by Anne Crosse
“Did Mrs Dillon ever talk about her sons to you; after they went missing, that is?” James asked. He could see this young woman was in the mood for talking and why not find out what he could by offering a listening ear.
“In the beginning, Mrs Dillon used to say it was great that she could come and go as she pleased. She could eat whatever she wanted to eat, and if she didn’t feel like cooking, no one was going to give off to her about it. She was a free agent, she used to say with a big smile on her face.”
“Did they come in here, her two sons?”
“Tell me about it. Dick was always getting cigarettes and asking for them to be charged up to his mother’s account. Cheeky devil. Always saying something smart. No wonder he got himself killed.”
“Be careful what you say, it could get you killed,” James said.
“That’s a good one, I must write that down in my little notebook. I write short stories and I am always looking for ideas. They say that many a book was written thanks to an overheard conversation. Not that I’ll ever graduate to a book. I am exaggerating when I say I write short stories: two thousand words is the most I’ve ever managed. I have submitted a lot of my stuff to several competitions, but I did get longlisted one time,” she said proudly.
“There’s plenty of material in this town, I am sure,” James said.
“Yes, a murder most foul we had two years ago. In fact, three murders all in one go.”
“Yes, that’s right; I was involved in the investigation, but you weren’t here then, were you?” James asked.
“I came back from England last year because the girl who worked here left to get married. The guy she married is loaded, so she don’t have to work no more. Some people are so jammy, would you not agree?”
“You saw the job advertised, did you?” James asked.
“Well, to be honest, my grandfather owns this place and he offered me the job. England, I am afraid, had lost its lustre, so I jumped at the chance. I didn’t admit the real reason I took him up on his offer, naturally. I kind of made out I was doing him a favour by coming back. And you know what, that’s true to a certain extent. I am, as it happens, doing him a huge favour, because nobody else in their right mind would put up with the unsociable hours.”
“Open all hours, eh?” James said, and laughed.
“I don’t half jabber a lot, no wonder my mouth goes dry,” she explained as she opened a bottle of water and took a large gulp.
“Getting back to the Dillon brothers, not very popular, were they, by all accounts?” James prompted.
“The amount of people they rubbed up the wrong way was absolutely unbelievable.”
“So, they had several arch enemies?”
“That poor girl in the chipper was tormented by them. She must have been delighted when they disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“Did everyone assume they’d done a runner?”
“It was common knowledge that Dick got Brigit Barry into trouble. The foregone conclusion was he’d gone off to England to escape a shotgun wedding. Of course, he had to take his gimpy brother with him because them two were like conjoined twins,” she said.
“So, how much do I owe you?” James asked.
“Five euro and ten cents. Ah, go on with you, the fiver will do,” she said.
James paid for his bag of goods and headed for the door. “You might come for a drink sometime,” he called over his shoulder. He didn’t want her to see the embarrassment on his face when she made up some excuse not to take him up on his offer.
“My name’s Lilly, by the way, and yes, I’d love to go for a drink with you,” she called after him.
CHAPTER 8
Robert couldn’t wait to open the bottle of brandy he had bought from that cheeky little one in the huckster shop, the way she was looking at him, like he was the beast from the east.
He would just have the one drink in peace, without James looking at him like he was an alcoholic or something. Non-drinkers didn’t seem to understand the escapism alcohol offered. A liquid chill pill.
Robert placed his little radio-cum-CD player on the locker by the bed and plugged it in. He had wrapped shirts and jumpers around it for protection when he packed it into his suitcase.
Today was his birthday, and nobody knew, except for himself of course, and his mother and his father if they were still alive. No, he was not going to dwell on all that emotional shit tonight. He would just have a drink to mark the special occasion. Special occasion, what a joke that was.
The CD was already in the player, so he pressed the button for the ‘repeat automatically’ function. That was one great feature, hats off to the fellows who designed it for lazy fuck-faces like him.
He sat down on the comfortable armchair beside a table by the window. This is the life, he thought as he poured out a large measure and laid back with glass in hand listening to Satie, his favourite composer.
He knew he was going to fail miserably with the promise he had made not to focus on himself tonight of all nights. His thoughts started to race, and he wanted them to stop, but he knew he had boarded the roller coaster of failure, misery and regret.
Take the fairer sex for starters, his experience with them was a total disaster and he had no problem admitting it, if only to himself.
First, there was the lovely Annie whom he met while working in France, and he had her to thank for introducing him to all things French. It was she who had persuaded him to settle back in Magnerstown, and he duly agreed. She had a job at Cliff’s Restaurant and all was going well until he caught her and Cliff in a compromising position. Annie had sworn Cliff was harassing her and he hadn’t believed her. But he should have, because she was telling the truth, as he later found out. To be perfectly honest, he wanted to believe she was having an affair with Cliff because the relationship on his part had gone stale. He just wanted out and the opportunity manifested itself.
Maggie Lehane, editor of the local rag, came on the scene when he was investigating the Joubert murders. They muddled along well together, then she upped and left for a wonderful opportunity in London which she couldn’t turn down. She dumped him, simple as that. Don’t even go there, he warned himself, and drained and refilled the glass right up to the top this time. So much for one drink; one is never enough with you, he rebuked himself.
