Macdara gently steered her in a new direction. “We have other matters to discuss.”
Siobhán kept her lecture in her head. That was not a sanctioned poker game. Understand? It was illegal. You don’t have a legal right to the horse. It was true that poker games went on all the time and the men usually honored their bets, even if they lost a truck, or livestock, or in extreme cases the family farm. It was also true the guards normally stayed out of it. But this was anything but normal. If the widow was innocent, Siobhán felt for her, but that didn’t mean she was going to take a racehorse away from a sixteen-year-old girl. Not if Siobhán could help it. They stopped as they neared Saint Mary’s Church, ancient graves visible in the distance. The widow leaned against the wall, gazing out at the churchyard. Siobhán gave her a moment of peace and then broke it.
“What had your husband so spooked?”
“When you’re as good as he was, everyone wants a piece of ya.”
“This goes beyond that,” Siobhán said. “And earlier you said he had some trouble in Dublin. We need to know exactly what kind of trouble.” Had someone followed the Octopus here from Dublin? Maybe it had nothing to do with their poker players. It would be easy enough for someone to slip into the festival crowds.
Rose stared off into the distance. When she spoke, her voice was quiet for the first time. “Somebody was asking him to do something he didn’t want to do.”
“Something he didn’t want to do?” Siobhán echoed.
Rose nodded. “That’s all he would say.” She turned her back on the cemetery. “He said one more thing.”
Siobhán leaned in. “Yes?”
“He told me to stay away from Shane Ross.”
Siobhán felt the back of her neck prickle. “Did he say why?”
“He said he’d learned something about him.” Rose pushed off again. “Something dark.”
Something dark . . . “What does that mean, ’something dark’?” Given the way Eamon Foley appeared to live his life, Siobhán was leery of discovering what he considered dark.
Macdara had no such qualms. “What was it?”
“He didn’t say,” Rose said, picking up her pace. “That’s how I knew it was bad.”
“You didn’t press him for details?”
Rose stopped, turned, and leaned against the stone wall. Siobhán was grateful for the rest, and ashamed she was having trouble keeping up with the pregnant widow. Rose tucked strands of her hair behind her ear, battling as the breeze whipped strands around her cheeks. “You didn’t know my husband. He had a hardness to him. You’d be sorry if you pressed too much.”
“Was he violent?” Siobhán asked. “Toward you?”
Rose flinched. “We had our fights. Sometimes he would throw things and I would duck. Sometimes I threw things back.”
Siobhán dropped the last piece of news. “Did you know your husband owned a firearm?”
Rose stared at Siobhán. “What are you talking about?”
“We found a firearm in his hotel room,” Macdara said. Some facts had to be kept hidden during an investigation. Others they were forced to use to get suspects to talk. In this case his message was meant to hit on two fronts. The gun, and the fact that they had separate rooms.
A look of worry crossed Rose’s face. “I hope you’re not trying to make something of our room arrangement. I don’t sleep well at night anymore.” She rubbed her belly. “Eamon knew he’d be drinking, and gambling, and staying out late. That’s the only reason why we had separate rooms. My husband is gone. Do you intend to take away my dignity too? Spread nasty rumors?”
“No.” Siobhán was telling the truth. “We’re only interested in finding out the truth.”
“Then find out what my husband had on Shane Ross.” Her eyes landed on them. “What if Shane found out that Eamon knew his deepest, darkest secret? He could be my husband’s killer.”
“What about the firearm?” Macdara asked.
Rose shook her head. “Someone must have planted it. I’ve never seen my husband with a gun. Never ever.”
“Margaret said you were anxious to get inside his room. Why was that?”
“I wanted to wear one of his shirts. I miss his smell.”
It was plausible, but Rose certainly didn’t seem like the sentimental type. As far as the six stages of grieving were concerned, she seemed deeply entrenched in the anger phase.
Macdara jumped in. “If he was afraid of Shane, isn’t it possible the gun was his and he didn’t tell you?”
