“Paddy O’Dea?’ the ginger haired one said. He had a ring in his ear and a tattoo of a Celtic cross on his neck.
“Aye that’s me. Who’s asking?” Paddy demanded. He didn’t like young gobshites like these two. He was old but fast with his hands. He could give as good as he got, and he wasn’t in a mood to be screwed with.
“You’re coming with us.” Ginger hair said.
“Who says?”
Ginger hair moved his hand over his jacket and revealed a large handgun. “This is Mr. Smith and focking Wesson. He rules the street today, mate. You get in the car or we gun you down right here in front of your little ones. You want they should see you laying in the gutter? I can make your wish come true, old man.”
Paddy shook his head. “You’re right. Please let me go say goodbye to me grandkids.”
“Do it from here. Yell to them you got to go. Do it quick now or I’ll blow your focking head off. You hear me?”
“No need to swear,” Paddy said. He turned to his grandchildren, “Hey, kids, your granddad is going for a pint with these nice young men. Now go straight home to your gran, I’ll be along with sweets. Mind me now, you run along home.”
The two young kids stared at the men with their granddad. They didn’t move.
“Now, mind your granddad,” Ginger hair yelled. “We’ll bring him home in a bit.”
The kids moved slowly, taking each other’s hand and walking down the street looking over their shoulder.
“Nice kids, that,” Ginger said with a smile. “Now, get in the car.”
Paddy folded his body into the back of the little car. He was a tall man, with a wiry frame. His age had wracked his body with pain; he hurt in all his joints. He had to raise his knees up to fit in the back.
The car pulled away, making its way out of town, then took the road east towards the sea.
Paddy stared out the window for a bit, then looked at the two men. “If you don’t mind boys, I’d like it if you left my body somewhere to be found. My wife would like to give me a proper burial. I’d hate for her to find I’d been disappeared.”
“We’ll be deciding your fate, old man. Don’t worry about that,” Ginger hair replied.
Paddy blew out a breath. “Yeah, I know you’re feeling all God-like and omni-bloody-potent now with your gun, but if you’re good Catholics like myself, a proper burial is the least you can allow a man, even for one you hate.”
The other man, dark haired with sunglasses, said, “He’s right, Jamie, we owe it to his kin.”
“Ah Jesus, what the hell you are calling my name, you gobshite,” Jamie replied. “And we have orders to drop him over the cliff and let the sea take him away.”
“Okay, Paddy, my name’s Sean, and this here’s my mate Jamie,” the driver said. “We’ll make sure they find your body.”
“Aye, that’s kind of you. Now, if you don’t mind, who’s ordered me dead?” Paddy asked.
“None of your bloody business,” Jamie yelled, as he turned around. He pulled the gun from his waist belt. “I could put a bullet in you right now if you like.”
“Settle down,” Paddy said. “You don’t want to mess your car with my blood and brains, now do you?”
Sean turned to Jamie. “He’s right, Jamie, there’s no need, he’ll be dead soon enough. I just cleaned this car; you think I got time to clean it up before my date tonight?”
“You’re taking your girl to hear the band at the James Nolan Pub tonight?” Paddy asked.
“Yeah, they’re brilliant,” Sean replied.
“The fiddlers a bit off, the one they had before him…not sure I remember his name…” Paddy said.
“Seamus?”
“Aye, that’s the one. He could play a mean tune, that one.”
Sean smiled at him in the rearview mirror. “He’s my cousin, went off to Dublin to join a big band, he did.”
Paddy shook his head. “All the good ones go away.” He sat in silence for a while. “Now, if you could tell me what this is all about, then.”
“Someone asked us to settle an old score,” Sean said.
“Ah…that then. The Troubles come back to haunt us all in Ireland. I figure I caused enough grief in my time. I know the government pardoned all of us in the IRA, but those I killed and those I left as widows and orphans need a reckoning. Thanks for letting me know.”
They came along the coast; Sean pulled the car into a park overlooking the sea. Paddy got out of the back and walked away from the men toward the cliff and looked out towards the ocean.
