Hayden had got quite a head of steam up. He paused, then placed a hand gently on Pascal’s shoulder. ‘You may wish to change the air on Eddie’s bicycle on your way out. Good for the inner tube.’
Pascal tittered happily as Hayden guided him towards the door and closed it behind him. Hayden then resumed his position at the centre of proceedings and carried on.
‘Next, we come to my immediate family,’ he said. ‘My parents have lived in Waikiki for many years. They couldn’t possibly have done it.’ A hint of suppressed bitterness entered his voice. ‘I haven’t seen them since the day before my seventh birthday.’
‘We remember it well, Hayding.’
‘Bad blood.’
‘But you’re right.’
‘They’d of needed a very long saw.’
‘Not “they’d of”, Dottie.’
‘Florrie.’
‘Don’t change the subject. “They’d of” is totally meaningless.’
Florrie pouted, her little head shaking with indignation.
‘Well, the existentialists would have us believe that life is totally meaningless, so what of it?’
‘The existentialists were French, for pity’s sake.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And besides, I very much doubt if Ludwig Wittgenstein, whose specialty –’
‘Speciality, but do go on.’
‘– was language itself, would have countenanced the use of “they’d of” if he was standing in the room here today.’
‘Which he isn’t, being as what he’s dead.’
‘Dead he may be, Dodie, but –’
‘I’m sure he was a wonderful lover, ladies,’ said Hayden, ‘but could we perhaps press on?’
29
The three aunts calmed down. A subdued Trace topped up the drinks. Hayden resumed.
‘We next come to Frankie, aka Francis, Pope.’
Lou Brannigan chuckled silently. This he had to hear. Frankie remained impassive. He was giving nothing away.
‘Frankie had a clear motive,’ said Hayden. ‘Revenge for humiliation.’ Hayden avoided eye contact with Frankie and gave this time to sink in. ‘Allow me.’ He opened the back door and led them out into the garden. The late evening sun, almost autumnal in its melancholy russet hues, shone across Eddie’s sculpted masterpiece, which now resembled nothing more or less than celebrated comic novelists Somerville and Ross. Time: 20.59. Against the back wall, Hayden had lined up several kitchen chairs in preparation. ‘Now, if everyone would kindly hoick themselves up onto a chair, I’ll explain exactly what I mean.’
They made their way to the bottom of the garden, past the statue, and did as bidden. Hayden avoided eye contact with Frankie. Guilty or innocent? He really wasn’t sure any more. He stood on the chair in the centre and pointed at Frankie’s living room.
‘Observe,’ he said.
The three aunts giggled in unison.
‘We can’t observe, Hayding.’
‘Unless you want us to observe the wall.’
‘Only we can’t see over. It’s a height ting.’19
‘So just describe the object of your observations wit your usual verbal eloquence.’
‘Not to mention your natural talent for the felicitous turn of phrase.’
Hayden looked at them to see if they were being humorous. Difficult to tell. They stared blankly at the wall.
The learned Professor Stern devotes a whole chapter in his equally learned Disquisition to the deadpan school of comedy20, including snapshot profiles of several leading practitioners of this most subtle of art forms. No mention of the aunts. Hayden kept an open mind and wound back.
‘Observe,’ he repeated. ‘Frankie Pope’s living room. Observe the painting above the mantelpiece.’
‘No, Hayding. We don’t. But do carry on.’
Lou Brannigan coughed politely. ‘Neither do we.’
Hayden looked closer. Good point. The painting was gone.
Frankie Pope shifted uneasily. ‘That bit of business I was referring to earlier. I was putting it back in the shed.’
‘I see.’ It was now Hayden’s turn to look sheepish. ‘Follow me,’ he said. ‘No chairs required.’
He led them to the shed. It was beginning to look like a conducted tour of the Great Man’s estate, which, in a funny sort of way, it was. He opened the shed door and ushered them inside. Frankie had placed Eddie’s portrait on an easel in pride of place.
‘Oh, very dramatic, Hayding.’
‘The setting, the wooden surrounds, the serendipitous presence of that golden orb, the sun.’
