“The murder was staged to look like a suicide.”
“And?”
“That’s extremely elaborate and took quite a bit of effort. I can’t imagine it would have been easy.” She tried and failed to rid her mind of the rope, and the man swinging from it. “Why would a thrill seeker, as you say, go to such lengths to hide his crime?”
Nathan nodded. “That’s why we don’t think Shane murdered Eamon. We think he pushed him to it.”
“Pardon?” Siobhán’s mind was spinning.
“We think he said or did something that drove him to suicide. Even brought the rope to the pub, made sure Eamon was inebriated and suggested he sleep it off in the storage room, then most likely concocted a few lies. One, that he’d spoken to me and I was going to toss Eamon out of the tournament, and two, I think he let Eamon in on the rumor that someone else was the father of Rose’s baby—”
“Why is that your theory?”
Macdara leaned in. “There’s no evidence that anyone got into that room but Eamon.”
Siobhán couldn’t see it. “Even if he confronted him with rumors that he wasn’t the father of Rose’s baby, Eamon seems more the type to murder anyone else before himself.” She turned to Macdara. “His own wife told us that.”
“Do you trust Rose Foley?”
Macdara had a point. “Not on everything. On that, yes.”
“We’re waiting for the toxicology report,” Nathan said. “Certain drugs mixed with alcohol could tilt the scales toward suicide.”
“Couldn’t it equally tilt it to murder? Too weak or passed out to realize what was happening to him?”
“Only if there’s a way into that room that we haven’t sussed out yet,” Macdara said.
Back to the darn room.
The three fell into an uneasy silence as all the possibilities floated in front of them.
“Were you really going to kick Eamon out of the tournament?” Siobhán asked Nathan. She was genuinely curious.
“I didn’t want to. It complicated our operation, I’ll say that. But I reviewed the tapes. They clearly show the blondie waitress with a deck of cards in her hand as she approaches the table. When she leaves, the deck is gone.”
“We still haven’t found her?”
“She’s probably long gone,” Nathan said. “Wouldn’t you be?”
“Did anyone see her at Sharkey’s?”
“Not that we’ve heard,” Macdara said.
“Eamon Foley was the best player. Why would he even need to cheat?”
“Why do these people do anything?” Nathan said. “Because they can. I’ve studied thrill seekers. It isn’t about the prize. It’s about getting their adrenaline pumped up when they get away with it.”
“Do you honestly think you could prove that Shane drove Eamon to take his own life?”
“I doubt it,” Nathan said. “But with his string of thefts, if he goes back to the jewelry store, he’ll be arrested and put away for a long time.”
“But is that really justice?” She thought of all the ripples of pain caused from a single life being taken. A child growing up without a father.
Nathan studied her. “Justice comes in many forms. We do our best, the rest is out of our hands.”
Macdara chimed in. “He’ll be off the streets, unable to harm anyone else. That’s a form of justice.”
“Is it possible that we have two criminals?” Siobhán asked. “Shane, the jewel thief. But someone else murdered Eamon?”
“Anything’s possible,” Macdara said. “But we’re being urged to close this case as soon as possible. Let’s at least focus on putting Shane Ross away for good.”
“We can’t just ignore the fact that there are other viable suspects, can we?”
“List them,” Nathan said. “And their motives.”
“Amanda Moore.”
“Go on.”
“She was enraged that her father had gambled away her horse. He’s not just an animal to her. He’s a member of the family. And she’s a strong girl. From carrying pails of water to the barn.”
“Strong enough to hang a man?” Nathan said. “Smart enough to think of it?”
“Henry Moore may have helped.” Siobhán shuddered at the thought of a father and daughter committing a murder together.
“Next suspect?”
“Clementine Hart. With the Octopus out, she’s now number one.”
Macdara nodded. “Then there’s our runaway widow.”
Siobhán remembered the photograph. She brought it out. “Why were you watching them?”
Nathan and Macdara exchanged a look. Macdara nodded. “You can trust her.”
Nathan didn’t look so sure about that, but he continued to explain. “Here’s where my involvement gets a little tricky.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “A few weeks ago Shane Ross was in danger of losing his third-place ranking. If he fell below it, he never would have bothered to come to Kilbane. Only the top three stand to win big money.” He leaned back and folded his arms. “I saw my chance slipping away. I needed him to maintain his ranking. I did something a little unconventional.”
“Go on,” Macdara said when Nathan paused. “Siobhán is an unconventional lass herself.”
This time she kicked him under the table. “Do go on,” she echoed with a smile.
“I asked Eamon Foley to throw a game. There was no way he was going to do that without letting him in on the entire operation. So I did. I told him who I was. I told him what we had on Shane Ross and why we needed him in the tournament.”
She didn’t know what she was suspecting, but it wasn’t that. “That’s what Rose meant when she said someone was asking Eamon to do something he didn’t want to do.”
Nathan nodded. “I’ll admit I was worried Eamon had told her everything. But if he did, she’s never let on.”
“She said Eamon wouldn’t tell her much. He just warned her to stay away from Shane Ross.”
