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The Lost Traveller

Page 13

by Sheila Connolly


  “Depends on what yeh’re thinkin’ that means. Let’s see, there’s bein’ drunk in public, which can be under the intoxicating influence of not only alcohol but anythin’ else that’ll do the trick, and then there’s disorderly conduct, but that counts only after midnight. But the fine’s more expensive than the first. Ah, and then there’s the latest twist, where the gardaí can fine yeh a hundred euros on the spot if yeh’re drunk, and one hundred-forty is yeh’re drunk and disorderly, but neither gets yeh tangled up with the courts, so the only record would be whatever the garda wrote down.”

  “What? You’re saying you can get away without being arrested simply by paying a fine right away?” That sounded wrong to Maura.

  “As long as yeh stop making trouble when the gardaí ask yeh to.”

  Maura was shaking her head in disbelief. “Why don’t I know all this?”

  “Most likely Mick takes care of any arguments fer yeh, or he makes sure the troublemakers leave before they, well, become troublemakers fer yeh,” Jerry explained patiently. “And anyone local knows yeh’re friendly with the gardaí.”

  Maura thought for a moment. “Okay, then. If there’s another person involved when someone is being disorderly…”

  “Yeh mean, like they’re fightin’?”

  “Yes, or close to it. And don’t try to explain to me how you can be disorderly all by yourself, unless you’re seeing things. Would the gardaí just politely tell them to go their separate ways and hang around until they’re pretty sure they did?”

  “They might do,” Seamus said.

  “Would they take names or check IDs?”

  Seamus shook his head. “Ah, Maura, the gardaí aren’t after making trouble fer a lad who’s had a bit too much to drink. It would depend, I’m guessing. If it’s the first time, they’d likely send him home with a warning and keep an eye on him after that. If it’s someone known to the gardaí already, fer other reasons, there’d be that fine. If that doesn’t discourage him, he could be hauled off to court.”

  Now Maura felt deflated. “So there’s no official list of public drunks or scuffles between a couple of drunks?”

  “Only in the minds of the gardaí. Yeh know how many they are around here. They know who to watch. They’re tryin’ to keep the peace, not arrest anyone.”

  “You see what I’m getting at, don’t you, Seamus? If there was a fight that started but the gardaí or the barkeep broke it up, then the guys could have met up later or just taken it around to a dark corner, but there wouldn’t be any official record, right? So no way to identify who they might be?”

  Seamus sighed. “Yeh have it right, Maura. But, see, it’s seldom been a problem fer us here. We know if we fight, the barkeeps won’t let us keep comin’ back, and neither will our wives let us out of the house. If an outsider comes along and makes trouble, the gardaí will most likely take him to the station until he cools down and make sure he goes on his way with no more trouble.”

  Maura stared at him bleakly. “So right now we have no name for the dead man, and no idea who might have killed him, and the gardaí have no record of who might have been in a scuffle or have even looked like starting one, and no pub owners remember anything that helps us. You have any idea what to do next?”

  “Look fer Martians?”

  Seamus’s expression was the picture of fake sincerity, and Maura had to laugh. “Well, you tried, Seamus, you and your gang. Maybe if we let it rest for a day, we’ll see it differently.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll keep tryin’. And we’ll be back later fer a pint. Ta!” Seamus gathered up his gang and led them out of Sullivan’s; then they split up and headed in different directions.

  Billy was standing outside waiting for them to clear the way, and then he made his slow way in and settled in his chair. There were no other customers, so Maura went over to greet him.

  “Good morning, Billy. How are you?”

  “Not so bad, not so bad. Was that a committee meeting, like?”

  “What, Seamus and pals? They’ve been doing undercover work in all the local pubs to see if they can find any suspects for our killer or identify the dead man. So far they’ve had a lot of pints but come up with nothing new. Am I missing something? Or should I just give up now?”

  “I’d say no news tells yeh something. The lads were askin’ after fights and such?”

