“I know that’s not yer style and nights are busy here, but maybe you could come over for lunch and I could introduce you to the staff? Oh, didja have lunch with Gillian like you planned?” Rose interrupted her daydreaming.
“I did. She’s still stuck trying to find a childminder so she can get some work done. But she doesn’t know a lot of people your age or even my age around here who are looking for that kind of work, and all she can find online are people who want a lot of money and more besides. Have you had a chance to ask anyone at the cookery school?”
“Sorry, no, but I will. In summer I’m guessin’ it’s not hard to find someone, but Gillian’s going ta want someone past that, and people go back to school. I’ll kick it around with some of the girls I’ve met—maybe they have sisters. Or even mothers, lookin’ for a little cash.”
Maura noticed that Rose was avoiding her eyes. “And all your own friends have gone off to do something else, right?”
“Yes. Internships, study, some to uni, some to jobs in Cork city, living with six other people in a flat.”
“Would you want to do that?”
Rose shook her head slowly. “I’m not sayin’ I’d mind a chance to see a bit of the world, but I’ve always been the one to look after things. I wouldn’t know how to put me first.”
Maura sighed. “I hear you. Neither of us seems to have had a chance to be young and enjoy it.”
Rose looked up and flashed Maura a brief smile. “Are yeh complainin’?”
“With all that’s been handed to me in the past year? Of course not. But you have a chance to plan, not just wait for something to fall into your lap.”
Rose stepped back and put her hands on her hips. “Maura Donovan, are yeh tryin’ to get rid of me?”
“Heck, no. You’re the one who brings in the younger men, and some of the older ones as well. I’d lose money if you left.”
“Good to know I’m needed.”
Chapter Twelve
When Maura had a free moment, she leaned toward Rose and said, “Did Jannie talk with you?”
“No more than a few words. She’s only lonely. She wasn’t happy about coming along on this trip, and there’s been little to change her mind. I told her I’d take her to talk with some kids her age, maybe hang out a bit. If her parents will let her out of their sight.”
“I guess they haven’t traveled much, or at least not outside the States. And—I know I sound ridiculous saying this—kids grow up so fast today, and I think they haven’t noticed that. I hope they relax and find a way to enjoy themselves.”
“No worries,” Rose said, polishing the bar top.
Maura turned away to clear the table in the front and saw Sergeant Ryan coming in, wearing his usual expression, which was grim. She seemed to recall having seen him smile—once or twice—but she assumed he was in work mode now. “Sergeant.” She nodded to him when he was close. “Can we get you anything? Or do you have news for us?”
“No to the both of yer questions. I’d like to ask some more questions. Can we go somewhere more private?”
Was that good or bad news? Maura wondered. “Let’s go to the back room, and we can shut the door. You’ve seen where the body was found?”
“I’ve had a quick look at the place, but I just want to make sure my information is correct.”
“I did talk to Sean Murphy, you know.” Maura wondered if it might be a mistake to bring him up—she wasn’t sure if the sergeant had figured out her working relationship with Sean yet, since Conor Ryan hadn’t been part of the Skibbereen station for long. But she didn’t want to waste anybody’s time repeating the same information.
“And I’ve read his notes. But it never hurts to have another eye look at the facts.”
“Fine.” Maura led him to the back room, where the music happened. Right now it was empty, and she walked over to one of the tables at the far end. Not that anyone would try to eavesdrop on their conversation. “What do you want to know?” Even though she kept her voice low, the sound echoed off the high ceiling, since the large room was empty of other people.
Sergeant Ryan pulled out the standard pocket-sized note pad and leafed through it. “You called the station to report you’d found what you believed to be the body of a man at the base of the bridge at approximately one o’clock on Monday. How did you come to find him?”
Why was it that all of Ryan’s questions sounding vaguely like accusations? And she’d already reported the details to Sean. But she swallowed her resentment and said, “It was a busy morning, and I wanted to get some air and find a quiet seat to eat my lunch. I went out the back and sat down, and then I noticed something at the bottom of the ravine. I thought somebody had dumped a bag of trash there, but when I looked more carefully, I realized it was a person.”
“Do people often dump things there?”
“Not that I know of. Of course, I’ve only been here a year, so that’s all I can speak of. But I understand that the fencing on the bridge there is kind of new. I don’t know who put that up, or why.”
“What is the extent of your property?”
What did he mean by that? Maura wondered. “On this side of the ravine? Well, there’s the pub itself, and the land goes up the hill for a bit—I’ve never looked for the end of it, since nobody’s using it. There’s a small building there, you know, but it’s empty now. There’s maybe ten or fifteen feet toward the east, where the steps are that lead down from the balcony up there.” She pointed to the corner above. “In the other direction, toward Skibbereen, there’s the couple of buildings right on the road that don’t belong to me, but behind those, I guess I own the land to the edge of the ravine. I don’t know if I have any responsibility for keeping the ravine clean or clear of trash—nobody’s ever asked me to do anything about it. You could ask Mick, since he’s worked here longer. But the guys across the way have been working to make a tourist attraction of it, in the summer. If they’d been around on Monday, they would have found the man first.” If only. “Did you talk to them?”