“I messed up,” Nathan said. “If I did anything to cause Eamon’s death, I’ll turn in my badge. In fact, you’re welcome to call my superiors in Dublin and report me.”
“Report you?”
“I wasn’t authorized to involve Eamon Foley. Now he’s dead. That’s on me. And I’ll take me punishment.” He leaned forward. “But first I want to nail the bastard who did this. Pardon my French.”
Siobhán waved him away. “I’ve heard worse.”
“She’s said worse,” Macdara said with a wink. “A lot worse.”
She kicked him again. “What’s the plan?” she asked Nathan. “Is there a plan?”
“I need you and Macdara to watch over the wake. If Shane sneaks out, let him go. I’ll be setting up surveillance at Celtic Gems. Hopefully, we’ll finally catch him. Finally close the books on Operation Diamond Dash.” He threw his arms open. “And maybe, just maybe, once he’s caught, we can get him to confess to the murder. If not, at least he’ll be off the streets.”
* * *
They were just getting up from their lunch when Declan appeared, pulling Siobhán to the side.
“Can I have a moment of your time?” She looked up into a face filled with concern. It wasn’t Declan’s usual look.
“Of course.” She excused herself and followed Declan back inside.
“I know you’ll have to bring D.S. Flannery into the loop, but I felt most comfortable leaving this in your hands.”
“What’s wrong?”
He pointed to the rubbish bin behind the bar. “That.” He strode over. Siobhán followed and peered into the bin.
The bin was half-full. Sitting on top was a pair of mirrored sunglasses, a billfold, and keys. “My God.”
“Are they . . . his?”
“I think so.” She stared. “When did you notice this?”
“Just now.”
Did someone sneak in and dump the items while we were lunching on the patio? What nerve . . . exactly the type of move this killer would make. Exactly.
“The bags are a
lways changed at night.”
“This was very recent.”
Declan folded his arms, glaring at the bag. He nodded. “’Twas.”
“How many customers have you had in?”
He rubbed his chin. “Less than a dozen. However . . .”
“Yes?”
“I was recently ferrying back and forth to the patio and . . .”
“And anyone could have slipped in while you were outside.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re going to have to use another bin. Guards are going to have to take this one into evidence.” Rubbish and all. Oh, the glamour.
Declan placed his hand on Siobhán’s shoulder. “Sorry, luv.”
“Not your fault.” She headed back to the patio to break the fun news to Macdara.
* * *
Nathan and Siobhán stood outside taking in Sarsfield Street while Macdara settled the bill. Guards were on their way to retrieve the rubbish bin. Macdara was still steaming at the thought that the killer had been so brazen. Dumping those contents while they were only a few feet away on the patio. This was a killer who truly enjoyed taunting. It was infuriating. It felt like he or she was winning. Time was slipping by, and soon all their suspects would trickle out. The tents were down, cars were back on the road, and most of the tourists were gone. Nathan turned to Siobhán. “You have good instincts. But you’re new. Are you open to a few tips?”
“Absolutely.” Tips from a member of the SSU? Yes, please.
“The day you interviewed Shane Ross. I saw you with your notepad.”
Siobhán grinned. “I never go anywhere without it.” At Templemore her instructors had often praised her on her excellent note-taking skills. “Observant O’Sullivan” they’d called her. D.S. Doyle didn’t want to know all that. Did he? Was there a way to work it into the conversation without sounding vain?
He shook his head. “Don’t write in front of them.”
Her ego shrank back into its shell. “Why not?”
“Makes them nervous.”
“Isn’t it good to make them nervous?”
“Not if you want them to talk. If they think their every word is being written down, they are going to censor themselves big-time.”
“Then what do I do?”
He tapped his head. “Use this as your notepad. The minute the witness is out of sight, that’s when you write it down.”
“Thanks a million.” She wrote it down. “What else?”
“Your interrogation rooms? The shade?”
“Yes?”
“It’s there for a reason.”
“Privacy.”
“Not quite.”
“I’m not following.”
“Did you ever wonder why there was a window between the two interview rooms?”
She felt foolish. She’d never really thought about it. “I’m not sure.”
He winked. “There’s a reason, alright. Now you lowered the shade before you brought Shane in.”
Siobhán nodded. “Because Clementine was in IR2.”
“Exactly.” He waited.
“I’m not following.”
“You should have let them get a glimpse of each other—just a wee glimpse, enough to lock eyes—then fast, pull it down. Not enough time to signal each other, just enough time to panic about what the other might say.”
That made total sense. Why else have a window between rooms? How had she not seen it? Why hadn’t anyone else mentioned it? “Wow. Thank you.”
He nodded. “You show real promise. Ever think about transferring to Dublin?”
She did. Thought about it like a hummingbird, hovering and retreating, never coming to rest for long. She’d imagined what her flat in Dublin would look like, her daily routines, weekends driving home, such a long drive; she had wondered if Ciarán and Ann would cry the whole way; anxiety about Eoin, and James, and Gráinne—technically old enough to be on their own, but would they manage? Would they feel like a family? What would happen to the bistro? She’d have to give Elise her recipe for brown bread....
Never.
Nathan must have sensed her dilemma. “You’ve got time. Your whole life ahead of you. But if it’s a career you want, the rank of detective sergeant someday?”
