Amanda stepped up. “I didn’t kill him. I wanted to. But I didn’t.”
“But you did buy the rope, and then you left it at the festival?” Amanda stared. “Only the killer needs to fear the truth. No one else does.”
Amanda burst into tears. “Okay, okay. I didn’t leave it at the festival. I left it here. But I didn’t bring it to kill anyone! I was planning on going for a ride when Da was here playing cards. He keeps the ropes in a cabinet in the barn, so I needed my own.”
The crowd murmured.
Siobhán turned to Henry Moore. “It was such a foolish thing to do, betting your racehorse.”
“I know.” Henry Moore hung his head. “I’m a flawed man. But I’m no killer.”
“No. I don’t think you are. It’s a relief, I might add.” She stared at Rory Mack. “You as well.”
“Me?”
“Insisting the games be played here. Betting your own pub!”
“I’ve learned me lesson. No more gambling in Sharkey’s!”
Yeah, right. “I knew something specific must have happened Friday evening to force the killer to reimagine his murderous plan. And I was right. Eamon Foley was waiting for a return call from his doctor. He was very close to finding out he wasn’t about to be a father. He confessed this to the wrong person. He confessed this to his killer.”
“Somebody stop her. Make her stop!” Rose was in hysterics.
“So reimagine it, the killer did. Saw the rope. The shape Eamon was in. Found the playing cards on the table, decided that would throw suspicion on others. Threw in a few more props from his or her arsenal. Brass knuckles. A bulletproof vest. And then the killer stole an autograph.”
She held up the evidence baggie:
CAN’T BEAT THE DEAD MAN’S HAND
Eamon Foley
“Eddie,” Siobhán called out. Heads swiveled to Eddie Houlihan, who stood in the back, slouched, hands shoved in his denim pockets. “Is this the autograph Eamon signed to you?”
“’Tis,” Eddie said, straightening up at the sight of it. “Here’s my book to prove it.” He held up a notebook turned to a torn page.
“It wasn’t a suicide note at all,” Jeanie Brady murmured. “Well played.”
“I’m leaving,” Rose said. But she remained where she was standing.
“There were many signs you had a lover. The roses. The cologne. The shaving kit. Separate rooms at the inn. Your social media pages.”
“I explained all that.”
“Lies,” Siobhán said. “More lies.” She turned to Shane. “Shane Ross bought you the roses. Didn’t you, Shane?”
“Not just from me,” Shane said. “Official ones. From all of us.”
“You were also the one who brought Emily here.”
“Emily?” Macdara said.
“The blond waitress who slipped Eamon a cold deck while her boyfriend, the magician, dealt him the Dead Man’s Hand.”
“You don’t understand,” Shane said. “You’ve got this all wrong.”
“You also paid multiple visits to Celtic Gems.”
“Now you’re going to blame me for that missing ring?” He had started to sweat. “I told you. I think I’m being set up!”
“All those lies, Shane. They didn’t help.”
“What lies?”
“The gloves? Margaret switched to an electric fireplace earlier.”
“It makes a clicking noise,” Margaret said. “I don’t like that.”
“I got those gloves for someone else. It’s not me!”
“Everywhere I looked, Shane Ross, there you were. And you’ve spent a lot of time around Mrs. Foley, haven’t you?”
Rose thrust up her chin. “That’s Widow Foley to you.”
Shane Ross looked ready to bolt out the door. Siobhán had to keep going. “Motive is huge here. This killer wanted to protect an unborn baby.” She eyed Shane. “I assume you’d submit to a DNA swab?”
Shane stepped forward. “Of course. Swab me cheek right now!”
“Enough.” Jeanie Brady hopped off her stool. “I don’t want to hear another crazy theory until you tell me how the killer got in and out of the room with a dead bolt.”
Siobhán nodded. “The killer had to be someone smart. He or she needed the skills to disable cameras, change plans when the original one didn’t work out, stage a suicide. I’ll admit, the locked room had me at first.” Siobhán found her sister in the crowd. “Gráinne, will you please go into the storage room and slide the dead bolt?”