Maybe that explains the bulletproof vest and brass knuckles. Protection. Fear. Is Rose telling the truth? Is Eamon Foley terrified of Shane Ross? What kind of secret could Shane be hiding, to scare a man like the Octopus?
Siobhán recalled how he strolled into O’Rourke’s that Friday evening, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He was wearing those mirrored sunglasses. She was obsessing on those. What happened to them?
Rose shrugged. “I don’t see why it matters. He didn’t shoot anyone and no one shot him. Why are you chasing your tails over a gun found in a nightstand?” Her pretty cheeks flushed red. “What?” she barked.
Siobhán stared at her long enough to make her squirm. “How did you know we found the gun in his nightstand?”
Chapter 16
The bells at Saint Mary’s tolled. Rose Foley seemed lost in their chimes. Siobhán stepped forward and repeated her question. “How did you know we found the firearm in your husband’s nightstand?”
Rose set her mouth in a thin line. “I guessed.”
“No,” Siobhán said. “I don’t think you did.”
She scoffed. “Where else would he keep it? Under his pillow?”
“We’re going to need you to come to the station,” Macdara said. “Make a formal statement.”
Rose blinked. “And if I refuse?”
“You’re welcome to call a solicitor, but refusal is not an option.”
“Are you accusing me of something?”
“We can if you like,” Siobhán said cheerfully. Macdara gave her a look.
“The sooner you make your official statement, the sooner we can eliminate you,” Macdara said in a soothing tone. Siobhán would have preferred he delivered it with a pinch to the back of her arm but to each his own.
“I’m about to give birth. You think I’m strong enough to do . . . whatever you think I did?”
“It’s just a formality,” Siobhán said. You could have had help. “We must get an official statement.”
“I wasn’t anywhere near that pub Saturday night.”
“Funny,” Siobhán said. “We have witnesses who swear you were.”
“Liars!”
“The pub also had cameras,” Siobhán said. She didn’t bother to add that they’d been disabled.
Rose winced and bent over.
“Are you alright?” Macdara said.
“Stress is not good for the baby. If you stress me out, I’m going to go into early labor.”
“We’ll have a doctor on the ready,” Siobhán said. Rose, it turned out, was just as sneaky as her husband. Siobhán wasn’t buying the act for a second. Was Dara?
“As Garda O’Sullivan mentioned, there were security cameras in Sharkey’s. We’ll be able to see if you were there. Best you tell us yourself.”
“I was in and out,” Rose said, straightening up. She began to walk. Siobhán and Macdara were forced to follow. Siobhán kept at her.
“Why did you lie?”
“Because I know what you people think of me. A traveler. Right? A tinker? A gypsy? A no-good, lying, dirty, cheating eejit.”
“We think nothing of the sort,” Siobhán said. “You’re not helping yourself or your husband by lying.”
“Come to the station,” Macdara said. “We’ll order you some supper.”
“I don’t need your pity supper.”
“It’s not pity. You need to keep up your energy,” Siobhán said.
“I’ll accompany you to the station if
, and only if, we go and collect my horse after.”
Siobhán didn’t hesitate. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. The horse is a piece of evidence in an ongoing investigation.” Macdara hid his surprise laughter with a cough. Rose stopped and whirled around, her pretty forehead wrinkled. Siobhán dug in her pockets and brought out the green booties. “I’ve been meaning to give you these. A gift from two of our local crafts ladies, Bridie and Annmarie.”
Rose stared at them. “I’ll still be wanting me horse.” She snatched them up anyway and held them in her trembling hands.
“Come on,” Macdara said, offering the widow his arm. “Wait until you try our curried chips.” By the time they took Rose to the station, and booked the gun into evidence, Siobhán finally remembered the receipt from the hardware store. She presented it to Macdara.
“Black marker and workman gloves,” Macdara mused. “We’re dealing with a colorful crew here.”
“Indeed.”
“Are you thinking Shane Ross is the one who marked the cards?”