‘All conspiring to suffuse Eddie’s final artwork wit a look of permanence, of history yet modernity.’
‘Of den-ness, if you will, yet now-ness.’
‘As if it had just been painted yet, simultaneously, always existed.’
Beautifully put. The aunts certainly knew their art but, as with nuts, now was not the time. Hayden coughed for silence.
‘Portrait of a Lady,’21 he began. ‘Magnificent living room. Marble mantelpiece. Now, train your eyes on the sitter or, more accurately, stander. An elegant woman in Victorian attire. Hair just so. Subtly lit in muted hues suggesting a bygone age. At her feet, beside the fireplace, a sleeping dog. A nineteenth century masterpiece acquired by the Pope family at Christie’s of London for an undisclosed sum, perhaps? Not so. The painting was recently purloined by, or, put it another way –’
He looked straight at Frankie Pope. Frankie Pope looked straight back.
‘Nicked,’ Frankie said. ‘I know what purloined means.’ Hayden made eye contact with Lou Brannigan, for the record. But Frankie hadn’t finished. ‘Eddie bequested it to me verbally. Then he died, so I, well, I...’ Frankie paused to repress what might have been a sob. ‘But it’s been eating away at me. Theft, you know? It’s not my way. Never has been.’ Brannigan snorted. Frankie ignored him and carried on. ‘So I had a quick think. What would Eddie say? “I died at a bad time for you, Frankie. Take it on the chin, lad. Put it back.”’
Frankie left it there. Hayden pressed on.
‘To continue,’ he said, ‘look closer at the painting. The dog in question is Rusty.’ Rusty barked as if to confirm this. ‘Good dog. My point? This is no nineteenth century masterpiece but an authentic Eddie McGlynn. The portrait in question is not some titled lady from a bygone age. Why, the lady in question is none other than – look closer – Frankie Pope her – sorry, himself.’
‘Sure we know that, Hayding.’
‘We were there when he stood for the sitting.’
Hayden ignored the three aunts. He was in full flow. ‘Here’s a plausible theory,’ he said. ‘Eddie painted a member of the notorious Pope fraternity as a woman. Bit of a laugh for Frankie, perhaps. Bit of a wheeze.’ Frankie looked upset, but Hayden was now committed. Best to carry on. ‘Frankie, however, lived to regret it. Eddie had undermined his masculinity. This, in the cold light of sobriety, was an act of deep and ritual humiliation for a man in his position. In an effort to make sure this folly on his part went no further, Frankie nicked the painting.’
‘Purloined,’ said Frankie. ‘We’ve been through all that.’
‘But that wasn’t all,’ said Hayden. ‘No. Instead of destroying the evidence, he put the painting on his mantelpiece, possibly for one last loving look. Great painting, and it was, after all, him. Bad move; the reaction of his siblings, who may have popped round for a surprise visit, was apoplexy all round. Inference? In World of Mafioso or Irish equivalent, he had to do away with Eddie to reclaim his manhood.’
Lou Brannigan gave Hayden an approving look. ‘Good man yourself,’ he said. ‘Full marks. I’ll just contact the lads if, that is,’ – he turned to Frankie – ‘it’s all the same with yourself.’
Frankie looked sadly at Hayden. Hayden looked away. He’d start
ed down a particular route, so he might as well see where it led.
‘However,’ he continued, ‘if Frankie Pope had wanted to do away with Eddie, why didn’t he just blast him with an Uzi?’
Marina tutted playfully. ‘Perish the thought. It’s not that sort of area.’
Well you can talk, Madam. Hayden almost said this, but Brannigan was giving him the hard cop stare. ‘Let’s get this straight,’ he said. ‘Are you suggesting our friend here didn’t do it?’
Hayden held the shed door open and ushered everyone out. The sun was sinking low in a magnificent fiery blaze over the garden, and Eddie’s masterpiece now resembled legendary folkloric heroine Queen Méabh in full battle dress. Not that anyone noticed. They were too busy waiting for Hayden’s reply. He closed and bolted the door, then walked slowly towards the house, savouring the tension afforded by stretching the term ‘dramatic pause’ to the outer limits of its meaning. They re-entered the house. Trace reached for the sparkling water, but Hayden coughed politely and she backed off. Hayden stood in the centre of the room and waited until they were all settled in place, Frankie sitting on the sofa this time as if upset by the whole business.
