Murder in an Irish Bookshop

by Carlene O'Connor

  “Let’s try your phone camera again.”

  Siobhán was irritated she hadn’t thought of it first. She brought her phone out, and zoomed in on the window. She could make out chips of paint around the frame and said so.

  “Do they look fresh?”

  “How would I know?”

  Macdara sighed. “I don’t see any on the ground, but will make a note for forensics.”

  There was something else. Little round pieces of silver around the circumference of the window caught her eye.... “Nails,” she exclaimed. “This window has been nailed shut.”

  Chapter 13

  No other window had nails or cracked paint. The twins confirmed that they had not nailed the window shut. All the windows did have a lock, but they could only be engaged from the inside. They did not hear hammering the other night, but they admitted that from where their cottage was situated related to the rooms, they may not have heard it anyway. Macdara and Siobhán were going to have to question the others. Further investigation was needed, but Siobhán felt confident in assuming the killer—or someone—had indeed entered Deirdre’s room sometime after her murder and removed her laptop, notebooks, biros, and books. The twins also confirmed that the cleaning staff had entered Deirdre’s room the day before but there had been a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door all day the day of the murder.

  “Why is it not there now?” Macdara asked.

  “It is,” Eileen said.

  “No,” Siobhán and Macdara said.

  “I swear it was there,” Eileen said.

  “She’s right,” Emma said. “It was.”

  The killer had also disturbed theDO NOT DISTURB sign? Was there any logic to that? Or had someone else swiped it?

  “We need to talk to your cleaning staff,” Siobhán said.

  Emma let out a laugh. “Sorry. But you’re looking at them. We do everything.”

  “But you specifically said the cleaning staff had not entered the room,” Macdara said.

  “It’s still us,” Eileen said. “When we clean, we’re the cleaning staff.”

  “What about security cameras?” Siobhán said.

  “We can pull the ones from the front of the inn, but there is nothing at the back.” Siobhán figured as much. The farmer’s field wouldn’t have one either.

  “Please pull them right away,” Siobhán said.

  “E-mail the link and passcodes to the garda station,” Macdara added.

  The twins bobbed their heads in agreement.

  “Do you have any empty rooms?” Macdara said. “We’d like to try getting into one the way we think someone did to Deirdre’s room.”

  * * *

  They were given the keys to Room #2. The decorations were identical to Deirdre’s room, with slightly different landscape paintings. Siobhán entered the bathroom, stood on the toilet, and checked the window. “Locked,” she said. She moved the lever. “But easy to unlock.” From the doorway, Macdara took notes. She reached and lifted the window. It opened, but made a loud squeak. “Close the door and stand in the room. See if you can hear that,” she said, shutting the window. Macdara stepped out and closed the door to the jax as she shut the window. Seconds later, he called out, “I can hear it.”

  “Hold on.” She jumped down and turned the water in the sink on full blast. She returned and lifted the window. “Now?”

  “Not that time.”

  She shut the water off and returned to the room. “All set.” They retrieved the desk chair from the room, went around to the back of the building, and placed it under the window. Macdara went to steady the chair.

  “We have to assume the person worked alone,” Siobhán said. “It’s not a far drop if I fall.” She stood on the chair, then reached up to lift the window. “It won’t open,” she said. “If this is the method, the person left the window open.”

  “Hoping no one would notice and shut it?”

  “It’s a safe assumption. Even if Deirdre noticed her window open she may have assumed the person was trying to air out the bathroom.”

  “Excellent point.”

  “I’ll open the window. Let’s at least see it through, see if it’s physically possible to climb inside from back here.”

  Macdara hurried around to the front of the building. Soon the window squeaked open. He returned to the back as Siobhán threw her arms into the window, grasping the inside ledge to try and haul herself up. She managed to lift her chest up and over the window. Her arms burned. She was going to have to start doing more pull-ups. “If it’s not someone close to my height, this wouldn’t have been easy,” she said. “The person needs strength if he or she isn’t tall.”

