by John Holt
The weather was as depressing as he was beginning to feel. He heaved a sigh. Would he be able to help Charters, he wondered. Was he really innocent? Sure the police do make mistakes, and often the wrong man is arrested. But, in reality, it didn’t happen that often. Most times the police got the right person. Had they got the right man in this case?
Kendall had to admit that he had some doubts. But were those doubts good enough to prove Charters innocent? Would they be enough to influence the Court? Maybe, but he still lacked that all important ingredient – proof.
* * *
“Tom,” a voice called out. “Over here.” It was Mallory. Kendall looked at his watch. It was twelve fifty.
“Get in,” Mallory said. “If we hurry we should just make the restaurant by one.”
“And hopefully before the heavens open up,” Kendall added.
* * *
With lunch over, the rains started, putting a stop to any further sight-seeing. So it was decided that they would call it a day, and make their way back to Killmacud.
“Well I certainly hope that you girls had a good day?” Mallory asked as they drove out of Cork, on to the N22, heading west. Judging by the parcels they were holding, the answer was fairly obvious.
Mollie smiled. “I had a great day, thank you,” she replied. “Very successful. I spent a lot of Kendall’s money.”
“How was your day, Tom?” asked Catherine.
That was a good question, Kendall thought. Just exactly how was his day? He hadn’t come to any major conclusions that was certain. He hadn’t received any answers had he? He had just ended up with a lot more questions, and a few more people to speak to.
Kendall took a deep breath. “Well, there’s a long way to go yet, and a lot more questions to be answered,” he said. “But there’s one thing I’m now pretty certain of.”
Mallory looked at Kendall. “And what’s that?” he asked.
Kendall took another deep breath. “I am now fairly convinced that Brian Charters never committed that murder,” he replied. “All I have to do now is to prove it.”
“So do you know who did do it?” Mallory asked.
Kendall heaved a sigh, and shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not,” he replied. “Not yet.”
* * *
The bar at O’Rourke’s was unusually quiet when Kendall and Mollie returned from Cork later that day. It was as crowded as ever, but it was not it’s normal, rowdy, boisterous self. There was no friendly banter, no arguing, in fact there was no talking whatsoever.
“It’s very quiet in here tonight,” said Kendall as he arrived at the bar.
O’Rourke said nothing but merely nodded. Without waiting to be told he started to pour a whiskey and placed it in front of Kendall. Then he placed a martini in front of Mollie.
Kendall took a drink and glanced around. As far as he could tell all of the regulars were there. “So what’s going on?” Kendall asked as he turned back to face O’Rourke. “It looks like someone won the lottery, but had lost their ticket.”
O’Rourke shook his head, and heaved a sigh. “It’s Mulligan” he replied simply.
Kendall quickly looked around once again. Mulligan wasn’t at his usual table. “Where is he?” he asked.
“Old Mulligan is dead,” O’Rourke replied.
“Dead,” repeated Kendall. “What was it? A heart attack?”
“The Garda found him today on the beach below Finster Rock,” explained Derren Lynch. “It seems that he tripped and fell to the beach below.”
“They found him this morning,” said O’Rourke. “It was just after you left for Cork.”
“Tripped and fell?” repeated Kendall.
“Broke his neck,” said O’Rourke. “The police say he must have died instantly.” O’Rourke shook his head. “I just can’t believe it. He was here last night as usual.”
“I know,” said Kendall. “I saw him. He was talking about that German sailor.”
“That’s right, you were here, weren’t you?” O’Rourke continued.
“I was buying him whiskey, remember,” said Kendall. “And he was telling me that stupid story about the German sailor being washed up on the beach.”
“He loved telling stories,” said O’Rourke. “Well it was late when he left wasn’t it, near ten if I remember rightly. He was certainly the worse for wear.” He shook his head. “I shoved him out. Told him to go home.” He paused for a moment, there were tears running down his cheek. “I shouldn’t have done that, I should have taken him home, or got someone to take him. Poor old fellow.”
