Murder in an Irish Bookshop

by Carlene O'Connor

  “That’s what I’m telling you. It’s not possible.” He took out his phone. “May I call him? See if we can put this to bed?”

  “Why don’t you put him on speakerphone,” Macdara said.

  “I can’t do that,” Darren said. “He’d go mental. He’s my client and a man who values his privacy above most everything else.”

  In that case, would he murder someone if he or she threatened to divulge all his secrets? Someone like Deirdre Walsh?

  “We’ll wait, then,” Siobhán said. “You can place your call in Interview Room Two.”

  “I was thinking I’d take it outside.”

  “Go on, so,” Macdara said.

  “He usually doesn’t answer,” Darren said. “But I’ll make sure to let him know to call me back.”

  “We’re also going to need his phone number,” Siobhán said.

  “Why?”

  “People lie,” she said. “Mobile towers don’t.”

  “I’m going to need some kind of official request in that case,” Darren said. “This is my reputation on the line.” He hurried out.

  Macdara turned to her. “What do you think?”

  “I think we need to find out if Deirdre Walsh has ever been to Bere Island.”

  “When was the last sighting of this lurker?” Macdara asked.

  “The morning after the murder,” Siobhán said. “According to Leigh and Chris Gordon.”

  “And since?”

  “Not a word.”

  Darren Kilroy appeared at the door. “I left a very urgent message. Hopefully he’ll phone me back.”

  “What brand of cigarettes does Michael O’Mara smoke?” Macdara asked. Siobhán knew that Macdara didn’t know if the man smoked at all, so he was taking a risk.

  “Benson and Hedges,” Darren said without hesitation. He then looked stricken, as if he’d said something he shouldn’t have. “But that’s a very common brand.”

  They didn’t have results on the cigarette butts found under Deirdre’s window or in the alley behind the bookshop, but the unopened pack of cigarettes found on the back of the commode in Deirdre’s room had been Benson and Hedges.

  “Did you ever see Deirdre smoke?”

  “Deirdre Walsh?” Darren frowned. “No. But I must repeat. I did not know her that well. But the times I did run into her, no, I never saw her smoke, nor did I ever smell it off her.”

  “Benson and Hedges,” he said when Darren took his leave. “It indeed looks as if Michael O’Mara either was or is in town.”

  “And whether or not they were lovers, it seems he has some connection to Deirdre,” Siobhán added. “Do you believe that Darren didn’t know he was in town?”

  “If he was secretly carrying on with Deirdre, it’s possible,” Macdara said. “I’ll call the gardaí that handle Bere Island, see if I can learn anything more about Mr. O’Mara’s whereabouts.” They stood and stretched their legs. Macdara glanced at the clock on the wall. “I have the meeting with the landlord and the lads who built the bookshelf in the morning. We’ll have to find out if any of them smoke Benson and Hedges as well.”

  “And ask them about wallpaper,” Siobhán said. She had already filled him in on Jeanie’s surprising findings.

  “I wish I could get a warrant to search all of our suspects’ rooms,” Macdara said. “I wonder where the killer stashed the needle he used to sedate Deirdre.”

  “For all we know the killer threw it in the river. A needle in a haystack is one thing, but a needle in a village . . .”

  “You’re right, you’re right. Wallpaper. Arsenic. There’s something old-fashioned about that.”

  “Not to mention the umbrella, rose, and pen,” Siobhán said. “I think Jeanie Brady is right. I think the killer was telling a story.”

  “Where does Margaret O’Shea fit into this story?” Macdara asked.

  “I wish I knew. I’ll be eager to see what Jeanie finds. Either she was at the wrong place at the wrong time—and could have identified Deirdre’s killer—or she just happened to pick that morning to venture out on her own, and it was too much for her poor heart to handle.”

  “We’re also going to need a sample of Michael O’Mara’s DNA,” Macdara replied with a sigh. “Now, why do I get the feeling that’s easier said than done?”