  “They were. I’m not sure what you mean—oh, you’re saying if neither the gardaí nor Seamus and his crew have found any mention of a fight or anyone who was making trouble at the right time, then we’re probably looking in the wrong places?”

  “Exactly. Yeh started in the right place, but yeh’ve found nothin’. Time to take a fresh look.”

  “Great, but I don’t know where to look. I mean, what do we know? Young man was stabbed and died. Somebody didn’t want him identified and didn’t want anyone to know where he died, so he fixed it so the man couldn’t be recognized and he carried him here to the bridge and dumped him. The only odd bit is that he knew about the back way through my gate. Which kind of suggests that he’s been here before.”

  Billy nodded. “Could be. Could be a regular, or could be someone who’d stopped in a time or two. Or could be our killer thought it would be easy to toss the man over the edge of the bridge in the dark and found a fence in his way, so he scrambled around in a panic lookin’ fer another way in and found yer gate.”

  “Billy, you’re right on all counts, but that doesn’t help anything. How the heck do we find him?”

  “I’m jest tellin’ yeh what ground’s already been covered. Nobody’s heard talk of a fight. The poor lad wasn’t dressed like he had any money, so a robbery seems unlikely. Somebody wanted him dead. Why would that be?”

  “I don’t know! Let’s take a look at how he was killed, okay? He was stabbed, not just once but many times. That kind of sounds like somebody who was angry, out of control. If it had been planned, maybe it would have been only one stab.”

  “Could be,” Billy agreed amiably. “Have yeh got a ‘why’ in yer back pocket?”

  “Billy, I haven’t a clue why anybody kills anyone else. Money. Love. Hate. Insanity. Take your pick. Does this sound planned to you?”

  “Not the deed itself, but as yeh’ve said, odds are the man knew this place, or knew of it.”

  “Sullivan’s has been here a long time. If the guy was older, maybe he knew it when Mick was running it. I haven’t changed much.”

  Billy sat back in his chair and looked at her. “Maura, why is it yeh care so much? Yeh didn’t kill the lad, did yeh?”

  “Of course not! And even with his face bashed in, if I’d known him I probably would have recognized him somehow. But whoever dumped him kind of pointed a finger at me, whether or not he meant to. I don’t think I’ve ticked anyone off, not enough to try to drag me into a murder, but it could have happened. Should I give up?”

  “Ah, it’s early days yet. Could be somebody will let somethin’ slip and the whole thing’ll start up again.”

  Maura wasn’t going to hold out a lot of hope for that. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure and yeh can, if yeh’ll get me a pint.”

  “Oh, of course. I’m sorry—I’ve been distracted by all this. I’ll just be a minute.”

  Maura stood up and went over to the bar, where Mick was polishing the top. “Could you pull a pint for Billy?”

  “That I can. The two of yiz seem to be deep in conversation, although I can probably guess what yeh’re talkin’ about. Seamus and his lot have had no luck?”

  “Nothing obvious jumped out. And in some ways I trust them more than the gardaí when it comes to asking questions, because they’re not official and they can get people to talking.” She watched as Mick filled a glass partway, then set it down to settle before topping it off. “What if this really is a random thing? I mean, what if the dead man and his killer didn’t come from here? What if the poor guy was killed in Cork or Dublin, and his killer stuffed him in the trunk of a
car and just drove until he thought he was far enough away from where it happened, and then he started looking for a good place to dump a body and here we were?”

  “Mebbe, and if that’s so yeh may never know who either one was. Are yeh worried that someone wanted to point this at you, or Sullivan’s?”

  “People could think that, whether or not it’s true. I mean, maybe the killer didn’t know Old Mick was dead, so he left the body here to send some kind of message to him?”

  “Unlikely, I’d say.” Mick pushed Billy’s full pint across the bar. “The last few years, he did little business here, except among his old friends. It was more like a club than a business, but he didn’t care. I don’t recall that he ever spoke of any earlier life that might produce bodies so much later.”