Hayden then resumed. ‘Frankie loved Eddie,’ he said. ‘Eddie was his mentor. He loves the painting. It takes a bit of getting used to, but Frankie is in touch with his feminine side. So no, he didn’t kill Eddie.’
A rejuvenated Frankie clapped his hands on his knees and stood up. ‘Glad that’s sorted,’ he said, heading to the door. ‘Anyway, got to go. Bit of business to attend to.’
Lou Brannigan chuckled knowingly. ‘I’ll bet you do,’ he said. ‘I’ll bet you do.’
Frankie gave him the soft stare. ‘Advanced art class at nine,’ he said. ‘I promised Eddie.’ He pointed a playful finger at Brannigan and cocked his thumb. Not so much ‘gotcha’ as ‘touché’. Then he was gone. Brannigan looked puzzled. He turned his attention to Hayden.
‘Hold on there a miniscule minyute,’ he said. ‘You’ve called us here to unmask an alleged killer. Someone in this very room, quote unquote. So if mister-our-friend there didn’t do it, then who in the name of Saint Mother Teresa did in your expert and, I’d have to say, gasbag-of-the-feckin-year opinion?’
Hayden overlooked the fact that the ‘Mother’ bit had been dropped when the ‘Saint’ bit was added. This was no time for verbal niceties. He jabbed an accusatory finger at Detective Inspector Lou Brannigan.
‘You did.’
* * *
19 I’ve edited a bit here. ‘Height is a feminist issue, Hayding. Discuss.’ They did.
20 Prof. Larry Stern, Disquisition, Chapter LXXI – The Mask That Freezes the Face.
21 Subtitle: A Man’s a Man for a’ That.
30
Dramatic stuff, which is why I added a chapter break. The action is continuous, but Hayden’s bombshell is a lot to take in.
‘I did?’ said Brannigan. ‘I did? Are you demented entirely? That’s some accusation, mister. I’ll tell you something, and you can keep it to yourself or spread it round the world on social meejah if the fancy takes you, but next time I pour a pot of tea on your testicularities –’
The three aunts giggled as one woman.
‘So that explains the stain, Hayding. Only we were wondering.’
‘You know. Man of a certing age.’
‘Well that’s a blessèd relief anyway. You had us worried there on the continence front.’
‘Sorry, Constable. You were saying?’
‘Detective Inspector if it’s all the same to you. The term Constable left this particular megalopolis with the last vestiges of perfidious Albion.’ Brannigan’s mobile went. He answered it. ‘What? Well whaddya know. That’ll be the curse o’ God Popes. I’ll be straight over.’ He shoved his mobile into his pocket and relaxed back into himself. ‘Incident in darkest Coolock,’ he said. ‘I suppose I’d better show willing.’
He started at a leisurely pace for the door, but the three aunts weren’t having it.
‘Ah now, fair’s fair, Deputy.’
‘You’ve just been accused of murder.’
‘Exonerate yourself, or fess up and turn yourself in to the relevant autorities.’
‘To wit, yourself.’
They started giggling like peewits on helium. Lou Brannigan ignored them and turned to Hayden. ‘You have two minyutes. And it had better be good, because I’ll tell you for why. I’ve never killed Eddie McGlynn in my life.’
Hayden looked around. He was running out of suspects. It had to be Brannigan. Or Brannigan and Marina. Or Marina. Their story just didn’t make sense otherwise. He drew on all his skills as a performer, polished the nut absently on his jacket, and outlined his cast iron case. ‘It all started,’ he began, ‘with this.’
He walked over to the answering machine and pressed play. They waited. A husky female voice: ‘You haven’t settled up yet, Eddie. So call Marina. I really must insist.’ A short pause. The voice dropped a register. ‘Or else, my sweet. Or else.’
Hayden studied Brannigan and Marina closely while the message played.
‘This message was left several weeks ago, before the fatal incident. What was I to make of that? I wasn’t sure. Who was this Marina? What did she mean by settle up?’ He dropped his voice to a gravelly whisper. ‘“Or else, my sweet. Or else.”’