Kendall was puzzled. “Why would he have gone up, where did you say?”
“Finster Rock,” replied Quinn. “It’s not really much, no more than a hill really, no more than forty feet above the beach.”
“Right,” said Kendall. “But why would he go up there?”
“That’s where his cottage is,” explained O’Rourke. “Not exactly on the Rock itself, but there’s a pathway, a short cut. It runs along the hillside, following the coast, and leads to his cottage.”
“Of course he was pretty drunk,” said Lynch. “And what with the rain last night, he could have easily slipped.” He paused for a moment and shook his head. “Terrible thing to happen though, dreadful. You just never know do you.”
“He was drunk that’s for sure,” said Quinn. “But he’s been drunk lots of times, sometimes a lot drunker, and he’s never fallen before.”
“So what are you saying then?” asked Lynch. “Maybe you’re saying he never fell. It wasn’t an accident. Maybe someone pushed him, is that it?”
“Oh come on, Derren, I’m not saying anything of the kind,” Quinn protested. “But you must admit that he has been drunk lots of times and he’s never fallen before.”
Lynch nodded. “Certainly he has been very drunk dozens of times, I agree, so what about it? He’s just been lucky that’s all. But this time was different.”
“Different,” repeated O’Rourke. “In what way different?”
Lynch said nothing for a while, but just looked at everyone. “His luck just ran out,” he said. “Simple as that.”
“There’s one odd thing though,” said Quinn. “That pathway is nowhere near the edge is it?”
O’Rourke nodded. “It’s a good ten, fifteen feet away,” he said. “Why?”
“So how come he was so close to the edge that he fell?” Quinn asked.
Lynch shook his head. “Who knows,” he replied. “With Mulligan anything was possible. He probably never realised where he was. He probably never stayed on the path. In his state he could have been all over the place.”
“So, Mr. Lynch are you saying that Mulligan died as a result of a simple tragic accident?” asked Mollie, wiping the tears from her eyes.
Lynch shook his head. “I’m not saying that Miss, although it does look that way. I mean what other explanation could there be?” he replied. “But more to the point it’s what the Garda are saying. Constable Donovan has looked at the evidence, and that’s his conclusion.” He paused and took a drink. He turned to face the others. “And I’ve no reason to doubt what they say?”
“So what are the police saying?” asked Kendall.
“An accident,” replied O’Rourke. “Mulligan was the worse for wear. The old drink you know. He got too close to the edge, slipped, and well there you are. The poor old man fell and broke his neck.”
“Broke his neck,” repeated Kendall. “Were there any other injuries?”
“There were no other injuries,” replied Lynch.
“No other cuts, or bruises?” asked Kendall.
“No, nothing like that,” said Lynch. “As I said just the broken neck.”
Kendall heaved a sigh. “Strange wouldn’t you say?”
Lynch shook his head, clearly becoming impatient. “Strange,” he repeated. “What’s so strange?”
“He falls, what fifty feet, on to the rocks below ….”
“It’s nearer forty sir,” Quinn interrupt
ed.
“All right so it’s only forty feet,” Kendall agreed. “Even so it’s still a long way wouldn’t you say?”
Quinn nodded in agreement.
“And no other injuries,” continued Kendall. “I would have expected a few cuts, a bruise or two, wouldn’t you?”
“Well you might be right,” said Lynch. “But there were no other injuries.”
Kendall was far from convinced and vowed to pay a visit to the scene at the earliest opportunity. “Who found him?” he asked.
“Oh that was Vincent, Vincent Mulvy,” replied O’Rourke. “He thought Mulligan was drunk, and was just sleeping it off.”
Kendall took a deep breath. “Well with all due respect to the local Garda, and to Constable Donovan, it all seems a bit too quick in my opinion, to come to a definite conclusion,” he said. “Certainly, from the few times I’ve met Mr. Mulligan it’s clear that he likes a drop of drink.”
“Aye, he did that,” said O’Rourke. “But he could hold his liquor.”