“He must have had some reason for buying that marker. And if he was up to something nefarious and the Octopus found out . . .” Siobhán glanced at Rose, who was still holding the baby slippers in her hands. Siobhán felt a twist of pity for the widow. “Do you think it was a coincidence she guessed the gun was in the nightstand?”
“No,” Macdara said. “And she wanted in that room for a reason.”
“She wanted to get the gun before we did.”
Macdara nodded. “That would be my guess. But she’s right about one thing. The gun was never used. So what is the significance?”
“It definitely confirms Eamon’s state of mind.”
“She could be telling us the truth about Shane Ross. I’m going to see if we have anything on him in the system.” Macdara sighed. “Looks like several of our suspects are going to have to come in for round two.”
Siobhán nodded. “And here we thought the games were canceled.”
* * *
Siobhán was on her way out of the station when she heard her name being shouted across the floor. She turned to find Susan, their newest desk clerk, standing before her, shoving her thick eyeglasses up the bridge of her nose with her index finger.
“How ya,” Siobhán said, waiting.
Susan wasn’t one for pleasantries. “Have you seen my bingo flyers?”
“Your what now?”
Susan turned and pointed to the counter. “I spent ages making them. For the bingo fund-raiser. They were sitting right there!”
“I’m sorry. I haven’t seen them.”
“A thief right in the station!”
Siobhán shrugged. “I’m sure you can print more.”
“It’s a sin to waste paper,” Susan said. “I love trees.”
“Maybe they’re being passed around and your job is done.”
Susan frowned. Siobhán gave her a nod and a smile and took off before she was enlisted to help her look.
* * *
Out in the fresh air, walking down Sarsfield Street, Siobhán began to plot. It would be helpful if they could gather all their suspects in one place. A wake for Eamon Foley would be the perfect opportunity. If it were set for Monday evening, most of them would do the decent thing and stick around. As it stood, they had all planned to leave Monday morning. This would be pushing the limits, but not too far. Any man or woman who didn’t do the decent thing and stay for the wake would rise to the top of their suspect list.
Ideally, they would hold the wake at a proper place, like Butler’s. But it was a proven fact that criminals liked to return to the scene of their crime. And this criminal was clever, but he or she was also arrogant. They liked playing games. Sharkey’s would be the perfect place. Would the others be horrified if she suggested it? The reopening would also keep Rory Mack calm. Father Kearney could be there to bless the space and give a short mass. The storage room would be kept closed, with flowers and a cross outside the door.
The widow was key. If Siobhán could get Rose Foley on board, no other person would dare throw up an objection. A fund-raiser for the baby in Eamon’s memory should do the trick. It was also the right thing to do, a little kindness she could extend in his memory. She would work on her pitch to Rose. She just hoped she didn’t have to throw in a horse.
She would get Rory Mack to fix the cameras in Sharkey’s, maybe add a few more. They would be able to watch the tapes after the wake. One never knew what could be stirred up by forcing people to interact. Lastly the widow could benefit from a bit of comfort during this terrible time. That is, unless, of course, they were dealing with a black widow.
* * *
Siobhán entered the bistro, eager to change out of her uniform, start a fire, and prop herself near it with a big mug of tea and brown bread with butter. Just a bit of comfort. Some alone time would do her good. But when she entered the front dining room, there stood Ann and Amanda Moore, the tearstained pair of them melting into each other like inconsolable candlesticks.
“What’s the story?” Siobhán called out, dreading the answer.
Ann looked up, her face red. “I know she’s a widow. And a mammy-to-be. I should be kind. But she’s done it again!”
“Rose Foley?” Siobhán had come home partly to forget about that woman. The universe could be cruel.
Ann nodded. “She showed up at the farm with some terrible man, insisting she take the horse. Where’s she going to keep it? In the inn?”
“What terrible man?”
Amanda’s face was red with fury. “Some terrible old man with a belly.”