  “Either tall and strong, or short and strong,” Macdara said. “Extremely helpful, Garda O’Sullivan.” Cheeky. Was it her imagination or did he stress O’Sullivan? “Is it wrong to say I’m enjoying the view?” Macdara added.

  “Your view is going to be a boot in the face if you say it again,” she responded. She was halfway in, sliding face down over the commode. There were so many things they never prepared her for at Templemore Garda College. She slid in until she could rest her hands on the floor and pull the rest of the way in. The tank on the back of the toilet slid off with a bang, splashing water and barely missing her poor head as it thunked to the floor.

  “You alright, boss?” Dara called, the humor in his voice gone.

  “Fine,” she said. “Do you tink that would have been heard in one of the neighboring rooms?”

  “No,” Macdara said. “Only from back here with the window open.”

  She hauled herself up off the floor. “Let’s see how easy it is to get back out.”

  “They could have left through the front door,” Macdara said.

  “Too big a risk,” Siobhán said.

  “At night? When most folks were at the bistro?”

  “Is that when you think this was done?”

  “It’s a good guess.”

  “Then why wouldn’t they just enter through the front as well?” Siobhán demanded.

  “That is always a possibility,” Macdara admitted. “But given the window was nailed shut and we found a lighter and a biro, I think our window theory has some merit.”

  “That’s why I want to try exiting this way.” She stood back on the toilet seat. It slid beneath her. “Perhaps we’re looking for someone with both circus skills and surfing skills,” she said.

  Macdara laughed. “That ought to narrow it down.”

  She poked her head out the window. “If I go face first, I’m going to do a face-plant,” she said. “But it’s not possible to go feet first.”

  “Don’t do it,” he said. “The person either exited through the front door after making sure no one was around, or maybe they brought pillows out to soften his or her landing. Either way, we should check our suspects for scrapes and scratches, and ask the twins to check all the pillows in our suspects’ rooms.”

  “Or, as we said, it’s the killer who broke into the room and he or she stole Deirdre’s key at the signing.”

  “Either way none of this was very helpful,” Macdara said. “Good work.”

  He brought the chair back, then they locked the door, returned the key, and asked the twins if they had cleaned any of the rooms since the murder. They shook their heads. “Please gather the rubbish from all the rooms, mark the bags, and keep them. We’ll be picking them up.”

  The twins flinched, but to their credit they didn’t try to argue. This had never been part of the dream. “While you’re collecting the rubbish please check the pillows and call us immediately if any of the rooms have signs of dirt or grass,” he said.

  “Including Deirdre’s room?” Emma asked.

  “No,” Siobhán said. “The door is now covered in crime tape, as well as the back window. No one, including the two of you, are allowed in the room. When the forensics team has finished its work, we’ll let you know.” They had just started to leave when Eileen called out.

  “Nessa Lamb’s roo
m has dirt and grass,” she said. “She likes to go to the cemetery.”

  Siobhán and Macdara stopped. “How do you know?” Siobhán asked.

  “She inquired about the cemetery, said she wanted to walk there. I think she’s done it every day she’s been here.”

  “What about her pillows?” Macdara asked.

  Eileen shook her head. “I just noticed her runners by the door. They were muddy.”

  “Got it. Let us know what else you find, and do not mention any of this to any of the guests. And please call as soon as the rubbish is collected. But do not let any of the guests know.”

  The twins saluted. Siobhán found it kind of cheeky but Dara simply laughed. Siobhán was relieved when they hopped in the guard car. “Do you want me to drop you at the bistro first?” Macdara asked.

  Their day had barely begun. “Why?”

  “Because you’re covered in toilet water,” he said.

  “Do you still love me?”

  “Definitely,” he said. “I just don’t want to be anywhere near ya.”

  * * *

  By the time Siobhán had showered, changed into her second uniform of the day, and reached the garda station, she entered to hear Macdara recounting Siobhán’s escapades to an enthralled Aretta. “Circus and surfing,” she heard Aretta exclaim. Their howls of laughter came to an abrupt stop when they noticed her in the doorway. Siobhán glared for a moment, relishing the horrified looks on their faces before joining in on the laughter. Aretta placed her hand over her heart as if checking to see if it was still beating.

