by John Holt
O’Rourke waved to them as they came in. He was talking to the same two men, the fishermen that Kendall had seen him with a few days before. Once again the older of the two men looked across at Kendall, and then quickly looked away. For some reason I’m not flavour of the month, Kendall thought. Can’t think why. Maybe they just don’t like private detectives, or maybe, just like Mulligan, they don’t like Americans. Kendall shrugged, and sighed. It happens, I can live with that.
Kendall waved back. “Busy I see,” he said as he walked to the bar. The two men quickly finished their drinks and moved towards the door. Obviously, they were very shy, especially around strangers, and liked to keep themselves to themselves, as O’Rourke had intimated, Kendall thought, shaking his head. Or maybe it was something more basic. Perhaps it really was personal, and maybe they just disliked him. Maybe it was his aftershave. Which would be very odd, because he never used any.
O’Rourke smiled and nodded, as he walked over to where Kendall was standing. “Oh, this isn’t busy, not yet at any rate.” He looked at the clock on the wall. It was just a quarter after nine. “It’ll get much busier than this, just you wait. It’s the ceilidh you know, people come from all over to hear it. It’s the highlight of the week around here. Give it another fifteen, or twenty minutes. Then it’ll be really busy, you’ll see. It’s like this every Saturday night.”
Kendall looked around at the assembled crowd, and tried to imagine how it could actually get any busier. He gave up, and turned back to face O’Rourke. “I didn’t mean to send your two friends away,” he said. “I’m real sorry about that, but clearly they just don’t like me.”
“My friends?” replied O’Rourke. “You mean those two,” he pointed towards the door. “Oh don’t worry about them they had to leave, they had an appointment I believe.”
Strange, Kendall thought. If they really did have a previous appointment to go to, why bother turning up here at all. Why not just go straight to wherever they were expected.
“Don’t they like the Ceilidh?” Kendall asked.
O’Rourke smiled and shook his head. “Oh, I think they like it right enough, but as I said they had an appointment, so they had to go.”
“Odd that they came at all then, don’t you think,” Kendall continued.
“No, not really,” O’Rourke replied. “They probably just forgot about it, that’s all, or maybe they just had some time to kill. You know how it is.”
Kendall nodded. Yes he knew how it was. He certainly could be forgetful on occasion, but somehow he didn’t think those two fishermen would be absent minded like that. They didn’t seem the type. They looked like they knew exactly what they were doing every single minute.
“I saved you a couple of seats over there,” O’Rourke continued, as he pointed over to the far corner. “I think you’ll get a good view from there.”
Mollie looked at Kendall. “Sounds good to me,” she said. “What do you think?”
“Can’t wait,” Kendall replied.
“Now can I get you people some drinks?” asked O’Rourke.
“Is the Pope Catholic?” replied Kendall.
O’Rourke was taken aback for a few moments, then he started to laugh. “Indeed he is, to be sure. Indeed he is.”
Kendall smiled, and in the best Irish brogue that he could muster replied, “Now, would I be wanting air to breathe?”
O’Rourke smiled. “It’ll be a whiskey no doubt,” he said as he reached for the bottle.
“It will,” said Kendall. “Make it a double, and a martini for Mollie here.”
Kendall collected the drinks and he and Mollie made their way over to the far corner, and sat down. He looked over at the door. “Did you notice that our friends didn’t stay?”
Mollie looked up. “What friends?” she asked.
“The two fishermen,” explained Kendall. “They’ve gone.”
Mollie shook her head. “Well maybe they don’t like the music,” she suggested.
Kendall nodded. “Maybe, but why come here at all,” he replied. “Why didn’t they just give the place a miss completely?”
Mollie heaved a sigh. She had no idea, and cared even less. She casually looked around at the crowd. She was looking forward to an enjoyable evening, and had no interest in O’Rourke, or the two fishermen, or any suggestion of strange goings on.
“O’Rourke said they had remembered an appointment,” Kendall continued.
