Tipperary The rain was falling as sleet and there were no stars or moonlight to guide Knox, but he knew the track well, knew it as he knew everything else in Dundrum. He fought back another wave of anger. Usually the walk from the church to Quarry Field might have taken him half an hour but Knox covered the distance in ten minutes, running more than walking, impervious to the sleet and cold. He didn’t knock. He just opened the door and stumbled into the front room, red-faced and out of breath. His mother was knitting by the fire, a woollen shawl draped over her knees. His father appeared from the bedroom, wearing trousers held up by braces, and an old vest. There was no sign of his brothers. ‘What is it, Michael?’ His mother could see his expression, see that all was not fine. ‘I have two words to say to you, Mam. John Johns.’ Knox saw her flinch as if he had struck her. She put her hand to her mouth and gasped. Knox’s father remained rooted to the spot, unable to say anything.
What do You think about Bloody Winter: A Pyke Mystery?
