˜I’m fond of Marcus, Nessa, or at least, I used to be fond of him when we were younger. But ever since he came home from Spain, I don’t know …’ She spoke rapidly, her eyes avoiding Nessa’s. ‘I think Marcus just suits himself, do you know what I mean? And the thing that gets me is, I saw him with another woman recently, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I was going for a swim and his car was parked by the sea, and there he was, draped over a woman is the only way I can describe it.’
    â€˜That was before the party, I presume?’
    â€˜Yes, but the same kind of thing happened another time recently – and I’m not even sure it was the same woman each time. So I wouldn’t like to bet that he’ll devote himself one hundred per cent to Sal, that’s what worries me. But please, Nessa, don’t tell her that I said so.’

NINE
Monday 21 September, 3.00 p.m.
    F ergus Malden was nervous, his eyes flitting from Redmond to Inspector O’Kelleher. As several witnesses had already agreed, Oscar Malden had passed little of his self-belief on to Fergus – if anything, Oscar’s surfeit of confidence might have overwhelmed his son.
    The gardai were on their fourth interview with him. Superintendent Devane had spoken to him the first time, soon after Oscar’s body was found, and O’Kelleher had gone over the same painful material twice on Sunday, along with another senior colleague. This was Redmond’s first opportunity to see him close up. It was hard on Fergus to be scrutinised so often, of course, but he must have known Oscar better than almost anyone else, and in addition, a heavy shadow of suspicion inevitably fell on the next of kin of a murder victim. The gardai had to check whether he varied his story from one interview to the next, as well as digging for new details.
    O’Kelleher spoke in his quiet, unhurried way. ‘How would you describe your father as a person, then?’
    Fergus examined his hands, another of his nervous habits, before he put together his answer.
    â€˜I suppose he was …’ His eyes shifted around the room. ‘My father was … He was friendly and cheerful, just as the newspapers have been saying. He was a strong person, as I’m sure you know, and he believed he could …’ Fergus looked at his hands again and eventually settled on an answer. ‘He always believed he could achieve whatever he set out to do, that’s what I mean.’
    â€˜That was certainly his reputation in business.’ O’Kelleher’s voice sounded softer than ever. ‘But on a personal level, is it possible that he antagonised other people in his zeal to get what he wanted?’
    â€˜Antagonised? Well, no, that’s not the word … No, it’s not true that he antagonised me, but if you’re asking …’ Fergus stopped and looked over at the small camera recording each