“Nice calm day on the waters,” Paddy said. “Might be a good day to fish for bass.”
He turned and faced the men. Jamie pulled out his gun and came towards Paddy. He stood with the pistol aimed at his head.
Paddy advanced towards him. “You idjit. You’ll not shoot me in the head. The wife needs an open coffin.” He grabbed onto the gun and pointed it to his heart. “Now pull the damn trigger.”
Jamie stood there. With Paddy’s hands on the pistol he could feel his fingers on his. He froze.
“What’s got into you, man?” Paddy demanded. “You’ve no the balls to do this?”
Jamie’s hand started to shake on the gun. He stared into Paddy’s eyes, seeing the blue green flecks; the aged wrinkles the bushy eyebrows. He was lost in his gaze.
Paddy moved his hands forward on the gun. His two powerful thumbs pressed over Jamie’s trigger finger. Paddy pushed hard—with one jerk the gun fired. Paddy fell backwards onto the ground.
The sound of the gunshot echoed over the cliff. It died away slowly to be replaced by the sound of seagulls and the waves crashing on the cliffs below.
Jamie lowered the gun and walked towards the car.
“You’ve got a bit of blood on you,” Sean said.
Jamie didn’t respond. He got in the car and put the gun in the glove box.
Sean started the car, reversed it out of the car park, and headed back to Kildare.
They drove in silence for a while, then Sean turned to Jamie. “Did you know he was done for with cancer?”
“What do you mean?” Jamie asked.
“He was on a list for the hospice but couldn’t get in. He had maybe a week or two before he was done.”
“Then what the hell did we kill him for? We done the old focker a favor, didn’t we?’
“Aye, I guess we did. There’s no telling what our higher ups want in the order, but it’s done.”
“But I was supposed to shoot him in the head and drop him over the cliff, wasn’t I? How do we explain that?”
“We tell them we got interrupted by some passersby. Some tourists. We had to get it done and do a runner. Don’t worry we’ll be fine.”
Jamie looked down at his shirt. “Ah, bloody hell, I got blood on my shirt.”
“We’ll drop by your ma’s for a fresh shirt then off to the pub for a pint,” Sean said. He shifted the car into fourth gear and sped up. His nerves needed at least three pints of Guinness to get over today.
10
Bernadette and Evanston went over the reports from the seminary and realized how little they had. No one had seen anything, no one had witnessed anything, and the doors to the seminary had been left open all night.
“I think I want to talk to that Father Jo…”
“His name is Father Joesaphat,” Evanston said reaching for the witness statement.
“Okay, yeah, that guy,” Bernadette said. She picked up her phone and dialed the seminary. A woman answered, sounding like she was in her eighties, told her that Father Joesaphat was visiting with Father Dominic in the hospital.
“I’m going to head over the hospital and meet this Father Joe guy,” Bernadette said. “You want come with me?”
“No, I’ll stick here and keep my eyes on this incredible computer screen as it churns up useless information on a bunch of Irishmen and women on ski holiday. And, I hate hospitals. You can pick me up a foot long Subway sandwich on the way back. Roast turkey on whole wheat—l
oaded with no pickles.”
Bernadette grabbed her coat. “Did you want the cookie?”
“No, trying to lose weight,” Evanston said.
Bernadette drove the fifteen minutes to the Red Deer Regional Hospital and went into find Father Dominic. Now that Cahal had been cleared from the case, she could talk to anyone from the seminary. But she wasn’t sure what shape Dominic was in. Last she’d heard, he was recovering slowly from the concussion.
Front reception gave her his room number on the third floor. He wasn’t in intensive care anymore but in a regular room on the third floor.
Bernadette disliked hospitals as much as Evanston. Her dislike was from the many times she’d had to interview victims of knifing and gunshot wounds. The problem was, with most of the victims, it was often gang related. They somehow had cloudy memories and it wasn’t from the drugs they were on for the pain.