  “Okay, so let’s cross off anybody who might have a grudge toward Old Mick. Cross me off, for why would I do this to my own business? And you, and Rose. Jimmy I’m not so sure about, but he hasn’t been around much, and I think all that stabbing and lifting and carrying would seem like too much work for him. Besides, he’s pretty well fixed with Judith and her cows now. Unless some shady character from his past showed up and wanted a piece of that land.”

  “He may talk a good line, but he’s never really strayed far—I’d count him out as well. And I’d guess that Judith would hold on to her land and give up Jimmy.” Mick nodded toward Billy. “He’s waitin’ fer his pint.”

  “I know. But one more thing.” Maura lowered her voice. “Say none of us comes up with a likely killer or victim. Say they aren’t from here, but they’ve been around here for a while, long enough to know what’s what. Where do we look for them?”

  “Like those who are just passin’ through, or workin’ fer a time before movin’ on?”

  “Maybe. It’s summer—isn’t there short-term work available?”

  “Let me think on it. But, Maura? A word of warnin’. It’s not yer problem, and yeh shouldn’t be pokin’ yer nose into others’ business. They might not take kindly to it.”

  “I know that. But I want to know what happened. I—we—can’t afford to lose business, and I may if nobody finds the killer.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Business dragged through the day, and Maura was beginning to feel panicky. Had finding the body so close really had that big an impact? Or had all the tourists suddenly decided that West Cork had lost its charm and gone somewhere else, or decided to stay in Dublin? Was it because Rose wasn’t around as much, and all the male patrons came in only to see her and chat? (Maura wondered fleetingly whether wearing makeup herself could possibly make a difference.) This was the peak season, wasn’t it? Tomorrow night, with a middling-hot band scheduled, would be the real test.

  But now she was at loose ends. Rose was at the café in Skibbereen, picking up some hours serving, and she’d be in after the lunch rush. That left her and Mick to cover the bar. Could she duck out on him again? She felt she was doing that an awful lot lately, but now she wanted to go talk to Siobhan over at Crann Mor about how they recruited staff there. Of course, the luxury hotel wanted a higher class of servers than she did, but maybe they’d be willing to direct the rejected applicants her way.

  Better do it now, in case it got busy later. “Mick? Do you mind covering for an hour or two? I want to run over to Crann Mor and ask how they find their staff.”

  Mick looked around the room: the sole customer was Billy, although it was still short of the lunch hour. “I think I can manage. Take yer mobile and I’ll give you a ring if a busload of people show up.”

  “Thanks. Rose should be in after two, but I’ll be back by then.”

  She hurried out to her car and pointed herself toward Skibbereen. She’d discovered the back way to the Crann Mor road, which made getting there simpler and faster. Plus, it was a prettier drive, and she wasn’t in a hurry …

  Maybe she should have called for an appointment. Or maybe the hotel used some sort of recruiting agency, which would be great for them but wouldn’t help her at all. Or maybe every person in the county already had a job if they wanted one and wasn’t looking for a new one, and she was up a creek. Stop it, Maura! she chided herself. There are people around here who need jobs—you just have to find them.

  She arrived at the hotel after ten minutes and walked into the lobby. Since the JBCo group, which had recently purchased the hotel and land and was busy polishing it up, had increased their active participation in running the place, it was looking cleaner and brighter already. She’d have to ask if business had picked up—did they advertise? How? Not that annoying Internet again—but she had to admit that from all she’d heard, that was how hotels booked their guests these days.

  Luckily, Siobhan O’Mahoney was working at the front desk, managing to look both competent and welcoming. Maura walked up to the desk and said, “Hi, Siobhan. You have a couple of minutes to talk? It won’t take long, I promise.”

  “Hello, Maura. Let me find my assistant to cover the desk and I’ll be right with you.”

  While Siobhan tracked down the assistant, Maura wandered around the big room, peering into the dining room, which was located at the back of the grand lobby and overlooked the formal gardens behind the building. She hadn’t seen the garden for a couple of months, and now it looked both lush and manicured, in the full flush of summer.

  Siobhan joined her a moment later. “Inside or outside?” she asked.