  “If Deirdre and O’Mara were romantically involved, that might explain why her mobile phone was taken,” Siobhán said. “Perhaps she had photos of the two of them on it.” A thought suddenly struck her. “The rubbish bins at Gordon’s Comics,” she said. “What if Michael O’Mara wasn’t going through them—what if he was dropping something into them?”

  Chapter 23

  “Save the rubbish?” Chris Gordon said. “Of course I didn’t.”

  “After you saw the burly man going through the bins, did you look in the bins?” Macdara asked.

  “You two have an odd idea of me,” Chris said. “No, I did not.”

  “Those bins would have been picked up that evening,” Siobhán said. “If he put something in them, it’s long gone.” Secretly, she was a bit relieved. Going through rubbish bins was her least favorite part of the job.

  “What do you think he left in there?” Chris studied them and Siobhán watched his eyes widen. “You think he’s the killer?”

  “You don’t know what we think,” Siobhán said. “And it’s not your place to try and figure it out.”

  “I heard she was poisoned,” Chris said. “Do you think he left poison in my bins?”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear,” Macdara said. “We’ll need to look at the images from your security camera.”

  “How do you know I have a security camera?” Chris asked.

  Outside, above the door to the shop, Chris Gordon had installed a plastic Spiderman. He crouched above the entrance, as if waiting to pounce on the next soul coming through the door. “Because that thing’s eyes follow me wherever I go,” Macdara said, gesturing to the door.

  Chris nodded, then grinned, until he caught Macdara’s disapproving look and the smile vanished straight away. “Do you want to see them on my screens, or do you want me to send you a digital file?”

  “Let’s have a look, and see,” Macdara said.

  Chris nodded. “Follow me.” He led them to a back room. It was basically an oversize closet, but Chris had filled it with large screens. Series and movies based on Marvel and DC Comics played on several screens. Another, the largest of them all, showed the footpath in front of the shop.

  “My word,” Siobhán said. “Is this live?”

  “It is,” Chris said. “State of the art.”

  And very stalkerish, but that was a discussion for another day, so Siobhán kept her piehole shut. On the screen they could see her neighbors Sheila and Pio Mahoney walking past, holding bags from Mike’s Fruit and Veg Market. They appeared to be arguing. Siobhán caught Macdara’s gaze. This is creepy, she thought, wondering if he thought the same. But right now, she was grateful for it.

  “I’m not spying on people,” Chris said as if he could read her mind. “I’m trying out different window dressings to see which ones make the most customers enter the shop. It’s not like anyone is doing anything personal as they pass by.”

  She supposed he had a point there. “Can you rewind to the morning the bookshop opened?” Siobhán said. “And let us have the room?”

  “Would you like tea and scones too?” Chris said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

  “That would be lovely,” Siobhán said with a grin. “You’re a regular superhero.”

  * * *

  In general, watching CCTV cameras was about as exciting as watching paint dry. That is until it wasn’t. After a long period of nothing, suddenly Lorcan Murphy and Nessa Lamb came into view on the screen. The surprising bit was that Lorcan had his arm looped over Nessa’s shoulders.

  “I didn’t know they were so close,” Siobhán said.

  Macdara shifted uncomfortably next to her. “I bet his wife doesn’t either.”<
br />
  She’d forgotten. Lorcan Murphy was married with young ones at home. “Maybe they’re just good friends.” Just then, Lorcan and Nessa stopped, looked into each other’s eyes, and kissed.

  Macdara groaned. “You’d better not have any friends like that.”

  Siobhán gave him a soft kick and turned back to the screen. “Is it possible they’re in this together?”

  “That’s quite a jump, isn’t it? Shifting to murder?”

  “As you’ve stated, that’s not an innocent kiss. I think we can safely assume they’re having an affair. Given we have a rather small suspect pool and one of them did it, I’d say it’s actually an easy jump.”

  “What’s the motive?”

  “Maybe Deirdre knew about their affair? Maybe that’s what she meant by her memoir being explosive.”

