Danny frowned. “Near the bedroom window.”
He saw the killer. “My God.”
“But it’s dark. We think it’s Eddie Doolan because the figure appears to be in a cloak.”
“Did you call Eddie in for questioning?”
“Of course.”
“And?” She hadn’t realized how much they’d been leaving her out of this investigation.
Danny sighed. “His solicitor wanted a mental health evaluation. All he did was speak in story, and riddle. We finally agreed to let the psychologists test him.”
That was to the benefit of Eddie Doolan. But the more time they wasted, the easier it was for a killer to get away.
Handbag, mobile phone, gold coins, shoe-polish-smell, abandoned truck. Siobhán often repeated facts in her head, like refrains of favorite songs, especially when something didn’t make sense to her. A riddle. Mixed messages. Find the truck. But don’t make it too easy or obvious. Find the handbag and mobile phone, but lock the doors so they have to work for it. Why?
Poison her, then point to the fact she was poisoned. Inept or cunning?
Someone digs. Someone lies in wait. Someone kills and severs the tail of a mouse and leaves it in the sink with cryptic words. Someone drives the truck to the train station, locks the door, but leaves the handbag and mobile phone out in the open. Someone dresses the victim. Someone leaves Dylan Kelly’s manuscript on the counter.
Who would Ellen call as her panic mounts?
Her lover. Who enters and is so startled to find her dead takes off forgetting the manuscript on the counter. Does he also grab her handbag and mobile phone so they wouldn’t see he was her last call? Does he drive it to the parking lot, hoping it’s enough to throw suspicion off him?
Next, her stalker. When does Eddie appear at the window? Before or after Aiden? Is he the killer? Or did he look through the bedroom window and witness the murder? The villagers were playing a very dangerous game, keeping their secrets. No more.
There was only one way out of this. Everyone who was not a killer was going to have to start telling the truth and nothing but. Stop this game of musical suspects until only one of them was left standing. The killer.
Chapter 30
Siobhán waited in the small visiting room at the jail where they were keeping Jane. She had a feeling it would be easier to get her to talk without Macdara in the room. Minutes later, Jane was escorted into the room, using her cane. She took a seat, her eyes focused slightly above Siobhán’s head.
“You have to get me out of here,” she said. “I didn’t kill my mother.”
“I want to help you. But first you have to help me.”
“I’ll do anything.”
“Who is your lover?”
Jane chewed on her lip, as if pondering the question. “I won’t say.”
“He’s married then.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“That’s the most reasonable explanation.” Siobhán wanted to add that if he was any man at all he would have come forward himself by now. “I think you’re having an affair with Joe Madigan.”
The lip biting grew worse. “How did you . . . Why do you say that?”
“I think Mary Madigan knows too.”
“No!”
“You aren’t the only one who lied about your alibi. I think she spent that weekend following Joe.”
“Dear God.” Jane bowed her head. “I’m not in love. Neither is he. It’s just a bit of company.”
“You should have come clean from the beginning. Maybe you wouldn’t be here.”
“I don’t want to ruin a marriage.”
“Did your mother know?”
“I don’t think so. Then again, I didn’t think anyone would ever know.”
“You weren’t the only one keeping a relationship secret.”
Jane swallowed. “You mean my mam?”
“Yes.”
“You think she was dating Aiden Cunningham.”
“I do.”
“I was with Joe all weekend. So you can rule him out.”
“I need to hear every detail about the weekend. Everything this time. If you lie to me again, I can’t help you. Do you understand?”
Jane nodded. “There’s not much to tell. I left Thursday after breakfast as I stated. Mam drove me to the bus stop. She insisted on waiting until I got on the bus. I had to take it to the next stop. That’s where Joe picked me up.”
“In his car?”
“In a taxi.”
“And then?”
“Then we went to an inn just outside town.”
“That was risky.”
Jane sighed. “No one there knew us. Mary Madigan may have tried looking for us, but I don’t see how she would know where we were.”
“She could have tracked her husband’s phone.”
Jane shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Tell your lawyer all of this.”
“I can’t. I can’t do it to Joe.”
“It’s too late. No more secrets. If you stayed in that inn all weekend as you say, that’s your alibi. Everywhere you went, anyone you spoke with, it’s all going to come out.”
Jane hung her head. “I made a mess of everything. Mam would be so disappointed.”
“Everything takes a backseat to finding her killer.” Siobhán took a few notes, then looked at Jane. “Now we’re going to talk about Joe. If he left you at all during the weekend, you have to tell me.” Jane hesitated. “Unless you want to spend the rest of your life behind bars.”
“Friday evening he had to call his wife. And his mother. Talk to his children. I fell asleep. I don’t know how long he was out.”
“When did you see him again?”
Jane swallowed. “Not until morning.”
“You slept straight through?”
Jane nodded. “I’ve always been a heavy sleeper.”
“We’ll have to talk with the clerk at the inn, to see if they know what time Joe returned.” And check the CCTV cameras. “Whose idea was it to stay at the inn?”
