Borderlands Read Free Page B

reassure the public, we had no idea
who had killed Angela Cashell, how she had been killed or, more worryingly, why
someone would kill a fifteen- year-old girl and dump her naked body on a river
bank.
     
    Penny
and Shane were granted a maternal dispensation to stay up past bedtime to watch
Daddy on TV. They almost fell asleep, though, during the main report, which was
on the US President's announcement that 50,000 troops were to be sent to
supplement the 60,000 already stationed in the Middle East.
    When
the brief article on the Cashell murder was finally aired, it was sandwiched
between a report on the rising price of housing and a story about a drug
trafficker who had been murdered in Dublin. The newscasters expressed more
sincere concern about the house prices than the death of the unnamed dealer.
    As
I placed Shane in his cot, I heard a knock on the door, and a few seconds later
the sound of Debbie inviting a visitor in. I peered out through our bedroom
window and saw our neighbour Mark Anderson's pick-up truck parked in the
driveway. Mark actually lived over half a mile away, but he owned all the land
bordering our house, fields in which he grazed his sheep and cattle. He was an
odd, socially awkward man, and I was surprised to see him. The only time he had
called on us before was to appeal for leniency after I arrested his son,
Malachy, who had been caught peeping in Sharon Kennedy's bedroom window from
the tree outside her house. Her husband had felled the tree that same evening.
    When
I came back downstairs Anderson was sitting in the living room, perched so
close to the edge of the sofa he looked as though he would fall off. He stood
up when I came in and I smiled and extended my hand. "Happy Christmas,
Mark," I said. "Good to see you."
    He
did not reciprocate my smile or greeting but said simply, "Your dog's been
annoying my sheep."
    "Excuse
me," I said, moving over to where Debbie was sitting.
    "Your
dog's been worrying my sheep. I saw it."
    Our
dog is a six-year-old basset-hound called Frank, which I bought for Debbie on
our fifth wedding anniversary when it seemed we could not have children. Four
months after we bought him, Debbie found out she was pregnant with Penny, and
so Frank became very much my dog. Now that Penny was older, she too had become
attached to him. At night we kept him locked in a shed we built for him, and I
told Anderson as much.
    "I
know what I seen," he said. "Anything happens to any of my sheep,
I'll put a bullet in the mutt. I've warned you."
    Penny,
who had stopped watching the TV at the start of the conversation, now stared up
at Anderson open-mouthed and panic-stricken.
    "There's
no need for threats, Mark. Frank's a good dog and I don't think he'd be
annoying your sheep. I'm sure you're mistaken, but we'll keep an extra careful
eye on him." I winked at Penny conspiratorially. She tried to smile back,
but did so without confidence.
    "Well,
don't say I didn't warn you. If that dog's in my field, I'll kill it," he
repeated, then nodded, as though we had had a conversation about the weather,
and bade us a happy Christmas.
    When
he left, Penny sidled over to me and tugged on my trouser leg. "Is he
gonna hurt Frank, Daddy?" Her voice cracked as she spoke and her eyes
reddened.
    "No,
sweetie," Debbie said, and came over and lifted her in her arms.
"Daddy'll make sure that Frank stays inside every night, then nothing will
happen to him. Isn't that right, Daddy?" she said, looking at me while
hugging Penny into her and swaying lightly from side to side.
    "That's
right, sweetheart," I said. "Frank will be alright."

Chapter Two
     
    Sunday, 22nd December
     
    The
following morning I took Debbie and the children to early Mass, where Penny
insisted we say a special prayer for Frank, and the entire congregation prayed
for the repose of the soul of Angela Cashell and for comfort for her family in
their tragedy. Yesterday's snow flurries had cleared and the sky was fresh as
water, the wind sharp, the