  “Why did you crawl through the window and not the detective sergeant?” Aretta asked. “Is it because you’re a lower rank?”

  Siobhán opened her mouth to say it was because she was taller, which of course she was not. Stronger? Nope. Smaller? As Dara pointed out, the window was of average size. “She has former circus training,” Macdara said. The laughter resumed. This time the glare was real.

  “I almost forgot,” Aretta said, retrieving a notebook of her own from the pocket of her uniform. “A resident stopped by today to report a lurker.”

  “A lurker?” Siobhán said. What now?

  Aretta nodded, reading from her notes. “He was a big fella, with red hair that looked as if it needed a wash.” She stopped reading and waited.

  “And?” Macdara asked.

  Aretta shrugged. “That’s it.”

  “We don’t arrest people for poor hygiene,” Siobhán said. “Where’s the lurking part?”

  Aretta glanced at her notes again. “I’m not sure. She was talking at rapid speed and said she was in a hurry to do her messages, but she thought we should look into it.”

  “Who reported this?” Macdara asked.

  “Leigh Coakley.”

  “Leigh?” Siobhán said. Another one of their suspects. Was she purposefully trying to throw shade somewhere else? “Thank you.” She took the piece of paper from Aretta. “We’ll follow up.”

  Aretta stood. “I’ll start scheduling those interviews.”

  “Great,” Macdara said. “Start with Lorcan Murphy. And schedule it for my flat.”

  “Your flat?” Aretta asked.

  Macdara nodded. “I live in the attached building. I’d like to make him feel more like a witness than a suspect. He’s liable to reveal more that way.”

  Aretta glanced at Siobhán. “Absolutely,” Siobhán said. “It has nothing to do with the collection of westerns on his shelf written by Lorcan Murphy.”

  Chapter 14

  Macdara’s flat, situated in a stone building semi-attached to the garda station, had a simple charm that made Siobhán’s heart squeeze. It was an old stone building with timber beams. A large one bedroom, with the main room and kitchen revolving around a fireplace. Macdara was rather neat, and bookshelves dominated the far wall. He had a collection of his favorites: westerns. He grew up watching American cowboy shows on telly. Other than his westerns, Macdara was a history buff and Seamus Heaney fan. Leather chairs and a sofa faced the fireplace. Besides being neat and orderly, the place had a very masculine vibe, apart from a collection of cookbooks displayed on his counter given to him by his mammy. At times Siobhán was dying to buy a nice rug or painting, or plant to brighten the place up, but she wanted to respect his space. She was welcome to spend as much time here as she liked and she had a key, but with the young ones and family business at home, they weren’t here all that often. Macdara set about putting the kettle on and even placed a tin of biscuits on the table as they waited for Lorcan Murphy.

  “He could be guilty, you know,” Siobhán said, watching him fuss. “Lorcan Murphy.”

  Macdara’s head shot up and his eyes narrowed. “I am aware.”

  Siobhán gravitated to Macdara’s bookshelf, where she picked up one of his titles: The Dusty Ride. The cover depicted a man on a horse from the back, riding down a dirt road, kicking up dust.

  “Fascinating,” she said. She turned to the first page and read out loud. “Deek Bolls wasn’t the sharpest man in Wyken County, but according to the ladies in town he had the quickest draw.”

  Macdara tried to suppress a chuckle but it turned into laughter, and then a snort. “It’s the same wit that made Dead Elf on a Shelf popular,” he pointed out.

  Siobhán gave Macdara a look before placing it back on the shelf. He was over in a flash, removed the book, and put it back in a different spot.

  “They’re in order,” he said. “Paws off.”

  “Do you have his Dead Elf on a Shelf books?”

  “Not yet.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. Another look. “Sorry.”