  Macdara groaned again, and rubbed his face. “Lorcan does make a nice little living from those elf books. I bet the missus would try and take him for everything if she found out about this.”

  “And if Nessa Lamb is plagiarizing her works—or she has a ghostwriter—and Deirdre was about to spill that news, then perhaps they teamed up to take down the enemy.” Once Lorcan and Nessa were out of view from the screen, there was another long period of not much happening, other than townsfolk passing by on their way to or from somewhere else. Siobhán was about to end the video stream when something strange appeared. A figure, dressed all in black, streaked by carrying a large brown sack. “Did you see that?” She turned to Macdara, who was in the middle of a yawn.

  “See what?”

  “Stay awake, cowboy. You’re going to want to see this.”

  * * *

  They’d watched the clip five times. “Who in the world is that?” Macdara asked. “He looks like someone right out of one of Chris Gordon’s comics.”

  “I know one thing,” Siobhán said. “It’s not Michael O’Mara.” The figure was average size, and slim. “Let’s get this video evidence to the station. You have the interview with the landlord and the construction lads.”

  “I’m going to need coffee,” Macdara said. “Let’s hit the shop first.”

  “Chocolate and crisps as well,” Siobhán said.

  As they arrived at the garda station, hands filled with caffeine and sugar, Aretta approached them, thrumming with energy.

  “I have solved a part of this mystery,” she said. Siobhán handed her a cup of herbal tea. Aretta peeked under the lid, then inhaled. “How did you know?”

  “She observes,” Macdara said with a chuckle. “What do you have for us?”

  “I can show you,” Aretta said. After dropping their goodies off at their desks, they followed her all the way back to the evidence room where Aretta led them to the shelf containing the items picked up from the bookshop. They all put gloves on from a container on the shelf, and Aretta picked up the evidence bag containing the umbrella. “Here.” She pointed to the handle. There, in gold, were the initials LM.

  “Lorcan Murphy,” Siobhán said. “When it rains, it pours.”

  “Good work,” Macdara said to Aretta. “Will you schedule a meeting with Lorcan Murphy and Nessa Lamb? And we’ll place them in separate interrogation rooms. But keep the shade open when they’re first seated so they can see each other.” There was a window between interrogation rooms one and two. It was used for this exact purpose, letting witnesses get a glimpse of each other before the dark shade came down. It encouraged truth-telling as each worried about what the other might say.

  “Is there news on Nessa Lamb?” Aretta asked.

  “We caught them shifting on CCTV footage,” Siobhán said.

  “I take it, it wasn’t a peck on the cheek,” Aretta said.

  “It definitely was not,” Siobhán agreed.

  “That is an interesting development,” Aretta said. “People forget that we now live in a world where there are eyes everywhere.”

  The Hills Have Eyes. The title popped into Siobhán’s mind. Was that what the note was referring to? Was Deirdre tipping them off that she knew about their affair?

  “One more thing. The figure in black with the satchel you saw on Chris Gordon’s tape?”

  “Yes,” Siobhán said.

  “I know who that is.”

  “You do?” Shock was evident in Siobhán’s voice.

  “Why didn’t you mention this before?” Macdara demanded.

  “I think it’s best I let you experience it for yourself,” Aretta said. “Tonight. At the ladies’ book club meet.” She calmly stared at them. “I understand you prefer I just tell you, but believe me, I cannot think of a better way. And the meeting is tomorrow afternoon, so there really isn’t long to wait.”

  “I’ll go,” Siobhán said. “Where are they meeting?”

  “Since the authors have been staying at the inn, the book club has met there. The twins let us use their back garden.” She hesitated. “Or inside the twins’ cottage if it rains.”

  It felt as if it would never stop raining. “Looks like I’m joining the ladies’ book club after all,” Siobhán said.

  “Try not to fall asleep,” Macdara said. “Now let’s turn our attention to Lorcan and Nessa’s interview. I have an idea.”