‘Questions questions questions, Hayding. And you wanted answers.’
‘Was it den you decided to become a sloot, was it Hayding?’
‘Sorry, Hayding. More questions.’
‘Good news about the trousers, dough. You had us worried there.’
‘But do carry on.’
Hayden carried on. ‘I checked with my old and trusted friend Bram. Did he know a Marina?’
‘Oh now, Hayding. Say no more.’
‘By which we mean pray continue.’
Hayden continued. ‘Bram, to my surprise, came over all coy.’ He looked accusingly at Marina. ‘And no wonder.’
‘He doesn’t look the type, Hayding. But I suppose it takes all sorts. On you go.’
‘“She lives across the road from Eddie’s,” said Bram. “The house with the rhododendrons. Big sign outside. Red coupé if the lady in question is in.” I strolled up from the Nautical Buoy and Marina arrived bang on cue. Introductions over, she ordered me upstairs for a quote double session’ – Trace gripped her bottle like a comfort blanket and blanched. She looked like someone who could use a stiff drink. Another couple of digits off her Twelve Point Plan? Hayden looked straight at Marina – ‘unquote.’
‘Did she indeed, Hayding?
‘Oh now. And what do you suppose she meant by that?’
‘I think we all know what she meant,’ said Hayden. ‘Marina, and I’m sure she’ll back me up on this, is a whore.’
‘Janey times tree, Hayding. We speak as one.’
‘A whore?’ said Brannigan menacingly. ‘Is that a factual fact?’
Marina smiled at Hayden. An enigmatic smile. ‘Do go on,’ she said. ‘You build a compelling case.’
‘Anyway, there I stood, stunned,’ continued Hayden. ‘Enter Detective Inspector Lou Brannigan. Cue an outrageously implausible red herring about missing cats.’
‘Cats and fish in the same sentence, Hayden,’ smiled Marina. ‘I’m impressed.’
Hayden experienced an unbidden frisson at her use of his name. He sublimated and ploughed on. ‘DI Brannigan, to continue, also ordered me to do what the lady said.’
‘Go upstairs, you naughty Hayding.’
‘Divest yourself of your outer cloding fortwit.’
She didn’t say anything of the sort, but Hayden let the three aunts have their little moment. Which, as with everything else to do with the aunts, he would shortly live to regret.
‘It might have all been perfectly innocent, Haydin
g. The lovely lady might have wanted him to wash your trousers for you.’
‘As he was responsible for the stain in the first place.’
Hayden gave his aunts a cold look. ‘Point of information. The pot-of-tea-on-trousers scene came later. At this stage in the proceedings, there was no stain. Brannigan was covering for the “lovely lady”, for reason or reasons unknown.’ He glowered at Brannigan, then addressed a final summing up to the room. ‘Reason or reasons unknown.’ He paused to let the repetition sink in. ‘Or were they? I put it to you that the aforementioned Marina is a whore, that this alleged upholder of the law of the land is her pimp, that the answerphone message was a thinly-veiled threat, the result of which,’ – he lifted the empty urn from the table – ‘you see before you. I rest my case.’
Trace glanced over at Marina. She seemed, from her expression, to delight in Marina’s guilt. The three aunts, enraptured by Hayden’s rhetoric, were about to lead the applause, but Brannigan got in there first.
‘Persuasively argued,’ he said. He put a protective arm around Marina and spoke to her with uncharacteristic gentleness. ‘Will you demolish it, kiddo, or will I?’ Rhetorical question. Detective Inspector Lou Brannigan had the floor and he intended to keep it that way.
‘To understand the little scene outlined by our intrepid sleuth here,’ he began, ‘which, by the way, is incorrect in every particular, we need to take a trip back into the past. To the precise moment I found out I was adopted.’ Marina sighed but said nothing. ‘To that moment when I discovered a letter from my,’ – Brannigan choked with emotion – ‘a letter from my,’ – Marina squeezed his hand – ‘my mother, in the adoption papers. A letter I have since kept close to my tear-stained heart.’
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