“Well maybe they did,” said Mollie, turning to face him. “Simple as that. So what’s the problem?”
Kendall shook his head. “No way,” he said. “There’s something going on. I just know it.”
Mollie shook her head. “There’s nothing going on,” she said. “Except soon we will be watching and listening to some Irish music. So let’s just forget about them, and enjoy ourselves.”
Now it was Kendall’s turn to shake his head. “I’m telling you, there’s something ….”
He was interrupted as a huge cheer went up from the audience as three young men and a young girl came in and made their way to the side of the room. The young girl was carrying a fiddle. One man had an accordion, a slightly older man had a guitar, and the third carried a small drum.
The group spent a short time tuning the various instruments and then the music began. All talking suddenly stopped, and the hand clapping began. Then came the foot stomping. The music was fast and loud. The louder it became, the louder the hand clapping. The drumming became louder still, the guitar riff faster than ever. The fiddle jumped in the hands of the young girl. She jumped with it, not letting go. It wasn’t going anywhere without her. The music became louder still, and ever faster. Kendall began to sweat, and wondered how the young group was able to keep going at such a pace. Then, with a crash on the drum, and the bow drawn across the fiddle strings the first tune came to an end.
The audience cheered and whistled. The elder man laid the guitar down and took a tin whistle from his inside pocket. He placed it to his lips, signalled to the young girl by a tap of his foot, and the second tune commenced. As before it was loud, fast and repetitive.
Two young girls suddenly stood up and commenced to dance a jig, much to the delight of the audience. Very soon they were joined by two others.
* * *
The young girl carefully laid the fiddle down on to the nearby table. In her soft lilt she started to introduce the next item. She explained that it was a traditional song from the country, about a young gypsy girl, and her lost love. It sounded quite mournful and Kendall was beginning to think that it was just possible that you could have too much of anything. He had now reached that point as far as the Ceilidh was concerned.
He checked his watch. Eleven twenty five. He slowly looked around the room. Certainly it was a little emptier, but not by much. Obviously, despite his opinion, the Ceilidh was clearly popular, very popular. He shook his head, he couldn’t understand why. It would never take the place of music that was for sure.
Time to call it a day, he murmured. He looked over at the bar. There was no sign of O’Rourke. Obviously the music had proved too much for him as well. Idly Kendall wondered when he had left. Kendall couldn’t blame him though, he knew just how he felt, because he felt exactly the same way. How long had O’Rourke survived, he wondered? Did he really do this every week?
Kendall had barely managed two hours. It had to be said that it really wasn’t his kind of music. He was sorry, but there it was. Some people clearly loved it. Others, well they had different tastes that’s all. It was far too loud, and far too repetitive. He much preferred Simon and Garfunkel. Now that really was music.
He shook his head. Something wasn’t quite right though. There was no way that O’Rourke didn’t like the music. If he disliked it that much, why have it every Saturday night? Kendall looked around. Okay, so it was clearly a nice little earner, but none the less, there was something else. No, O’Rourke had other plans as simple as that, that’s why he had left. Kendall wondered if O’Rourke had joi
ned the other two, the fishermen, for some unknown reason. There was something going on that was certain, but exactly what, was still a mystery.
Kendall looked back at the musicians. They had just started another of their fast jigs. He heaved a sigh. Time to go he thought. It was getting late anyway. He looked at Mollie hoping that she would be ready to leave. Clearly that was not the case. She thought the music was great. Never heard anything quite like it before, she said. Kendall silently agreed with her on that. He had certainly never heard anything quite like it either. Furthermore he was sure that he never wanted to hear anything like it ever again.
Mollie wasn’t quite ready to leave. “Not just yet,” she said. “You go. I’ll stay a bit longer yet.”
“I’ll see you for breakfast then,” said Kendall as he started to walk away. “If you wake in time.”
* * *
By the time that Kendall got down to the dining room the next morning, Mollie was already there waiting for him. She looked at the wall clock. “So what time do you call this then?” she asked as Kendall sat down.