“He certainly could,” agreed Quinn. “Sure he got drunk time and time again, but I’ve never known him to fall.”
Suddenly O’Rourke started to laugh. “Well there was the time a few years back, when he got drunk, and broke that window, remember.” He pointed over to the window.
“I remember,” said Quinn. “But he didn’t really fall did he? He tripped on your worn carpet.”
“Well he certainly stumbled in here, last night, remember, just as he was leaving.” said Lynch. “So what do you say to that?”
Quinn shook his head. “Maybe there was other reasons for him to stumble,” he replied. “Maybe he just lost his balance.”
“Or maybe he just tripped,” suggested Mulvy.
Lynch nodded. “Maybe so,” he reluctantly agreed. “But that was here, in the bar wasn’t it. No one saw him after that did they? So no one knows whether he stumbled or not. All we know is that his body was found at the bottom of Finster Rock, and his neck was broken. That’s good enough for me. He fell, a sad accident I admit. I’m sorry for the poor old fella, he was a character and no mistake, but there it is.” He paused and took a drink. “No amount of talking is going to change that now is it? He was drunk, and he tripped, and, well these things happen.”
“Maybe so,” said Quinn. “Whatever he’ll be missed around here.”
“He will at that,” said O’Rourke. “He was certainly a great character.”
Kendall shook his head. “You know Mr. Lynch, you might be right. Officer Donovan might be right,” he said. “Maybe Mulligan had just had one too many last night. Maybe more than usual. Maybe he was unable to stand properly, and maybe he did stumble, and maybe he did trip and fall.” He drained his glass, and slid it towards O’Rourke for a refill. “I said maybe.” He heaved a sigh. “But maybe it didn’t happen that way, maybe there was another possibility.”
“Oh come on, Mr. Kendall,” said Lynch smiling. “We know you’re a detective and all, but you’re trying to make up something that’s not there.”
“Possibly you’re right,” Kendall replied as he picked up his drink. “But I’ve a few niggly questions I’d like to get answers to that’s all.” He took a drink. “And if you knew me you would know that when I get something in my mind it just won’t shift until I’ve got a satisfactory answer.”
“I can vouch for that,” said Mollie.
“Well I’ve no questions, I can tell you,” said Lynch. “I’m satisfied. The police know what they are doing. And with all due respect, I’d rather take their word, than yours. No offense meant.”
Kendall heaved a sigh, and took another drink. “None taken,” he replied. “That’s the trouble with freedom of speech. Everyone has it.”
“Go on Mr. Kendall,” said O’Rourke. “What’s on your mind?”
Kendall took a long drink, draining the glass. He placed it on to the counter. Without waiting to be asked O’Rourke obliged with a re-fill.
“How far would you say it is from here to Finster Rock?” Kendall asked.
“About a mile,” said Quinn.
Mulvy shook his head. “No way, it’s nearer three quarters, and not an inch more.”
“Alright, let’s say it’s three quarters of a mile,” agreed Kendall. “So we are saying that Mulligan, the worst for too much to drink, managed to walk that distance without falling down.”
“Ah now, Mr. Kendall he could’ve fallen along the way,” suggested Mulvy. “And we not know a thing about it.”
Kendall shook his head. “You might be right, but somehow I don’t think so,” he replied. “Now I’m no expert I admit, but I do know something about being drunk.”
“I can vouch for that as well,” Mollie added helpfully.
Kendall looked at her and glared. He then turned back to face Mulvy. “If he had fallen once, because he was so drunk, that’s where he would have remained.”
“That’s right enough,” agreed Mulvy. “He wouldn’t have been able to get up again would he? I know I’ve been there.”
“Many times,” O’Rourke agreed. He turned to face Kendall. “So you are suggesting that even though he had the drink he was still able to get that far without trouble.”
“I am,” said Kendall. “He travelled that far, manages to walk up a slope, he gets to the top, then slips and falls.” Kendall shook his head. “Someone said about the pathway, that it wasn’t near the edge.”