“My pleasure.” Gráinne walked over to the storage room and entered. They could clearly hear the dead bolt sliding into place. “It’s locked.”
“James. Would you please try the door?”
James walked up to the storage room door and pulled. “It’s locked.”
Siobhán nodded to Eoin. He headed for the patio. “You can stay in here as I narrate, or you can follow Eoin out to the patio. We all know that Eamon Foley spent the night in the storage room. Most likely, fell asleep in a chair. Right now, my brother Eoin is climbing a ladder up to the venting window. A ladder that, according to Eddie Houlihan, was in the storage room Friday day, along with a mop and a bucket.”
“They were,” Eddie said. “I swear.”
“I know, luv.” Siobhán smiled at Eddie. “As Eoin is climbing the ladder, in his hand is one of these.” Siobhán leaned down and picked up the tent pole she’d placed near the stage. It had an O-ring attached to the end. “It’s approximately ten feet from the window to the door. I believe a tent pole like this was used to catch the bolt and slide it in place.”
“My God.” Jeanie Brady sounded both disgusted and impressed.
“Several times I saw people playing with these tent poles and catch on things. Still, it took me a while to put it together,” Siobhán explained.
“But you did,” Macdara said.
“Let’s see.”
“Rory Mack, didn’t you say you used your truck to deliver tent poles Friday morning?”
Heads turned to Rory. “I did indeed.”
“You must have missed one. The killer found it in the back of your truck. Which was parked where on Friday evening?”
He nodded. “Right out front.”
The door to the storage room swung open, and Eoin stood, tent pole held aloft. “It worked.” The crowd murmured.
Jeanie Brady shot out of her chair. “My God!”
“How’s that for proof?” Admiration shone from Macdara’s voice.
“That’ll do,” Jeanie said. “I can officially rule his death a homicide.”
“But who is the killer?” Clementine couldn’t help herself.
“Garda O’Sullivan, I need you to stop talking.” The order came from Nathan Doyle.
“Best of luck with that,” Macdara replied with a wink.
She’d deal with him later. Siobhán turned to Nathan. “You especially are going to want to hear this.”
“D.S. Flannery?” Nathan turned to Macdara. “Deal with her or I will.”
“Dealer’s choice,” Siobhán said. She smiled at Nathan.
Macdara shifted. “I want to hear what she has to say.”
“So do I,” Clementine said. “This is riveting.”
Nathan didn’t like taking no for an answer. “I order you to stand down.”
“I would try that if I were you too,” Siobhán said. “But you can’t order anyone, anymore, can you? Seeing as how you’re retired.”
“He’s retired?” Macdara said. He shook his head. “He has his badge and gun. I had one of my clerks call Dublin. He checked out.”
Nathan stood like a statue.
“He didn’t return his gun or badge. My guess is, he also had the vest and brass knuckles from his time on the force. Someone in Dublin will have to answer for that. And you misunderstood the message out of Dublin. I just checked with the clerk.” It was obvious from his expression that Macdara was taken aback.
“How did I misunderstand?”
She pulled
the phone message out of her handbag. “The guard in Dublin said this, ’Yes, Nathan Doyle was a Dublin guard.’ You took this to mean present tense. But Dublin meant it as in past tense. He was a guard. As opposed to, He is a guard. A simple miscommunication.”
“Doublespeak! What is this nonsense?” Nathan Doyle was unraveling. Good.
“Siobhán?” Macdara was pleading with her. He stared at Nathan. “Are you retired?”
Nathan stared without replying.
“I bet if we checked into travel records, we’ll find a plane ticket for you. Ibiza, maybe?”
He glared at her. “You think you’re such a clever girl, don’t you?”
“No,” she said. “I think I’m such a clever garda.”
“This isn’t possible,” Shane said. He pointed. “I was working undercover for him. He had me buy the gloves. He told me he was casing Eamon Foley for illegal gambling.”
“If only you knew what he was saying about you,” Sibo-han said.
“This is enough,” Nathan said. “You’re ruining a very sensitive investigation.”