“Someday. Sure.”
He leaned in. “Special Ops?”
Excitement bubbled in her. Yes, yes, yes. “Maybe.”
“Well, then. You should seriously think about Dublin.”
Siobhán had a feeling she was being watched and turned to find Macdara behind them.
Nathan saluted. “I’m off to Celtic Gems. Good luck with finding Rose and with the wake. With any luck we’ll get our man tonight.”
* * *
As soon as he left, Macdara turned. “Taking you under his wing, is he?”
How much did he hear? “He had some good advice.” They began to stroll. Siobhán fixed her gaze on the soft hills in the distance.
“You went from suspecting the guy of all sorts of shenanigans to hanging on to his every word.” Macdara’s voice was light, but there was a bite underneath.
“Did you verify he is who he says he is?”
Macdara nodded. “The minute he told me who he was, I had Susan call his badge number into the Dublin guards. They confirmed he was one of theirs. I didn’t mention Operation Diamond Dash.”
That made sense. The SSU would hardly acknowledge an undercover operation. “Why did you keep his identity from me?”
“The less people that know he’s undercover, the better.”
“Did you like working in Dublin?”
“So-so. I missed home.” He stared at her. “Ciarán’s only twelve years of age.”
“You don’t think I know that?”
Macdara stopped, gestured. “There aren’t many places left like this in the world.”
They took a moment to drink in their village. The wash of colors on the storefronts. Pink and blue, and yellow and greens. The colorful advertisements. The medieval stone walls, and original entrance gates to the town. The town castle. Saint Mary’s. The ruined abbey. Kilbane was special. And more than that, there was a spirit to their village, even Siobhán couldn’t deny that. This would always be home. But did that mean she shouldn’t try other places? “We’re not some perfect little bubble anymore. We have violent crime now. Drugs. Suicide. Domestics.”
“Then why go to Dublin?”
“Were you listening in on our entire conversation?”
“We also have neighbors you can count on. Nearly every one of them would drop everything to help each other out, and you know it.”
“Shops are closed up and down Sarsfield.”
“People stop and say hello.”
“Not when you’re a guard. Unless they need you.”
“Our job is not to be adored. It’s to protect and serve.”
“I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up. Am I not even allowed to think about a life elsewhere?”
Macdara focused on something in the distance. She could feel energy radiating off him. Why was he browned off? “Let’s be honest,” he said. “You’ve never stopped.”
“That’s not fair. You’ve been places. Did anyone try to make you feel rotten about it?”
“I’m settled here. For good. I don’t want to be back in a big city.”
Did I say anything about you? He wasn’t really looking at rings to propose to her. He might never propose to her. Did he just plan on dating her for the rest of her life? “You’re about as settled as a game of sticks,” she said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She started to walk. Macdara followed. “Pull one out and it all comes crashing down,” she clarified.
“You’ll have to be more concrete.”
“No wife. No kids.”
“I’m less of a man, then, am I?”
“Of course not. But you certainly can’t call yourself settled.”
He touched her elbow; she stopped and turned around. He locked
eyes with her. “I know what you must have thought. When you saw me looking at diamond rings.”
She wanted to deny it. She also wanted to hear what he had to say. “I didn’t know what to think.”
“I can imagine.” He let go of her, looked at his feet. “Is that what you want?”
He was not going to put this on her. Drag out all her hopes, and doubts. Make her the one responsible for what happened when she spoke her answer out loud. “What do you want?”
“Everything is on the table.”
She knew it. He was squirming like a puppy wiggling to get down from a child’s arms. “Great. Glad we settled that.”
He sighed. “We’ll talk about this later. We’ve got a widow to find and a wake to throw.”
Thank heavens. She was as bad as he was when it came to this subject. “I’ll check in at the bistro, we’re catering the food.”
“Excellent. I will see you at Sharkey’s, if I don’t see you before.” He leaned in and kissed her.
“Very bold, D.S. Flannery, we’re in public.”
For a minute they stared at each other. They had never said, “I love you.” How ridiculous. She knew he did, and she did too. But she wasn’t going to say it first. Why was he so behind when it came to matters of the heart? “Later, boss,” he said with a wink.
“Later.”
The little banter she and James used to exchange when they were little came floating back to her:
“See you later, alligator.”
“Not if the crocodile eats you first.”
Chapter 26
Siobhán stood in the kitchen at Naomi’s surveying the food. Eoin had overseen the entire operation and he had outdone himself. Shepherd’s pie, and finger sandwiches, and toasties, and pasta salads, and bacon and cabbage, and Irish stew, and, of course, brown bread and desserts. Everything was packed up and ready to take to Sharkey’s. Siobhán was just about to head there, and then her mobile rang. Unknown flashed across the screen. She headed to the back dining room for privacy.
“Hello?”
“Why aren’t you investigating Rory Mack?” The voice was low and garbled as if the caller was attempting to disguise his voice.
“What about Rory Mack?” Was it Shane Ross? It could be, but it was hard to tell.
“Friday night. Did you know Rory Mack sat in on a game?”
Murder in an Irish Pub Page 20