She walked into Father Dominic’s room and found him lying in bed with an IV in his arm and an oxygen tube in his nose. He looked peaceful as he slept.
Father Joesaphat was sitting beside him reading. He was in his early sixties, balding, with silver rim glasses that made his face look more oval. He was slim, wearing jeans and a large wool cardigan and boots.
He rose from his chair as she walked in.
“Detective, good to see you,” Father Joesaphat said.
“How is Father Dominic doing, Father Joso…”
“Please, just call me Father Joe.” He looked down at the patient. “Father Dominic has woken up a few times, but he’s quite confused about events. The doctors say he’ll be okay in a few days.
“That’s great, Father Joe,” Bernadette said taking a chair near the bed. “But I heard there was something about a misdiagnosis. Do you know anything about it?”
“It seems the local resident doctor on call for the neuro unit was a little green but eager to start the induced coma procedure he’d just learned about. Later the EEG readings showed Father Dominic wasn’t as injured as the doctor thought. So, they brought him out of the induced coma. But at the Father’s age, it’s a bit hard for him to get his bearings.”
Bernadette shook her head. “Yes, that’s why they call medicine a practice, not a science. I’m glad he made it through. Now, if I may, could I ask you some questions about Father Frederick?”
Father Joe took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Yes, of course, how may I help? I told you all I could of how I found the poor soul. Such a horrible way to die. I was in the chapel saying prayers for him this morning.”
Bernadette nodded. “Yes, I’m sure you did, but I need to ask you what Father Frederick and Father Dominic where doing at the seminary.”
“What do you mean?”
“Were you at the seminary when they arrived from Ireland?”
“Yes, they flew into Calgary from Dublin. I picked them up at the airport,” Father Joe said. “Two delightful men I must say.”
“Did they tell you of anything they were working on?”
“Working on? We’re all involved in the Lord’s work. That’s our mission until our last breath leaves our body.”
“Yes, I understand. But was there something they were involved in that concerned their past in Ireland?”
Father Joe paused for a moment and adjusted his glasses and leaned forward. “Father Frederick told me that Father Dominic was working on some memoirs, of a serious nature. I believe, now I can’t be certain, but it had something to do with their time in Ireland.”
“Do you know if there is any record of this in the seminary?”
“I’m afraid not. The police searched Father Frederick’s room and there was nothing there.”
“Do you think it was stolen last night?”
Father Joe shook his head. “I have no way of knowing. I never saw any manuscript on his desk or that of Father Dominic. In the two weeks prior they worked on a computer in the old main student study hall.”
Bernadette wrote a note: Look for a USB stick, do a search of seminary computer. “Thanks, Father Joe,” Bernadette said, putting her notebook away. “Will you let me know when Father Dominic is able to answer some questions? I’d like to come back and talk to him.”
“Yes, of course, but I’m afraid he’s had a bit of a setback.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I spoke to him briefly this morning, he didn’t seem to know who he was. I tried to tell him, but he seemed confused. The doctor thinks it’s temporary amnesia. He may come out of it, but they think it may take a week or more, if at all. It could be permanent.”
Bernadette felt her case slipping away from her. Another old man with a case of lost memory, the same as Cahal. This seemed to be an epidemic.
“Let me know if there’s any change, Father Joe,” Bernadette said as she got up.
A woman appeared at the door in green scrubs with a tray and a syringe. “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I need to administer some medicine.”
Bernadette was about to step aside to let her get to the IV. Then she stopped. The woman had no name badge. And the scrubs were surgical green. The nurses on the ward wore the usual patterns with floral tops and pants with numerous pockets. Another thing, she wore boots, most nurses wore comfortable shoes. Something was odd about this woman with the slight Irish accent.
“What medicine are you giving him, nurse…?” Bernadette asked leaving it open for the nurse to give her name.
“Ah…it’s a sedative, to help him sleep,” the nurse replied with a smile.
“He’s already sleeping.” Bernadette said. “Perhaps you’d like to give your name—mine’s Detective Callahan.”