“Shut up,” Macdara said. He nodded to Siobhán. “Continue.”
She turned back to Shane. “When I met you outside the jewelry shop, I had already received a complaint from Tom Howell that someone was casing his store.”
“Casing?” Shane said. “Me?”
“You were told that someone was going to propose to me. This person asked for your help in getting me to pick out a ring I liked.”
Shane nodded.
“When I asked you, who put you up to it, you said, ’yer man,’ and ’that detective.’ ” Siobhán took a deep breath. “I thought at first Shane was referring to Macdara Flannery.” She glanced at Dara. His handsome face looked pained. “But you weren’t. Were you? You were talking about that one. The undercover one.” She pointed at Nathan Doyle.
“Undercover,” Clementine muttered. “No wonder the bloke didn’t know two figs about poker.”
Rose paled, and did not say a word. Her hand went to her stomach. Siobhán had to keep going.
“O’Sullivan, I warned you. He’s a master manipulator.” Nathan jerked his head to Shane Ross.
Shane whirled around. “Me? I am?” His confusion was too good to be an act. “It’s you. You’re the one!”
“Supposedly, you’re also a diamond thief,” Siobhán said. “A very notorious one back in Dublin.”
Shane threw his head back and laughed. He stopped when he realized he was the only one. “You’re joking me?”
“Step down, now.” Nathan moved to the stage. Macdara stepped in front of him. “You’re going to stay here and let her finish. I have guards surrounding this place.”
Nathan stood his ground. “That’s why you wanted my weapon.” He pointed at Siobhán. “She is off the mark.”
“So far, she’s hitting it pretty good as far as I can see.”
Siobhán held up the photo Gráinne had printed off Rose’s social media page. “Stick as close as possible to the truth. Isn’t that the way, Detective Sergeant Doyle?”
Nathan began to scan the room as if looking for an escape. “You’re making a fool out of yourself.”
“Here’s a truth. Before you retired, you were assigned to Eamon Foley. That’s when he met and fell in love with Rose Foley.”
“Liar!” Rose was coming unglued. She looked liked a trapped rat.
Siobhán pulled the handkerchief out of her handbag. “When I dabbed some of the cologne from your bathroom at the inn on my handkerchief, and then came up behind you, you thought I was Nathan, didn’t you?”
“That’s hardly evidence of anything,” Rose scoffed.
“And when I asked Nathan to fetch a mop for my spilled pint”—she made eye contact with Nathan—“you headed directly for the back hallway.”
“So?”
“Why did you think the mop would be there?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Eddie kept the mop in the storage room. The killer used it on the floor after he hanged Eamon. Not only to get rid of his footprints, but also to hide the rope fibers.”
“Prove it!”
“Then you left the mop in the hallway. In the exact spot where you went to fetch it again.”
“Circumstantial!”
She nodded to Eddie. “Eddie will confirm that.”
“This is ridiculous,” Nathan sputtered.
“Speaking of ridiculous . . .” Siobhán plucked the flyer from the garda station out of her handbag. She held it up.
“These had been sitting in the station for days. Until somebody stole them. If only I had seen it first.” She turned the flyer toward the crowd. Everyone stared at it, but Nathan Doyle.
BINGO FUND-RAISER
OPERATION DIAMOND DASH
Macdara came closer. “What is this?”
“A bingo game,” Siobhán said. “The winner gets a pair of diamond earrings.” She handed the flyer to Macdara.
“My God.” Macdara stared at Nathan. “You made it all up?”
“Not a poker player,” Siobhán said. “But a master at distraction nonetheless.”
“How could you?” Real hurt rang from Macdara’s voice. “How could you betray the shield?”
Nathan moved toward Macdara. “I didn’t have a choice. Eamon Foley was scum. I wasn’t going to let him hurt her anymore. Or our baby.”
“Leave us alone,” Rose said. “We’ve overcome too much!”
“She had nothing to do with this,” Nathan said. “It was all me.”
“She had nothing to do with the hanging,” Siobhán said. “But she had everything to do with the tampered brakes. That’s why she sent the waitress to her death. Or thought she did.”