“It was Joe’s. He wanted to be close in case his children needed him.”
“I see.” Or was there another reason? Had he wanted to be close so he could get away with murder? “When are you meeting with your solicitor?”
“Today.”
“Good. Tell him everything.”
“I promise.”
Siobhán stood. “Good. Then I’ll do everything I can.”
“I remembered something else.”
“Go on.”
“The leather smell in the cottage. Remember?”
“Yes.” Siobhán wanted to tell her they’d just smelled it again in the truck, but she could not. Especially now that Jane was in custody.
“I smelled it again. At the memorial for Mam. When I was standing next to Aiden Cunningham.”
* * *
Siobhán caught up with Danny outside the station and filled him in on her meeting with Jane, and her affair with Joe Madigan. “I’ll get a guard up there to take down her report. It won’t look good that she lied to us.”
“Maybe so, but if her alibi can be proved, then she’ll have to be released.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
Soon everyone would know about the affair. Joe Madigan would be called to the station along with Geraldine and Mary. Secrets always came out. And so did the truth.
“Danny.”
“Yes?”
“Annabel was teaching an art class that evening.”
“She was.”
“Did you see her after?”
He nodded. “We spent the night at her house.”
“Where were you before that?”
His eyes hardened. “Are you serious? You’re after my alibi now?”
“Someone saw the two of you, or they know something about your romance.”
“We’re not hiding it.”
“Why did they leave me that note?”
“Obviously to turn you a
gainst me. I guess the writer of that note thinks you’re the better guard.”
She ignored the jealous comment. “I was at Annabel’s the other day. Ellen had some disturbing paintings. Have you seen them?”
“What were you doing in her studio?”
“Ciarán and Ann were having a lesson.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?”
His defenses were up. “I’m not accusing your girlfriend of anything.”
He turned away from her. “I was wrong to let you in.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Maybe you should go home.”
He started to walk away. “What about Joe’s barn?”
He stopped but kept his back to her. “What about it?”
“Did you follow up on his mysterious barn crasher?” She should have paid more attention to this at the time. He’d stated that the night of the murder someone had slept in his barn. Seeking refuge. And there was only one explanation why Siobhán could see the killer, this killer, doing that.
“Go home.”
“What about the dead mouse?”
He stopped, turned. “Siobhán. It was good to see you. But you’re officially interfering in an active investigation. I’ll say it one more time. Go home.”
Chapter 31
Siobhán returned to Molly’s Café. She scrutinized the paintings along the wall one by one. When she reached the end of the first wall, dust marked the edges of the empty space. A painting had been removed.
Molly was wiping down tables. “Excuse me,” Siobhán called to her.
Molly smiled as she recognized Siobhán, drying her hands on her apron as she approached. “How can I help you?”
“I thought none of these paintings could leave the shop until the end of the month.”
“That’s correct. You can still purchase one, luv, but it will have to hang here a few more days.”
Siobhán pointed to the empty space on the wall. “So where is this one?”
Molly stared at the spot, then held her finger up and headed for the counter. She reached underneath and pulled out a notebook. She thumbed through it. “Number eleven. Deadly Herbs. It was a painting of Jane Delaney’s garden.” She gasped. “You don’t think?”
“When is the last time you remember seeing it here?”
“I couldn’t be sure. I’m so used to them, I don’t look anymore.”
“What about CCTV?”
“I believe I mentioned before that we don’t bother with that here, luv. I think the ones on the street are aimed mostly at the bank and the betting shop. There’s not much to steal here except the sugar.”
“Was the painting sold?”
Molly ran her finger down the notebook. “No.” She clenched her fists. “First that note, now this. I guess I haven’t been paying enough attention.” She sighed. “I hope Annabel won’t hold me responsible.”
Siobhán wanted to reassure her that Annabel wouldn’t do that, but the more she learned about the folks in this village, the less she was sure of anything.
“Who painted it?”
Molly glanced at the notebook, then at Siobhán. “That’s the other funny bit.”
“Go on.”
She turned the notebook facing outward. “It was the only one without a signature.”
* * *
Siobhán pounded on the door to Annabel’s studio. It took three more goes at it before Annabel came to the door, her blond hair sticking to her face with a drop of paint, a brush in her hand.
“Garda O’Sullivan,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m working.”
“This is urgent. May I come in?”
Annabel looked as if she wanted anything but, yet she finally relented and allowed Siobhán to enter.
“There’s a painting missing from Molly’s Café.”
“Missing?”
“Unless you took one back?”
“No. Sales aren’t supposed to go to the owners until the exhibit is down.”
“I need to know who painted it. The title was Deadly Herbs.”
Annabel scoffed. “That’s the one they stole?”
“Who painted it?”
She hesitated. “I did.”
“You?”
“Is there a problem?”
“You painted the wolfsbane in the Delaney garden?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the poison that killed Ellen Delaney.”
Annabel gasped. “I had no idea.”
“Why did you paint it?”
“It was Ellen’s idea to paint her garden. I often took the group outside to paint. Nothing sinister about it.”