  “Inside, I guess. This is business and I don’t want to waste your time. Although the gardens are looking lovely. Is Bernard still keeping them up?”

  “He is, thanks to you. And he’s got two boys helping with the heavier work. What can I do for you now? Come, sit.” Siobhan pointed to the richly upholstered settee at one side of the lobby, and Maura settled herself gingerly on it while Siobhan took a matching chair next to it.

  “I’ll get straight to the point. I need to find more staff for Sullivan’s. Last year I didn’t know what I was doing, and we muddled along with the staff we had when I arrived. But now Jimmy is married and working on his wife’s dairy farm, and his daughter Rose is taking cooking classes and talking about serving food at the pub, and that leaves only two of us to cover everything. But I’m not local, and I don’t know how to find people, either short-term or long-term. I did talk to Sinéad at the café in town, but she hires mostly from the local school—what do you call them? secondary schools?—and I’m not sure she wants to share that pool, or that the kids from there would even want to work at Sullivan’s. You have any suggestions?”

  Siobhan smiled. “Take a breath, will you, Maura? I see your problem. Of course, you’re looking for a different kind of employee than we are here, but we do get many applications and referrals. I’d be happy to send some of those your way, if I think they’d be a good match. But I will say that many young people now are leaving the area to look for work—Cork city, even Dublin. Or they want to spend six months or a year on the Continent, or they’re off to uni in the fall. It’s not as easy as it once was. I feel lucky that my daughter Ellen chose to stay and work here.”

  It was the same story she’d heard from Rose. “That’s what I’ve been afraid of—that’s what Rose said. And more than that, it seems like everybody who’s lived here all their lives already has a personal network—they put out the word with their family and friends and the problem’s solved. I don’t have that. And I’m not even sure what pay I should be offering them, if I want to compete with the other places around here. I do have some rooms upstairs that would be livable with a little work, to sweeten the deal if that’s a problem.”

  “Let me think it over, will you?” Siobhan said. “And I’ll ask Ellen as well. As you might guess, she moves in different circles than I do, so she might know more likely candidates. But you do know the age limitations on serving alcoholic beverages?”

  “Of course—I checked as soon as I found out how young Rose was. I’d certainly stay on the right side of the law if I hire someone new.”

  “
Good—that’s important. And you’re serious about adding the cooking?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I’m letting Rose work on convincing me, and apart from the cooking she’s looking into the business side of things. Of course, we’d have to remodel the room in the back and buy appliances and get permits and all that, so it could be expensive to start.”

  “We’re planning to overhaul our kitchens here soon,” Siobhan said. “If any of the stoves or refrigerators or work tables would fit your place, we’d be happy to pass them on to you.”

  “That would be wonderful! Let me know if and when it’s going to happen and I’ll send Rose over—she can figure out what we need and what we’d have room for. But we’re not in a hurry.”

  “I’m delighted to help—you have to know I’m grateful for what you did for us when we had that bit of trouble. The music’s still going well?”

  “It is, or so Mick and Rose tell me. That’s part of the problem. We can handle the normal daily traffic, but when there’s a good band playing, suddenly we’ve got a hundred and more people jammed in, and we simply can’t pour drinks fast enough. Even someone to help out on the music nights only would be a big help.”

  “I will definitely ask around. And I’m glad you came to me, Maura. You’ve learned a lot in a short time, and I want you to succeed. I’m happy to help.” Siobhan stood up. “Was there anything else?”

  “No, not right now. Well, maybe you can tell me, has anyone here talked about that body that was found in Leap this week?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. Are you asking if the guests talk, or the staff?”

  “Either, I suppose. There’s so little information available. Nobody knows who the man was, or why anyone would want to harm him, or why whoever did decided my place was a good place to leave him. None of it makes sense.”

  “And the gardaí are no further along?”

  “No, or not that they’ve told me. I don’t mean to criticize, but they’re used to having a pretty good idea of who’s responsible for crimes around here. This one’s got them stumped.”

 

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