“It’s a pity no one will ever know for sure,” Rose said.
“You didn’t hear? Emily survived the crash. She and the boyfriend tried to make a run for it, but I just got a text that they’ve been apprehended. They’re at the station giving their statements as we speak. You sold her Eamon Foley’s car for ten euro.”
Nathan bent down. When he came up again, he was holding a gun. “Everyone get down.” People screamed and hit the floor. Nathan nodded at Macdara. “Always check for a second gun, horse.” Siobhán, Macdara, and Rose were the only ones who remained standing.
“It’s over,” Macdara said. “Put that down.”
“I don’t want to use it. I did like you two. A little naive, but likable. I’m going to take my love and we’re going to leave.” Nathan took Rose by the arm and began to haul her to the door. No one moved, but Nathan whirled on them anyway, waving the gun. “If you try and stop me, I’ll use the gun. You know I will.”
Rose bent over and screamed. “My water,” she said. “The baby is coming!”
“Not now!” Nathan’s voice rang with pain.
“Don’t you tell me, ’Not now.’ ” Rose shoved Nathan. “Tell the baby!” She screamed and bent over. “Oh, God!”
One look was all it took to see it wasn’t a ruse. Water puddled beneath her. “Call an ambulance,” Macdara said as he rushed to her side.
Nathan threw a desperate look to the door. Rose caught it. She grabbed Nathan. “Don’t you even think of leaving me.”
“I’ll be arrested.” He tried to tug away. Rose held tight.
Siobhán stepped forward, speaking only to Nathan. “You have a choice. Flee now and be caught down the road, or surrender to us and we’ll make sure you get to see your child come into this world.”
“You don’t have that authority.” Nathan sounded as if he wanted to take the deal.
“I do,” Macdara said. “I’ll allow it. You’ll get a chance—maybe the only one—to hold your newborn.”
“Then I’ll be arrested.”
He was close. Siobhán took another step. “There aren’t many experiences in life that you can’t replicate in books or on telly. The birth of your child is one of them.”
“If you don’t stay, I’ll kill you!” Rose clung
to him.
Nathan’s gun hand went slack. Macdara swiped it away.
Nathan whirled. “Okay, okay. I’ll make a full confession. Just let me see my baby born. Let me hold him or her. Just once.”
Macdara nodded. He was a man of his word. “A full confession on the way to hospital. And we’ll have guards on you the whole time.”
Nathan nodded. “Yes, yes.” Sweat dripped from his brow. “Thank you.” He turned to Siobhán and shook his head as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “I didn’t lie about everything. You’re going to make a fantastic detective sergeant one day.”
“It’s too bad I can’t trust a word you say.”
Nathan’s face softened and for a moment she didn’t see the face of a killer. She saw the face of a man who had taken too many wrong turns. “Stick as closely as possible to the truth, O’Sullivan. Remember?” Sirens wailed nearby. The ambulance was almost here. Nathan wagged a finger at Siobhán as Rose was escorted out. “And you of all people know the truth when you hear it.”
Chapter 33
The lads were playing cards in the back room of the bistro. The fire was going. It was a warm spring evening, so Siobhán had the door to the back garden open. She stood with a mug of tea, drinking in all the flowers. They all needed healthy distractions. She was already plotting different universities where Eoin could go to develop his artistic schools. And Gráinne remained a challenge, but Siobhán vowed to help her sister tame a bit of her wandering spirit. Maybe she would like to become a stylist or fashion designer. Either way it was a relief to have the poker tournament and festival behind them, to get on with the rhythm of life, and with a little luck have a string of quiet months at work, filling out forms for property disputes or petty shenanigans.
The front door opened and the bell dinged. Siobhán smiled as the butterflies swarmed her stomach. “How ya?” she heard Macdara call to her brood. She turned to make him a cup of tea, when he took her hand. “Go for a walk with me?”
“Sure.” She ruffled Ciarán’s hair on the way out.
* * *
They walked down Sarsfield Street, nodding hello to neighbors, and taking in the warm evening.
Murder in an Irish Pub Page 25