“Sure and we did, but they were long gone when the death happened,” Ryan replied, scribbling something on his pad. “But…” Maura waited. “How many means of access are there to your side of the ravine?” Ryan finally said.
“I can’t say for sure. From the back of this building, for one. Probably from the property on the other side—there’s no fence. Maybe even down the hill from above, although I’ve never seen anyone coming from that direction. I don’t know what’s up there.”
“And yer gate to the street,” Ryan said bluntly. “Is it always open?”
“Yes. I never bother to lock it because the only place it leads is to the pub, and those doors I do keep locked when we’re closed. I’ve never heard of any break-ins along here.”
“Yeh’re usin’ the space round back?”
“Some of it, when we need it. Mostly for overflow—I can put a couple of tables out there when I need to, and there are some lights, but it’s kind of thrown together. There’s a storage shed too, where we keep the fuel and stuff. The idea was that people would come in the front and get their drinks, and if they got hot or thought it was too crowded, they could go out there and cool off. It hasn’t happened too often—more often recently, I guess, now that it’s summer. Why do you want to know?”
Sergeant Ryan cocked his head and studied her silently for a few moments. “The other gardaí tell me yeh can be trusted, so I’m willin’ to tell yeh. Yeh probably already know that we believe the man was brought in through that gate of yers. Which says several things. One, he knew it was there and he knew where it led. Am I right?”
“Makes sense. You’ve see it—you know it’s not marked. So he would have to have known or at least guessed what it was, which means he must have been here sometime. That’s what you mean?”
“In part. He knew he could get behind yer buildin’ here, and then he’d be out of sight, him and the body. The question is, was it no more than luck, or did he know about the gull
y there?”
“You mean, did he figure it would be a good place to hide a body, where it wouldn’t be noticed for a while? That’s hard to say. I don’t know if you’ve been around here long enough to hear the story about O’Donovan’s Leap, which is what gave this village its name. But knowing the story and knowing what the layout actually is now are two different things. Sure, the bridge has been there for a very long time, but how would someone know how visible something at the bottom would be? I mean, I work alongside it, but I don’t go out there much, and I hardly ever look down, so it was simple chance that I noticed anything. Something or someone could have been lying there for quite a while.” Maura thought for a moment. “Look, let me ask you a question. How do you know that it wasn’t a couple looking for a private place for, well, what people do in summer, and things got out of hand and the guy ended up dead?”
“Nice try, but there’s reason why that wasn’t what we think. Fer one, the man was stabbed, more than once. All right, that might’ve fit yer idea, but then there was a blood trail from the street, so he was already bleedin’ when he was brought to yer back yard. Second, his face was bashed about, so someone didn’t want us to recognize him. Third, it would have taken a strong person to pitch him over the edge and have him land smack in the middle.”
Maura hadn’t noticed the blood trail, but she’d been behind her building or inside the pub after finding the body. “Okay, I see your point. At least you can say that whoever killed him didn’t come through the pub but from outside. I’m happy to hear that.”
He nodded, but then added, “But that’s not to say he hadn’t been here in the past, maybe snooped around a bit. Have yeh had much turnover in yer staff?”
Maura stifled a laugh. “Not since I’ve been here, which is just over a year now. Maybe he’s worked at some of the other pubs or businesses here and been in this place? So he’d know the layout?”
“We’re askin’ everyone, of course. Do yeh have any enemies? You inherited the place, am I right?”
“Yes, from someone my grandmother knew. I never met him.”
“Is there someone who thinks he should have gotten it, not you?”
“Not that I know of, but I have kind of a short history here. My grandmother said he had no heirs, and his will was pretty simple. You could ask Billy Sheahan—he lives at the end of the building, and he knew the former owner for years. Before you ask, he’s over eighty, and a pint is about all he can lift. There’s no way he could dump a body. On the other hand, he’s in the pub most days and nights, so he might have seen something.”
“And might I find him at home?”
“Probably. He rarely goes anywhere except to Sullivan’s. He doesn’t have any family. I haven’t seen him today, so I’m sure he’ll show up soon. By the way, he’s a great resource for local history and all the families around here, if you need information about things like that.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. So there’s no one that comes to mind who might have a grudge against you, personally, or the place itself?”
Maura shook her head. “Not that I know of, but I’m still the new kid. Have you heard anything like that?”
“Nah, but I’ve just started talkin’ to people.” He shut his notebook with a crisp snap.
“Can I ask you something else?” Maura said quickly.
“Is it about this death?”
“Kind of. Look, you transferred here from Limerick, right? I haven’t been there, but it’s a city, isn’t it?”
“That it is. With the crime that goes with a city, if that’s what yeh’re askin’.”
“Not exactly. It must be very different for you to try to investigate in a small-town setting, where everybody knows everybody else’s business.”
“I’d say that cuts two ways. The good thing is, people notice anythin’ out of the ordinary.”
“Like somebody sneaking around carrying a body? By the way, was he just slung over somebody’s shoulder, or stuffed in a duffle bag or a suitcase? Rolled in a rug? I mean, somebody with a body would be kind of obvious if anyone saw him.”