  * * *

  Unlike their earlier chats with Lorcan Murphy and Nessa Lamb, this time the pair appeared nervous to be officially summoned into the station. Good. Aretta followed their request to lead them to Interview Rooms #1 and #2 and she waited until they made eye contact through the window before pulling down the shade.

  “You’re making me a bit nervous,” Lorcan said with a laugh. “I suddenly know how the poor elf on the shelf must feel.”

  “The original one, or the ones you kill off?” Siobhán couldn’t help but ask.

  More nervous laughter spilled out of him. “I’ve been a naughty boy, have I?”

  “You tell me.” She hadn’t meant for the conversation to start so soon, so she shut her gob and placed the recording device in the middle of the table. He looked at it, and began to nibble on his lower lip.

  “We’ll be back in a moment,” Siobhán said. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Do you mean like a solicitor?” Lorcan asked.

  “Do you need a solicitor?” Siobhán asked, treating him to a pleasant smile.

  “How would I know?” he asked with forced cheer.

  She leaned in. “Have you broken any laws?” He shook his head. “Do you intend to lie?” Another shake. “You’ll be grand.”

  “I don’t have anything to hide.” He grinned, but his complexion had paled.

  “Wonderful. Coffee? Tea? Water?”

  “Water. Thank you.”

  “Sit tight.” Siobhán exited, making sure he heard the slam of the door behind her.

  * * *

  Siobhán and Aretta entered Nessa’s interview room. Nessa was in a chair, hands under her thighs, rocking back and forth. “Are you well?” Siobhán asked.

  Nessa stopped rocking. “Fine,” she said.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Water? Coffee?” Nessa shook her head. “Would you like to call a solicitor?”

  At this she stopped rocking. “Is that really necessary?”

  “I’m required to ask.” She gave a nod toward Lorcan’s interview room. “Some folks prefer to have one present.”

  “Lorcan asked for one?”

  “I’m afraid I could never tell you that.”

  “Water, please,” Nessa said.

  Siobhán placed a recording device on the table in front of her. “We’ll return shortly,” she said. They exited, also letting the door slam shut.

  “They look very guilty,” Aretta said.

  “They do,” Siobhán agreed. “Of something. It will be our job to figure out what.”

  * * *

  Macdara was waiting for them in the hall. “Neither has officially requested representation,” Siobhán informed him.

  “Good. I’m off to mee
t with the landlord of the bookshop.” He gestured to the interview rooms. “The pair of ye can do the honors.” He nodded to Aretta. There were nods all around and then Macdara headed for the exit.

  Siobhán turned to Aretta. “Ready to combine work with working out?” she said.

  Aretta nodded and glanced between the rooms. “I will follow your lead.”

  “I’d also like you to stand by the door,” Siobhán said.

  “One sitting, one standing. It keeps a subject off kilter,” Aretta said.

  “Indeed it can,” Siobhán said. “Ready?”

  Aretta grinned. “I am more than ready.”

  * * *

  Lorcan Murphy raised his eyebrow, then glanced at Aretta, who stood by the door, before focusing on Siobhán. “My relationship with my wife?” he asked. “What does that have to do with your investigation?” His voice squeaked. He looked to the dark window. “Is Detective Sergeant Flannery going to join us?”

  “No,” Siobhán said. “Please answer the question.”

  “We’re fine,” he said. “Happily married.” He shrugged and tried to pull off a smile.

  * * *

  “Lorcan and his wife are getting a divorce,” Nessa said. “I’m sure he’s just told you the same thing.” She made swirls on the table with her index finger. “It’s the reason he’s stopped writing.”

  Siobhán tilted her head. “I wasn’t aware that he stopped writing.”

  “It’s temporary,” Nessa said. “Until the divorce is finalized.”

  “Because he’s heartbroken?” Aretta asked.

  “No. Because he doesn’t want her to get any more of his royalties.”

  * * *

  “It wasn’t really a lie. I just didn’t see how it pertained to your investigation. I still don’t. But yes. If you must know, my wife and I are getting a divorce.”