“Did anyone from the group comment on it?”
“Not that I remember.” She frowned. “We were interrupted that session.”
“What do you mean?”
“Joe’s children. He and the missus stopped by for Geraldine and they were running amuck. That was it. His wee one tried to pick the wolfsbane.”
“The girl or the boy?”
“Lilly. The wee girl.”
“Then what?”
“I lightly scolded her that she shouldn’t pick them.”
“Did you tell her they were poison?”
“I didn’t. But Ellen did.” Annabel covered her mouth. “She went into great detail. How the roots when ground up could kill you.” The mean schoolteacher strikes again.
“Are you positive?”
“Yes, it was quite the scene. The poor ting started wailing at the top of her lungs. That’s when Mary Madigan lit into her for scaring Lilly half to death.”
“What’s going on?” The voice was male, and came from behind Annabel. She stepped aside to reveal Danny MacGregor standing in the shadows. “Siobhán. What are you doing here?”
“One of her paintings was stolen from Molly’s Café,” Siobhán said. “I just wanted to let her know.”
“Which one?” Danny asked.
“The murder weapon,” Siobhán said. Just then, her mobile and Danny’s went off at the same time.
“Uh-oh,” Annabel said.
Hers was a text from Macdara. Trouble at the inn.
“The inn?” Danny asked, holding up his mobile. She nodded. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”
* * *
Siobhán’s heart leapt in her throat as they pulled up to the inn and she took in the garda cars and folks gathered on the footpath. Where were her siblings? She started to run. It was then, as she drew closer, that she saw the main window of the inn had been smashed. Soon she saw her brood, huddled together. She headed for them. “What happened?”
“Someone threw a rock through the window.”
“A rock?”
Gráinne pulled up her mobile, scrolled through, then turned the screen to Siobhán. On it was the photograph of a rock lying on the floor of the inn. Painted on the rock in red letters it said: “BELIEVE.”
“You!” Siobhán turned to find the front desk clerk glaring at her. “This is all your fault,” he announced, shaking his fist.
“Why do you say that?”
“It was that seanchaí. I caught him running away. He was shouting, ‘Tell the redhead girl she’s after me!’ ”
Siobhán pointed to herself. “I’m after him?”
The clerk frowned. “Why would he want me to tell you, that you’re after him, like?”
“I’m just trying to clarify.” She’s after me. Who? Geraldine? Or had Danny started in on Eddie after their talk? Did Eddie think Siobhán was going after him?
“Calm down.” The directive came from Macdara, who had snuck up behind them, putting Siobhán’s heart in her crossways.
“Eddie Doolan did this?”
“He’s mental,” the clerk insisted. “Standing in front of me, shouting.”
“What was he shouting?”
“I just told you twice. Do I need to make it tree times?” He was clearly incensed. “Then he throws a rock through me window!”
“Did he say anything else? Anything about wher
e to find him?”
The clerk sighed. “Something about back where it all began.”
Siobhán turned to Macdara. “I know where he’s going.”
“You’re not going alone.” He glanced at the guards. “Do you want to tell Danny?”
She shook her head. “Let’s check it out first.”
He nodded. “Let me get Mam and your ones sorted first.”
“Ask James to stay with them.”
* * *
“Why do you think he’s out here?” Macdara asked as they traversed the meadow on their way to Ellen’s campsite.
“Back where it all began,” she said.
“You get his riddles.”
“I’m working on it.” Soon they were past the hawthorn tree again, and almost on the campsite. “Look.” Ellen’s tent was positioned where she’d first found it, standing tall as if it had been recently erected. Something didn’t feel right.
Macdara shifted beside her as he eyed the tent. “The guards didn’t remove it?”
“Or someone put one back up.”
They stopped. “I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Macdara said.
Siobhán pulled two sets of gloves out of her pockets. “That’s why I brought these.”
They pulled the tent flap open together. Eddie Doolan lay on his back, eyes closed. A large knife protruded from his chest. Blood pooled in the middle. A piece of clothing was balled up next to him, a white lump covered in streaks of dirt. “Dear God,” Siobhán said. “I think that’s Ellen’s top. The missing one.” She crossed herself and said a little prayer. On the side of the tent, in blood, there were three tic marks and a single word:
III
RUN
“Run.” Macdara’s head snapped around. “What if that is meant for us?”
Goose bumps rose on Siobhán’s arms. It looked like the same handwriting in the sink. Both done in blood, only this time, it was way more than the blood of a mouse. Was this a trap? Someone out there, waiting for them. Not just anyone. The killer.
Siobhán searched the rugged grounds in front of them, the bushes, the trees, the rocks. Too many places one could hide. The skies were dark and the clouds nearly on top of them. In the distance the gnarled hawthorn tree stood on the hill, as if reigning over the land. “It feels like someone is watching us,” she said.
“They want us to run. So we stay still.” He put his arm out protectively as he took out his mobile and dialed 999.
Murder in an Irish Cottage Page 24