That did not narrow things down. But it sounded like Nathan Doyle. Why was that poker official always around the widow? And why had Macdara let Rose leave? “I just left Rose Foley at the garda station. I made it clear the horse was evidence in an ongoing investigation.”
“She didn’t listen, did she?” Ann said.
“Okay, okay. Amanda?” Siobhán went over and touched her arm. “Does she have the horse now?”
Amanda finally pulled her head up. “My da wouldn’t let her take it. She said she’s coming back. With a pack of wolves!”
“What?”
Amanda huffed as if that should have been crystal clear. “Fans of Eamon. She said she’s coming back with a pack of scrappers.”
Not a chance. “We’re not going to let her take your horse. You must promise not to run away again. I’m reporting this to the guards now.”
Amanda’s face was scrunched in rage. “I hate her. She’ll never get Midnight. Never!”
There was that word “hate” again, the same one she’d used in the note to her father: I hate you. Their mam had never let any of the O’Sullivans use the word “hate.”
“You might not like something, and that’s alright to admit, but ’hate’ is a heavy word and it will only darken your heart.” Naomi O’Sullivan had been such a wise woman. They didn’t appreciate it then, but Siobhán sure did now. But Amanda wasn’t her daughter, and she was already fit to be tied, so Siobhán kept the words of wisdom to herself. She took out her mobile, called Macdara, and told him about the widow’s latest escapades.
She could feel his sigh through the phone. “You’re joking me?”
“Why did you let her leave the station?”
“She said she wasn’t feeling well.”
“And you believed her?”
“What would you have me do?”
The girls were hanging on to every word. “Any idea why Nathan Doyle was with her yet again?”
“Aye,” Macdara said. “He was at the station. Offered to take her home.”
“Interesting,” Siobhán said.
“You’ve got the wrong end of the stick.”
“How do you know what end of the stick I have?”
“I know that tone. He was doing me a favor.”
“A favor? Marching up to Henry Moore’s farm, where we forbid her to go, to try and drag a racehorse away from a young girl? Where is she going
to keep it? At the inn?” Siobhán glanced at Amanda, who seemed proud her line was being used and gave her a thumbs-up.
Macdara sighed. “Believe me, I’ll speak with him. Are they at the farm now?”
“Henry Moore ran her off. She said she’s coming back with reinforcements.”
“A pack of wolves,” Ann said.
“Scrappers,” Amanda clarified.
Siobhán repeated the comments. Macdara laughed. “That sounds a bit dramatic.”
Siobhán lowered her voice and stepped farther away from the girls. “Teenage girls.”
Macdara laughed. “Tell Amanda we won’t let her take the horse.” Siobhán clicked off and turned back to Amanda and Ann. “D.S. Flannery will handle it.”
Amanda did not look relieved. “I’m afraid of what my da is going to do. If she does come back, she’ll be sorry. He doesn’t like to be cornered.”
The comment struck Siobhán and she was forced to turn it over. Had Eamon tried to corner Henry? Witnesses stated he had pleaded with Eamon to let him win his horse back. Eamon had refused. Did Henry lash out in a fit of rage? He was the one who kept the rope on special order. Siobhán handed the phone to Amanda. “Dial your number. I’ll speak with your father.”
Ann was staring at Siobhán’s cappuccino machine. “Can I make us one?”
Amanda handed her the phone. “It’s ringing.”
Siobhán addressed Ann with a nod to the cappuccino machine. “It’s late in the day. You might not be able to sleep. I’ll put the kettle on instead.” Henry Moore’s voicemail kicked in and she left him a message. “Mr. Moore we are aware of Rose’s recent visit. The guards are going to handle it. They are on their way to your property now. Do not—I repeat—do not take matters into your own hands. Amanda is here with Ann. We’ll mind her until things calm down.” She said good-bye and hung up. Amanda was hovering close to the cappuccino machine.
“I don’t mind if it keeps me up. I intend to stay awake and guard Midnight with my life.”
Murder in an Irish Pub Page 13