“That’s a fair point, but nobody’s mentioned either. Could be he was dumped in the wee hours—well after yer closin’ time—when nobody was about.”
Which I had already deduced. “Which makes it even more likely that whoever was carrying him around had checked out this place by daylight. No way would anybody figure it out in the dark, in a hurry.”
Maura realized she had more questions, and she’d better ask them quickly before Sergeant Ryan went on to his next interview. “So nobody knows who the dead man was yet?”
“That’s right,” Ryan said, then stopped.
“How are you hoping to find out?”
He sighed. “By talkin’ to people like yerself, I guess. There’s no hard evidence. Worst case, it was a pub fight between two people who’d just met, and we might never know. Maybe it wasn’t even the winner of the fight who took care to clean up the scene, but someone who didn’t want any trouble at his own place. Or maybe it was a personal thing, with no witnesses. We can only ask, which is what I’m doin’.”
“Then I won’t keep you. But one more question. There’s an American couple who just arrived, and they’re staying not far from here. They’ve heard about the death, and now they’re wondering how safe this place is. I have to say, they’re kind of timid, and they haven’t been abroad before, but I tried to tell them they didn’t have anything to worry about. Is that fair? I mean, I’m American too, and I’ve lived mainly in a big city, so my view of what a ‘lot’”—Maura made air quotes—“of crime is is kind of skewed.”
Ryan smiled for the first time. “As is mine. But this is a safe part of the country, by anyone’s standards. They’re more likely to run their car into a cow in the road than to be the victim of a human crime, far less a violent one.”
Maura smiled back. “Can I quote you?”
Ryan stood up. “I’d best be on my way. I’ve others in the village here to talk to. Let me know if you see or hear anything that troubles you. I’ve been told you’ve a good eye and ear for crime.”
Maura stood up as well. “Probably because I’m still kind of an outsider, so I see things differently. I don’t see what I expect to see, if you know what I mean. But I hope I’ve helped.”
“Your assistance in garda matters is greatly appreciated,” the sergeant said formally. “I’ll be goin’ now.”
“I’ll see you out.”
When they emerged into the main room, the crowd had grown and Mick was behind the bar. Old Billy had arrived and claimed his seat. Ryan walked out the door, and on leaving he turned right, toward the other places that served food, and Maura went over to the bar. Mick leaned toward her. “And what was that about?”
“Just the garda following up. I can’t believe it was only yesterday that the poor man was found. The sergeant’s asking the right questions, anyway. But there’s no news about the victim.”
Rose returned from collecting used glasses, and Maura told her, “Rose, the sergeant said pretty much what I told the Albertsons—this is one of the safest places around. I hope they don’t let worrying spoil their vacation.”
“Listen, I’ve been thinking—would yeh have the time to come over and see the café in Skib? Maybe in the mornin’, before things get busy? You could talk to Sinéad about hirin’ around here.”
“Sinéad?” For a moment Maura was bewildered, until she remembered that Sinéad owned and ran the café in Skibbereen where Rose was taking classes. “That’s a great idea! I’ll ask Mick—he’d have to cover the pub.” Maura called out, “Mick, you okay with covering for a few hours in the morning? Rose had a great idea about talking to the owner of the café in Skib.”
“The mornin’s dead quiet—I can handle it.”
“Great,” Maura said. “Rose, we’re on.”
Chapter Thirteen
The evening trickled on, but few new customers came in. Of course, Maura tried to convince herself,
it was only a weeknight, and there was no music or other attraction. But another small voice kept nagging her: Was it because of the body? Was it because she was the one who had found the body? Was she becoming something like a bad-luck charm and keeping people away? Certainly it couldn’t be something she had done to offend people. But apparently she had no control over the way she seemed to attract crime. If she was a religious person, she could consider an exorcism, but she didn’t think that would help.
She decided to talk to Old Billy, who had returned from his small rooms after his supper and settled in his usual place. She dropped into the sagging armchair opposite him by the fireplace. “Billy, did Old Mick ever think this place was haunted? Or cursed?”
“Ah, Maura—any place that’s been around as long as this one has is bound to have collected a few ghosts or the like.”
“I can buy into that, but are they active? I mean, can they do anything in the present?”
“Like make trouble? Do harm to people? It depends.”
If she’d been hoping for a simple “no,” it sounded like she wasn’t going to get it from Billy. “So you’re saying there are angry spirits?”
“Could be. Tell me, Maura, do you believe in luck?”
“I guess. Some things just work out better for some people than for others. Is that what you mean?”
“Perhaps. What about coincidence?”
“You mean, things happen right when you need them? Not just any old time?”
“Yeh’re gettin’ my drift. Yeh haven’t been here long, and yeh’re young, but some of us old folk, we used to believe in all sorts of charms or spells. Mebbe believe isn’t the right word to use, but we honored the old traditions, just in case they might be true.”
“Like what?”
“Sure and yeh’ve heard of leprechauns and fairies and banshees and the like?”
“Well, yeah, but usually as a joke. You’re saying there are people who believe in them now?”
The Lost Traveller Page 9
