The Lost Child (Detective Lottie Parker #3)(37)

A dog, big and black, raced out and circled the wheels of her car. Lottie switched off the engine and got out, praying it would back off. It didn’t.

‘Go away. Shoo. Scram. Good doggie.’ She twisted in circles, trying to keep the animal from jumping up on her. A Rottweiler with yellow teeth, dripping drool. ‘Get off, dog!’

‘What’s all the commotion?’ A man turned the corner of the house. ‘Down, boy. Mason, lie down.’

The dog snarled and threw Lottie a lingering look before turning and strolling to its master.

‘Who are you?’ he said, chaining the animal to a hook on the barn wall. Wisps of long grey hair poked out from beneath his peaked tweed cap. Lottie surmised he must be at least seventy.

‘Detective Inspector Lottie Parker.’ She flashed her ID. ‘And you are…’

‘I think you already know who I am.’

‘Your dog doesn’t seem to like me, Mr O’Dowd. But I’m not too bad once you get to know me.’ She smiled at the attempted joke.

O’Dowd’s grimace curled his face into an unreadable expression. ‘I hope you won’t be here long enough to get to know.’ He glanced at the ID and his hand swallowed hers in a firm shake. ‘What can I help you with?’

She tried not to visibly recoil as the wind carried his body odour towards her. He smelled like someone who hadn’t washed after sex. Lottie shuddered, thinking it was probably a long time since O’Dowd had engaged in such an activity.

Planting her feet firmly and facing the rising wind, she said, ‘I was in the area. Wondered if you knew anything about the cottage up the road, the one that burned down?’

‘Spoke to a detective this morning.’ He sniffed, shaking his head. ‘Do you not talk to each other?’

He turned and walked towards one of the large sheds.

Lottie followed. ‘We do, but I’m the curious sort. Like to hear things first hand. If you don’t mind.’

‘I do mind, and I’m very busy. My day’s been upset enough already. I’ve cows in the milking shed waiting for me.’

‘Don’t let me delay you. Go ahead. I’ll watch, you talk.’

He kept walking, hand raised, directing her. ‘You need wellington boots around here.’

‘So this is a milking shed, is it?’ Lottie scanned the large barn. Two rows of cows, heads through wrought-iron bars, chewing hay, their teats connected to milking machines behind them.

‘I’m sure you don’t want an agricultural lesson.’ He took off his waxed jacket and hung it on a post, then began checking the machines, tightening and loosening as he went.

She loitered at the door. ‘How many cows do you have?’

‘Thirty. Used to have up on two hundred. Not much business in dairy any more, but it keeps me busy. I do a bit of beef farming as well. Heifers and bulls.’ He pointed to a row of animals away on the far side of the shed.

‘Jesus, they’re huge,’ Lottie said, sizing up the animals standing on a slatted floor. They seemed to be as wide as they were tall. She turned back to the cows being milked. ‘Do those things… hurt the cows?’

He laughed sardonically. ‘Why don’t you ask them?’

Folding her arms, she leaned against the wall. ‘Maybe another time,’ she said. ‘Tell me about the cottage. Who lived there?’

‘Never saw anyone. Heard a car with a heavy exhaust, couple of times a week. Carving doughnuts on the road, no doubt. But they didn’t bother me. So I never had reason to call anyone about it.’

‘Until this morning.’ She unfolded her arms and stepped further into the enclosure, holding on to one of the bars. The cow beside her lifted its tail.

‘Righto. Until this morning.’ O’Dowd looked over. ‘Wouldn’t stand too close if I was you.’

‘Why not?’ Lottie jumped out of the way as shit flowed from the cow’s arse down to the straw-covered floor. ‘Okay, I get it.’

He laughed. She thought it sounded more in derision than amusement. Resuming her vigil by the door, she had to shout above the noise of the machinery.

‘You were at home when you saw the flames, that right?’

‘I was in my house, getting ready to start the day. Looked out the window. Like Bonfire Night up there, it was.’ He nodded his head in the direction of the cottage. ‘Got into my Land Rover, so I did. Rushed up the road. Once I saw how bad it was, I rang the fire service.’

‘Did you notice anyone in or around the cottage?’

‘There was a car out the front, but I wasn’t sure if there was anyone inside the cottage or not. And the flames were raging. I’m not young, nor a daredevil, so I didn’t venture past the gate.’

Lottie watched O’Dowd working his way down the line of cattle, kicking up straw as he went.

‘So you didn’t go closer to see if anyone needed help?’ she asked.

The muscles of O’Dowd’s broad shoulders seemed to constrict under his tartan shirt before he trekked back to her. He wiped his hands on a clump of hay and pulled on his jacket.

‘I’m no hero, Inspector.’

‘Do you know who owned or rented out the cottage?’

‘Haven’t a clue. Maybe through an estate agent?’