Kendall heaved a sigh. “I’ve already been on a bit of a jog,” he replied. “Must keep fit you know.”
“So how far did you go?” Mollie asked.
Kendall smiled. “All the way from my room to here,” he replied. “How far is that?”
Mollie shook her head. “It’s a lovely day,” she said. “Let’s hope it lasts.”
Kendall nodded. “I’ll second that,” he replied. “Incidentally what time did you finally go up last night?”
Mollie thought for a little while. “It was after two,” she replied. “The band had just finished. Mr. O’Rourke came back and ....”
“He came back,” Kendall interrupted, surprised. “What time was that?”
“I don’t really know,” Mollie replied. “But it wasn’t long before I left the bar. About ten minutes to two, something like that.”
“You mean he was gone all evening?”
Mollie nodded. “As far as I can tell,” she replied. “I never really noticed. Why, is it important?”
Kendall had to admit that he wasn’t sure whether it was important, or not, but it was odd to say the least. Almost five hours that O’Rourke had been away from the bar, Kendall thought. Where had he gone, and more importantly, why. And who was he with? “I wonder what he was up to,” replied Kendall. “What about the other two, the fishermen did they return?”
Mollie shook her head. “There wasn’t a sign of them,” she replied.
“I wonder where they got to then?” asked Kendall.
“Probably just went back to Kinsale, I guess,” suggested Mollie.
Kendall shook his head. “Not likely,” he replied. “Take it from me. O’Rourke was up to something last night. Something that also involved the other two.”
“The fishermen, you mean,” said Mollie.
“If they are really fishermen, I’m the Pope,” said Kendall.
Mollie smiled but said nothing. The thought of Kendall has the Pope was enough to stop any further conversation.
“What’s that about the Pope?” a voice suddenly asked.
Kendall looked up. Standing at the side of the table was O’Rourke. “Oh, nothing really,” Kendall stammered. “I was just wondering if the Pope enjoyed Irish music.”
O’Rourke smiled. “I guess he’d like it right enough,” he replied. “So what did you think of the Ceilidh last night?”
Kendall hesitated for a few moments, then took a deep breath. “Oh, last night was okay I guess,” he replied. “Well it was certainly different, but Mollie enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
He turned to look at Mollie. “I thought it was okay,” she replied. “A bit loud maybe, but not too bad.”
Kendall shook his head. “A bit loud,” he repeated. “That’s an understatement if ever I heard one.” He turned towards O’Rourke. “I’m sorry to say it really wasn’t my kind of music,” he continued. “It seems that it’s not really your kind of music either.”
“Why do you say that?” O’Rourke asked.
Kendall heaved a sigh. “Well you seem to have left the bar almost as soon as it started. I looked for you at about nine thirty, and there was no sign of you. Not that I blame you,” he replied. “And I also understand that you didn’t get back until quite late, after it was all over. You missed the whole thing.”
“Oh, I see,” said O’Rourke, smiling. “No, it was nothing to do with the music. I just had some business to attend to that’s all.”
“A bit late in the day for business wouldn’t you say,” said Kendall. “What do they say, all work and no play, makes Jack a very tired man. I mean you work hard all day long, you should be entitled to some relaxation.”
“Maybe,” said O’Rourke. “But it’s just one of those things I guess. I’m afraid that I had no time earlier, besides I actually got back here at just after ten, but I never came down to the bar until much later, once they had all finished. The work had to be done. Paperwork, you know, it just mounts up. What with the accounts, receipts, orders, taxes, you name it.”
“Yes I imagine it must be hard going sometimes,” said Kendall, far from convinced.
“Don’t you have a secretary to deal with all of that?” asked Mollie.
O’Rourke smiled. “Keep meaning to employ someone, but just never get around to it,” he replied. “And to add to everything else, I’m due an audit next week. You know the local tax man. He’ll want to see everything, and it has to be up to date.”