“It was me,” said O’Rourke. “Ten or fifteen feet away I said.”
“Right,” said Kendall. “So if he had tripped and fell, he wouldn’t have been anywhere near the edge would he?”
“So how come he was found at the bottom of the rock?” asked Lynch. “He must have fallen over the edge.”
“Because that’s where he had reached when somebody struck him, and placed him in a position to make it look like he had fallen,” replied Kendall.
“Now I’ve heard everything,” said Lynch, as he began to laugh. “So who would have done that?”
“The same person who killed the man on the beach, that’s who,” Kendall replied. “Right, that’s it gentlemen. I’ve had a busy day, and tomorrow’s going to be another one.” He drained his glass.
“You can’t say something like that and just go,” insisted Mulvy.
Kendall shook his head. “All I’m saying really is that at present there is room for doubt,” he replied. “The police might be right in their conclusion. But they might also be wrong. There are still a lot of unanswered questions to my mind.”
“One thing, Mr. Kendall,” said O’Rourke, rubbing his chin. “Let’s say, for sake of argument that you’re right. Mulligan was struck down, and it was made to look like an accident.”
“It were an accident,” insisted Lynch. “Clear as day.”
“I said for the sake of argument,” said O’Rourke.
“Go on,” said Kendall. “What’s your point?”
“You said something about Mulligan could have been murdered,” O’Rourke continued. “And that it was probably the same man who had killed the man on the beach.”
Kendall nodded. “Yes that’s right.”
“Well that would suggest that Mr. Charters is innocent wouldn’t it?” said O’Rourke.
Kendall nodded once again. “I’m off to bed,” he said. “Good night gentlemen.”
* * *
Chapter Nineteen
Finster Rock
It was just after eleven when Kendall left O’Rourke’s. It was such a good day. Although it was still fairly cool, the sky was cloudless, and the sun was trying its best. A brisk walk down to the cove was called for. After all exercise was supposed to be good for you, wasn’t it?
“Get some of that fresh air into your lungs,” he announced, punching the air. He took a couple of deep breaths. “There’s nothing like it.” Then a few more deep breaths, and an attempt to show the muscles in his arms. He looked at Mollie. “Are you coming?” he asked. “Do you the world of good.”
Mollie
smiled, and shook her head. “This all seems rather sudden, doesn’t it,” she replied. “I mean you and exercise don’t normally go together. I don’t suppose this new found interest in healthy exercise is anything to do with visiting a possible crime scene is it?”
Kendall heaved a sigh. “Perish the thought. It’s purely a bit of good clean exercise, never hurt anyone,” he replied. There were a couple more deep breaths. “So are you coming or not?”
Mollie shook her head. “I think I’ll give it a miss,” she replied. “I think I might slow you down, and I wouldn’t want that, would I? Spoil it for you. Besides I have some cards to write.”
“Right, I’ll be off then,” Kendall replied, running on the spot, and pumping his arms up and down. “See you for lunch, then.”
Mollie looked up. “I’ll be sure to have some lentils, and some yoghurt, waiting for you.”
Kendall made a face at her, and left the room.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, an out of breath Kendall arrived at Carrick Cove. Down at the shore were the two boys he had met previously.
“Hi guys,” he called out, as he walked down on to the beach. “Here again I see.”
Alan looked around. “Hi Mr. Kendall,” he called out. “How’s it going?”
Good question, Kendall thought. How was it going? He looked out at the waves rolling in. Just like the waves, he thought. Coming in, and then flowing out. Constant movement, but going nowhere. “Okay I guess,” he called back.
Large mounds of sea weed had built up all along the beach, making it virtually impossible to reach the sea for a swim. “I see what you mean about the sea weed,” he said. “But it wasn’t this bad the last time was it?”
“It’s the wind,” said Alan trying to sound knowledgeable.
“We’re so exposed here on the west coast,” explained Michael. “And if we have a lot of wind, we get a lot of seaweed. Like now.”
“The corporation come down and clear it,” added Alan.
