“What in the name of all that’s holy is going on here?” Even in her chenille bathrobe Ellen bristled as she peered around her husband’s broad back. “Sean Murphy, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
“I’ve only just arrived, ma’am. I was doing last rounds after closing time and heard sounds of a scuffle down here. I was just about to ask Maura here what had happened. It seems someone broke in.”
“He was waiting for me when I came in,” Maura said tersely.
“Did you get a look at him?” Sean asked.
“Not his face. It was dark.” Maura looked at the remains of the lamp in her hand, then tossed it onto the bed. “Sorry about the lamp.”
A sleepy Kevin appeared behind his parents, rubbing his eyes. Ellen turned and told him, “Back to bed with you—now!” and Kevin disappeared quickly. Ellen pushed past her husband. “Don’t worry yourself about it. Did he harm you?”
“He never touched me. I think he was kind of surprised when I hit him.”
“Good on you! Thomas, will you see to the door there? Maura, Sean, come up and I’ll fix you both a nice cup of tea.”
“Ma’am, I need to ask…” Sean began.
“Of course you do, but you can do it just as well upstairs. Come on, then.”
Sean and Maura exchanged a look and followed. When they arrived in the kitchen, Ellen had already set the kettle to boil.
“Sit, the two of you,” Ellen commanded.
“Won’t we wake your children?” Maura asked.
“Ah, they’d sleep through the end of the world. Kevin only noticed because he was next door. The others’ll be right mad that they missed all the fun.”
Sean pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and sent Ellen a warning glance. She smiled and busied herself with making tea. “Will you tell me now what happened, Maura?”
“I left Sullivan’s at closing time. I crossed the road, but I didn’t see any cars or anyone moving. I walked down the driveway and came around the back, like I always do. When I went to open the door, I realized it was already unlocked, and when I opened it, I could see someone lurking inside by the other door.”
“And you didn’t run?” Sean said, incredulous.
“And go where, out there in the dark? I’d probably just trip over something and he’d catch up with me. And there was no time to wake the Keohanes.”
“Good point. Description?” Sean said in an official voice. “Or would this be your mate with the brown car again?”
“I couldn’t see much, but it’s likely, isn’t it? Male, maybe an inch or two taller than me, dressed all in black or some other dark color. Come to think of it, I bet he had gloves on, because I didn’t notice his hands at all. He had some kind of bat or pipe or something, and he came at me. I ducked and got around back of him, and when he tried again—that’s when I used the lamp on his head.”
“Hard enough to leave a mark, do you think?” Sean said, making a note.
“At least a good lump. But the lamp shattered, so he might be bleeding. Then he fell out the door.”
“Anything missing from your room?”
“I haven’t had time to check, but I don’t have anything worth much. I carry my passport and cash in my bag, which I keep with me. Although right now I think it’s on the floor downstairs.”
“Mrs. Keohane, any trouble in the neighborhood lately?”
“Of course not, Sean. Most of us have little to tempt a thief—there are better pickings elsewhere, maybe over in Glandore. Unless it was just mischief, but why would he be in Maura’s room, then?” She filled three mugs with dark tea and handed them around.
After Ellen had sat down, she and Sean turned to look at Maura. “What?” Maura demanded. “I don’t know what’s going on, Sean, but this makes three times the guy’s gone after me, assuming it’s the same man.” When Ellen looked confused, Maura added, “I’ll fill you in later, Ellen, but it makes me think that this has nothing to do with you or with the neighborhood.”
Ellen’s husband, Tom, stomped up the back stairs and joined them in the kitchen. “Door’s fine—I put in a bar to keep it shut. I’ll be going back to bed.” He lumbered down the hall.
“So, what now?” Maura demanded. “Do you call in crime scene people, take fingerprints and all that?”
Sean’s mouth twitched in a half smile. “We call them out only for the serious crimes. I don’t mean to belittle what happened here, but it doesn’t qualify.”
Maura stood up abruptly and paced around the kitchen. She felt wired and shaky—too much adrenaline? “So you’re not going to do anything?”
“I didn’t mean that. Of course I’ll report this at the station, and we’ll look to see if it’s happened to anyone else around. But we have little to work with, especially if he was wearing gloves, Maura. I wish I could be of more use to you. It’s good you were alert enough to escape any serious harm.”
“Yeah, right, thanks a lot. If I hadn’t, maybe you’d be investigating another killing. I bet you’re all jumping for joy now that you’re all learning how to handle murders.” Sean looked stricken, and Maura immediately took a deep breath and apologized. “Sorry. I know you’re doing what you can. But I’d just like to know why anybody would want to do me harm. I haven’t done anything to anybody. I’ve never even been here before. I show up, and suddenly there’s a crime wave?”
Sean was staring at a point somewhere over Maura’s head, thinking.
“Hello, Mr. Policeman?”
He brought his attention back to Maura. “Sorry, I was trying to see a pattern here. You’re right—this all seems to have started when you arrived, a week ago. The old body in the bog, the mugging in Skibbereen, your car accident, the guy threatening you in the cemetery, and now this.”
Ellen looked shocked. “It’s never been like this! Sean, what’s your lot doing about it?”