Kendall nodded. “I know what you mean. Ours is the IRS, the Internal Revenue Service,” he said. “They check every single thing, right down to the last paperclip.”
O’Rourke smiled. “So, what have you got planned for today?” he asked changing the subject.
“Well, today I’m paying a visit to the local police station,” Kendall replied. “The Garda I think it’s called.”
O’Rourke said nothing but simply nodded.
“I’m just going for a walk,” Mollie said. “Someone said the view from the top of the cliff above the cove is worth seeing.”
“It is Miss,” replied O’Rourke. “But please be very careful up there, it’s a long way down, and it can be treacherous up at the top, especially after the rain we’ve had.”
Mollie nodded. “I’ll be careful, don’t you worry.”
“Well I hope you both have a good day, whatever you are doing. The forecast is for sunshine at least,” said O’Rourke. “Now let me see about some breakfast for you.”
He turned and walked towards the kitchen area.
Kendall watched until he was out of sight. He then turned to Mollie. “So what did you think about that then?”
“About what?” Mollie replied.
Kendall shook his head, exasperated. “O’Rourke,” he explained pointing towards the kitchen. “Some business to attend to, indeed, I mean if you believe that you’ll believe anything.”
“Well maybe he did have some business,” Mollie replied. “It could happen couldn’t it.”
“Oh, come on now,” said Kendall. “What business would he have at that time of night?”
“He just told you, paperwork,” replied Mollie. “As well you know the books still need doing, the accounts have to be entered don’t they.”
Kendall shrugged. “Do you really believe that’s what he was doing, his accounts? No he was up to something, and I’d like to know what.”
Mollie heaved a sigh. “Okay, let’s suppose it wasn’t the accounts,” she said. “Ever think it might have involved a lady friend?”
Kendall looked at her for a few moments. “That’s possible I suppose,” he reluctantly agreed. He then looked towards the kitchen, and shook his head. “But highly unlikely I think.”
“Why do you say that?” Mollie asked.
Kendall smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Just look at him,” he said. “I mean would you be interested in someone like that?”
Mollie said nothing, but she had
to admit that Kendall certainly had a point.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
The Garda
The local Garda office was located in what appeared to be an ordinary semi-detached house, situated at the end of the High Street. And it certainly was nothing out of the ordinary, except for the blue lantern hanging by the entrance door, and the notice board positioned by the front gate. In letters four inches high it announced ‘Killmacud Garda, telephone number 887655. Officer in charge Police Constable Seamus Donovan.’
In the driveway there was a two year old Ford Mondeo, gleaming white, with a yellow and blue stripe running along the side. Emblazoned along the side was the single word in blue lettering, Garda. By the front door a child’s bicycle lay discarded. In the front garden an assortment of toys were scattered around. The nineteen fifties constructed house had been extended and converted for use by the police just a few months earlier, and Constable Donovan, his wife Mary, and their six year old daughter Kathleen, had been installed. It was a major accomplishment for Donovan, who had qualified as a police officer just eighteen months before.
With the help of Rebecca Amey, who dealt with the paperwork, Constable Donovan had commenced work in earnest, eager to prove himself. Not that there was much to be done in those early days. The odd parking fine, or perhaps a ticket for speeding, or Mulligan drunk and disorderly at O’Rourke, and not much else.
That had all changed with the discovery of the body on the beach.
* * *
“Ah, its Mr. Kendall isn’t it?” said Constable Donovan, greeting Kendall at the entrance.
Kendall was holding the child’s bicycle. “Should I bring this in?” he asked.
Donovan shook his head. “Just leave it there,” he replied. “It’ll be fine. I’ll get to it later. You’ve no need to worry.”
Kendall shrugged, and laid the bicycle back down on to the ground.
“Do come in I’ve been expecting you,” Donovan continued. “I had a call from Inspector William Whittaker of Scotland Yard. He told me you would be coming.” The officer cleared his throat, and straightened his tie. “I told him that the Garda was more than happy to assist our colleagues at Scotland Yard.”