The nurse started to back out of the room. “Oh so sorry, seems I’ve the wrong room. Sorry to have bothered you.”
“Wait, tell me your name,” Bernadette demanded.
“I’m late on my rounds—I must go,” the woman said as she rushed out the door.
Bernadette ran out behind her. The woman was charging down the corridor.
“Stop, I want to talk to you,” she yelled running after the nurse.
The woman rounded a corner. As Bernadette turned the corner, she found a big food trolley in her way. She was moving too fast. She crashed into it and sent the food trays flying onto the floor. Nurses came out of patient rooms, the hospital food staff looked on in amazement. There was food everywhere.
Bernadette lay on the floor with food wrapped in cellophane on trays, buns, and little portions of Jell-O and mini fruit cups rolling around.
“Are you okay?” a nurse named Constance asked walking into the corridor.
Bernadette brushed off a plate of meat loaf that had landed on her. “I’m fine. I was chasing a nurse that I suspected shouldn’t be on this ward. She was trying to administer something to Father Dominic.”
Nurse Constance bent down and helped Bernadette up. “What did she look like?”
“About twenty-five, blonde hair, blue eyes and wearing only surgical scrubs, and she was wearing boots.”
“There’s no one matching that description on this ward. And we don’t administer any medicine of any kind until well after the lunch is served. Did she have any ID on her?”
“That’s the thing, no name tag and no ID,” Bernadette said, straightening her jacket.
“I’d better call security. This sounds serious,” Constance said.
“Here’s my detective ID, tell security to come and see me,” Bernadette said.
She scraped some spaghetti off her sleeve and pulled out her cellphone to call the detachment and tell them to send some uniforms over to the hospital. They’d need to have an officer outside Father Dominic’s room and to search the hospital to see if the fake nurse was still in the hospital.
A hospital security guard named Corporal Fawcett came towards Bernadette. He had his radio blaring as other security officers were calling in their positions.
“I heard you’re in need of assistance, Detective. I have my entire team of officers ready to assist
,” Fawcett said.
Bernadette looked at him; he was young and eager. He wore his black utility belt with flashlight and handcuffs attached as if he was a policeman in uniform, another wannabe police officer, but he was keen.
“Corporal, you need to get your eyes on a female, five foot three, blonde, in surgical scrubs who’s masquerading as a nurse. She has no ID badge. I want her treated as extremely dangerous. Your personnel will report only—no engagement. You copy that?”
“Copy that,” Corporal Fawcett said. His hand almost went to a salute, but he stopped himself.
“I need a guard on Father Dominic’s room on this ward, one of your men will direct the police to this floor so they can start a search, and I’ll need to see your CCTV tapes for this area,” Bernadette said.
“Yes, Detective,” Corporal Fawcett replied. This time he couldn’t help himself. His right hand made a crisp salute. “Follow me.”
Bernadette waited a moment until they had a security guard at Father Dominic’s door and then met with three uniformed officers to give them an account of what had just taken place.
Constable Stewart was in the lead of the uniforms that arrived. “I think we search every laundry bag and disposal unit from here down to the main floor. She must have dropped that needle and the scrubs somewhere,” he said.
Bernadette put her hand on Stewart’s arm. “Damn it, Stewart, I’m glad you’re thinking. Of course, I’ll check the CCTV cameras to see where she went, and I’ll call you.
Bernadette followed Corporal Fawcett down to their security guard center on the hospital’s main floor. One female security officer was watching the monitors with a radio at her side.
Corporal Fawcett came to her side. “You see anything yet?”
The female officer named Sydney, pointed to a screen. “I pulled this up. This blonde lady is wearing a hoody and jeans. She goes into this linen room and comes out with the scrubs on.”
Bernadette grabbed her cellphone and dialed Stewart. “We’ve got a description of the perp. She’s wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt, jeans, blonde hair, five three, slight female. Treat as dangerous, you copy?”
Deadly Ancestors: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery (Bernadette Callahan Detective Series Book 5) Page 6