The sound of loud knocking on the door brought him to his senses. Looking at his watch, he realized he had dozed off for two whole hours.
“Hold your horses,” he shouted above the music.
He opened the door and found a nervous young woman standing outside. She couldn’t be more than sixteen, he realized.
“I just want to ask you something,” she whispered.
“Come in,” he said. Then he wondered if it was a wise thing to do.
“Thanks, I won’t delay you. My name is Marie McGrath, by the way.”
Robert turned off the CD player.
“That’s a French composer you are listening to. Gnossienne; Satie, isn’t it?” Marie said.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“When he died, they found seven grey suits in his wardrobe. I know all about him,” Marie smiled.
“Are you a fan?”
“I am learning all about the great composers in my English class.”
“You have a good teacher, by the sounds of it.”
“Miss Gohery. She’s the best.”
“And I’d say you’re the best pupil in the class,” Robert said, smiling.
“It wouldn’t be hard for me, the rest of them are only interested in boys and make-up, and dresses up to their arses. Sorry, that’s rude.”
“It’s the truth, I’d imagine, not taking away from you being the best in the class.” Robert smiled.
“Is it true that the Dillons are dead?” Marie asked.
“It would seem so.”
“Thank God for that. I won’t have to worry no more now.”
“Give you a hard time, did they?”
Mar
ie pointed to her calliper. “Always calling me a freak, they were.”
“Polio, is it? I thought that was eradicated a long time ago.”
“I was born in Belgium, that’s where I got it. There was an outbreak and I was unfortunate. Story of my life, really.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Robert said.
“My mother is from Belgium and my father is Irish. He was out there working in a beer factory when he met her. They came back to Magnerstown to take up the family business when my grandad died fourteen years ago.”
“McGrath’s chipper on the main street, I know it,” Robert said.
“Do you?”
“I used to live here myself; well, on and off, really.”
“Wait a minute, you were here on the case of the murders that South African fellow committed,” Marie said.
“Me and my long-haired lover from Liverpool. Sorry, that’s not true. He’s not my lover, and he doesn’t come from Liverpool.”
“He’s gorgeous, all the girls in my class are talking about him. Like a prince, he is,” Marie said, gushing.
“Prince of darkness,” Robert said with a laugh.
“Sorry?”
“Take no notice of me, I am inclined to make the strangest of remarks at times,” Robert said with a grin.
“My father’s the same. He is always saying funny things which only he understands,” Marie said.
“So, you must be relieved now that your tormentors are no longer in the land of the living,” Robert said.
“It might sound cruel, but yes, I am very relieved they have met their Waterloo.” Marie laughed.
“Apart from the Dillons, does anyone else bother you about your condition?” Robert asked.
“No, it was just those Dillon bullies. Much as I criticise the girls in my class, they have never once made any derogatory remarks about me. So, maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on them, maybe I shouldn’t be going on about their little idiosyncrasies.”
“Well, you need to worry no more about your tormentors, because they have, as you said so yourself, met their Waterloo.”
Marie turned to go. “Right, I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of your night,” she said.
Robert opened the door for her.
“You are quite nice,” Marie said, smiling at him. “Not at all like what they are saying about you.”
Robert laughed. He could well imagine the impression the townspeople had of him, but it didn’t bother him one bit. He was here to do a job and the quicker he could get it over with, the quicker he could get back to normality, whatever that was.
* * *
Marie’s thoughts were racing. The real reason she had come here tonight was to see if she could detect, which was funny really, seeing she wasn’t a detective, but she just wanted to suss the man out. She just wanted to see if he suspected her father might have murdered the Dillon brothers. Her father certainly had a reason: protecting his daughter. That would be considered a motive.
This detective fellow would know she was always being bullied by them. She was a victim, everybody knew it, and they would be quick to point it out. That’s people for you, wanting to be seen in a good light by the long arm of the law.
What could she say to find out if her father was in the fray? Nothing, that’s what she would say, it would only draw attention to the matter. She knew her father had nothing to do with it, didn’t she? Well, he didn’t, did he?
* * *
Robert broke in on her thoughts and said, “If that’s all then, I’ll bid you goodnight.”
“Thank you for letting me talk. I needed to know for sure they were gone. You do understand, don’t you?” Marie asked.
“If anyone else is bothering you, please feel free to let me know and I will see that they are sorted out,” Robert said.
Yes, there was someone else bothering her: her mother. But you couldn’t say that, could you? And even if you did, she wouldn’t be arrested, would she? Instead of disclosing this fact, Marie simply stated, “Thank you, but everything is fine now.”
“Goodnight, safe home,” Robert said, and closed the door.
He should have offered to walk her to her home, but he was in no fit state to do so. She’d be alright though, seeing those tormentors of hers were out of the way.