  A knock sounded on the door, and Macdara hurried to open it. Lorcan Murphy stood in the doorway, hat in hand, like an awkward teenager picking up a girl for a first date.

  “Come in, come in,” Macdara said, pulling out a chair at the table. She couldn’t help but notice the seat Macdara saved for Lorcan Murphy faced the bookshelf. Macdara wanted Lorcan to see his collection. This fanboying was a fascinating new side to the man she was going to marry. Did this mean she was going to play bad cop? She stood in the corner, arms folded across her chest, accepting her role. Macdara offered Lorcan tea, which he accepted, already diving into the tin of biscuits, and humming while he ate.

  Macdara took a seat across from Lorcan without even acknowledging Siobhán. He placed a recording device on the table and grinned at Lorcan. “Even though we’re in my home, this is still an official interview. This session is being recorded, do you understand?” Lorcan nodded, then looked away from the recorder as he chewed his biscuit like a nervous little gerbil. “I’m going to need you to verbalize your acknowledgment,” Macdara said.

  “Yes,” Lorcan said. “I have been made aware that you’re recording my every word.” He belted out a laugh. “Every writer’s dream,” he said with a wink.

  “I’d love to talk to you about your westerns,” Macdara said. “Let’s get our standard questions about the night of the murder out of the way.”

  “Absolutely,” Lorcan said. “We need to find her killer.”

  “We?” Siobhán couldn’t help but blurt out.

  “I don’t mean to imply I can do your job, Garda,” he said. “Perhaps it’s a hazard of the job.”

  “In what way?” Siobhán asked.

  Lorcan grinned. “My cowboys get into a lot of scrapes with bad guys.” When she didn’t laugh, he cleared his throat. “Not to mention the ladies.” He winked. She stared. He frowned and looked to Macdara. “I just want to be of service.”

  “Have you known Deirdre Walsh long?” Macdara asked.

  “I’ve known her for a few years. She’s a regular at Irish writing events.” A startled look came over his face. “Was a regular.”

  “Can you be more specific?” Siobhán said.

  She noticed Macdara’s shoulders tense.

  “You want me to name every event?” Lorcan asked with half a laugh, looking to Macdara for clarification.

  “Whateve
r you can remember,” Macdara said.

  “I’ve seen her at conferences in Dublin, book readings in Galway, book signings. I had never spoken to her until about a week before the invitation to Kilbane. Oran and Padraig had posted about this opportunity at a bookshop in Dublin. The notice was posted on a bulletin board in the vestibule. To be honest, Deirdre was in the process of removing the notice when I stopped her.”

  “She was trying to keep the opportunity away from other writers? ”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “What did you do?”

  “In an odd way, I have her to thank for this opportunity.”

  When he didn’t elaborate, Siobhán spoke up. “How so?”

  “I usually walked right past the bulletin board. I wouldn’t have spotted it at all had she not been trying to hide it.”

  “How did she react when you confronted her?” Macdara asked.

  “At first, she made excuses. She said she thought the event had expired and she wanted to make room on the board. That was the first lie. Then she said as an indie author she had a right to try to even the playing field. That’s when she recognized me.” Lorcan stopped gnawing on biscuits and leaned back in his chair. “After that she was quite friendly. She put the notice back on the bulletin board and she asked if I wanted to have coffee or tea at the café next to the bookshop.”

  “Did you?” Siobhán asked.

  Macdara turned in his seat and gave her a look. He was irritated at her for taking over. She couldn’t help it. There was something about his “open book” act that she didn’t like. Or maybe she was so on guard because Macdara was letting his down.

  “I did not. But I did snap a photo of the notice she returned to the bulletin board and said maybe I’d see her there.” He opened his arms. “And I did.”

  “Had you read any of her works?” Siobhán asked.

  “No,” Lorcan said. “If I read the works of all the writers I met, there wouldn’t be any hours left in the day.”

  “Do you know anything about her personal life?” Siobhán asked. “Does she have a partner?”

  “I have no idea. But she was always alone at the events, if that’s of any help to ye.”