He was relieved to see there was still brandy in the bottle. He poured out the last of it and sat back down into the armchair. He laid back to savour the last few hours of his birthday. He hoped the young woman hadn’t spotted the bottle. It wouldn’t create a good impression. But then, what about it? A person was entitled to have a drink in the privacy of their hotel room, especially when they were far from home, he thought as he put the glass to his lips. Home, that was a good one. “Happy Birthday, Robert,” he said, and laughed sarcastically. All he wanted now was total oblivion.
* * *
Marie thought about the lonely man in his room as she made her way back home. He was quite normal from what she could see, having a drink in the privacy of his own room. He was quite right, given the prices the hotel was charging. Her father was always going on about it, five euro for a tiny drop of spirits. Publicans had no conscience at all, he’d say.
She liked Robert Carroll, or Detective Inspector, or whatever you were supposed to call him. She really liked him for the sole reason that he seemed lost and lonely. He was just like herself, really. They had something in common, both lost and very lonely.
CHAPTER 9
Robert pointed to the blackboard, which hadn’t seen much chalk. “So, what do we know already?” he asked.
James fished his notebook out of his pocket and started to leaf through it. There wasn’t much to see, but he had to show willingness.
Robert answered his own question. “Feck all, is all we know, and at the rate we are going, we will be here for the rest of our lives.”
The desk sergeant burst through the door without knocking.
“Morning,” Robert said sarcastically.
“Just a bit of information,” the desk sergeant began.
“Well?”
“Did you speak to the jeweller Miss Kneeshaw?”
“No, why?”
“The Dillon lads tried to break into her shop before they went missing,” the desk sergeant revealed.
“So, they didn’t succeed then? I take it the clue is in the word ‘tried’,” Robert said.
“It was the old boy next door to Miss Kneeshaw’s shop who reported it. When Celine went to ask Miss Kneeshaw if she wanted to press charges against them, she said she was going to do no such thing.”
“Celine does a bit of Garda work too, does she? One of those real all-rounder types,” Robert said, grinning.
The desk sergeant ignored the dig and went on to defend Celine in her absence. “An attempted break-in wasn’t worth pursuing, so Celine was quite sensible about the matter and didn’t push Miss Kneeshaw.”
“Did you make a note of it?” James asked. “The time, date, and all that. Did you or Celine record this attempted break-in? They must have done damage to a door or a window. That could come in under the heading of criminal damage. She could have got compensation from them, instead of drawing on her insurance.”
“The truth is, Mrs Dillon works for Miss Kneeshaw, so we presumed she didn’t want to upset her employee by taking a case against her two sons,” the desk sergeant explained.
“This old boy who reported the incident, we should go and see him. What’s his name?” James asked.
“I’m afraid that’s out of the question because the man died a few weeks after the incident, and cruel as it sounds, it was just as well for his own sake.”
“Why is that?” James asked.
“He would have had nowhere to go, no relative to take him in, and it would have killed him if he ended up in Mary I’s nursing home. He was an outdoors man, loved going for long walks, enjoyed the fresh air; confinement would have done him in, that’s for sure.”
Robert felt he had to make an input. “So, he
lived in one of the houses that were condemned?”
“He did, right next door to Mossie Harrington.”
“Ah yes, the lovely Maggie Lehane’s new tenant,” Robert said with a scowl.
James shot Robert a look. What had happened between those two? he wondered. Why had it ended before it had actually begun? Robert and Maggie, the modern version of Romeo and Juliet. Well, a more mature Romeo and Juliet to be correct. He tried to keep a straight face as the thought crossed his mind.
The bell on the front desk shrilled in the background.
“Duty calls.” The sergeant retreated, banging the door on his way out.
“You wouldn’t want to have a headache with him around,” Robert said, cringing. He didn’t reveal that he did have a headache, a real humdinger, thanks to the brandy he poured down his throat the night before.
“Maybe we should pay Miss Kneeshaw a visit,” James suggested.
“Why? No crime’s been committed, has it? Apart from your allegation of criminal damage to property.”
“I know, but…”
“Come on, James, spit it out.”
“If the houses in between Miss Kneeshaw’s shop and the chipper have been condemned, is it possible the shops have too?”
“That whole street is an eyesore,” Robert said. “Best thing for it is to demolish it all, build something useful there.”
“But those buildings are beautiful, they are part of the heritage of this town, wouldn’t you agree, sir?”
“Heritage, my arse,” Robert scoffed.
“I also think…”
“Oh yeah, what is it now?” Robert said, interrupting.
James realized Robert had a hangover. He had let it slip to Lilly in the corner shop that it was his birthday when he’d bought a bottle of brandy to celebrate, and she’d told James. Maggie obviously hadn’t been in touch to wish him a happy birthday, which would account for his foul mood this morning. The two of them should have their heads banged together to make them see sense.
What was he thinking? After all, he and Katie had drifted apart too: she had sent him loads of text messages when she first went to Australia, but they had tapered off to one a week, then one a month, and now, nothing. She had obviously met somebody else and was sparing his feelings by not saying anything. The texts now were, ‘Hi James, any news?’ His replies were the usual, ‘No news, all quiet here.’ They were a right pair, Robert and himself, when it came to matters of the heart. Unlucky in love.