“Investigating as best we can. We’re a small department, but bringing in people from the outside wouldn’t be much use, now, would it, when there’s little more than a partial license plate to go on, and we’re working on that? Sorry, Maura. Will you be all right here?”
Where else would she go at three o’clock in the morning? Maura wondered. “I’ll get by. I don’t think he’d dare come back tonight.”
“You’re welcome to the divan in the parlor, Maura,” Ellen said anxiously.
“Maybe I’ll take you up on that, Ellen,” Maura said.
Sean looked relieved. “I’ll report all this to Detective Hurley in the morning. I’ll let you know what he has to say.”
“Thank you, I guess. I sure don’t have any better ideas,” Maura said.
Ellen stood up. “I’ll see you out, Sean, and lock up behind you.” They left together.
Maura sat without moving, cradling the cooling cup of tea. She could see no logic in what had happened to her over the past week.
She wanted to go to sleep but wondered if she’d be able to face spending the night in her room. Still, surely the Keohane kids would be up and about early on a Monday, and she doubted she could sleep through that from the couch. Downstairs it was, then—but maybe she should find a sturdy club to keep under her pillow. She stood up slowly and met Ellen coming back down the hall.
“I’m running on empty, Ellen. I’m going to go to bed.”
“You’re sure, then?” Ellen asked, searching her face. “You don’t want the divan?”
“I am. Don’t worry—I’ll be fine. Maybe by tomorrow the gardaí will have caught whoever is behind this.” Maura wasn’t sure she believed that, since the sole evidence seemed to be a partial license plate, but she could hope, couldn’t she?
“God bless you, aren’t you the brave one! But I’m sure my Tom will sleep with one ear out, in case there’s any more trouble. Good night, then.”
“Good night, Ellen.” Maura went back downstairs, guided by the overhead light that had been left on. In her room she surveyed the damage: minimal. Thomas had removed all the shards of t
he lamp. Otherwise, everything looked the same as always. Maura lay down on the bed, and then she was out.
Chapter 25
It seemed only minutes later than Maura was awakened by an insistent rapping at her door. “Maura, are you in there? Maura?” Ellen’s voice. Maura looked at her watch and was amazed to see that it was after nine.
Since she’d fallen asleep fully dressed, she rolled to the edge of the bed, stood up, and went to open the door. “Ellen? What’s up?”
“You’ve visitors to see you, that’s what,” Ellen said in a near whisper.
“Who?”
“Sean Murphy from last night, and he’s brought along his boss, Detective Hurley. They’re waiting in the lounge. Will you be wanting breakfast?”
Good grief—Sean had said he’d talk to her in the morning, but why so early? “Sure, fine. Do I have time to wash up?”
“I’ll keep them entertained. You take your time.” Ellen closed the door quietly, and Maura grabbed some clean clothes and dashed for the bathroom.
She emerged in record time and roughly toweled her hair dry, then dressed and headed up the stairs. The two men stood politely when she came in. “Sit down, please,” Maura said.
Ellen appeared with a tray bearing empty cups and plates. “Let the poor girl have her breakfast, will you? There’s nothing that won’t keep that long.” She left again, and Maura could hear Gráinne whining from the kitchen.
“Have you found the guy with the car?” Maura asked.
It was Detective Hurley who answered. “No, but we’ve traced that partial plate you gave us, and there’s only one local vehicle that fits the description. It belongs to a Denis McCarthy, over in Clogagh.”
Despite a lack of caffeine, Maura came to attention. “McCarthy? Related to Australian Denis Flaherty?”
Patrick Hurley smiled. “I wouldn’t jump so fast to that conclusion—there are plenty of McCarthys in this county. But it could be more than a coincidence. Families tend to stick to the old naming patterns around here.”
“I’ve noticed,” Maura said. Every other man in the pub seemed to be called Patrick or Michael or Sean. “Where the heck is this Clogagh?”
“Not far.”
Ellen reappeared, this time bearing a carafe, a teapot, and plates of scones and toast. “Here we go. There’s butter and jam in those pots there. I’ll go see to Gráinne, if you don’t mind.” She vanished again, leaving Maura and the two men staring at the trays of food and drink.
Maura broke the silence first. “I need coffee. How about you two?” The men nodded, so Maura filled three cups, then helped herself to a scone and jam. “So,” she said through the crumbs, “why’d it take two of you to come and tell me about this?”
“I’d like you to accompany us to see if you recognize anyone,” Detective Hurley said.
“Where? This Clogagh place?”
He nodded. “Yes. This particular Denis McCarthy is an older man, which doesn’t fit your description of your attacker, but I understand from the local guards that his grandson has been living with him, helping him look after the dairy farm. His name’s Jerry. He’s twenty-five—close to your age—and until recently he’s been living in Dublin with his father. I guess he got into a bit of trouble up there, so his father sent him down here to do some honest work on his grandfather’s farm. He might be a more likely lad for this harassment.”
“Why would these McCarthys be bothering me?” Maura asked. “They’re not even from around here, are they?”
“It’s no more than twenty miles, and that’s a question we’d be better able to answer there. If you don’t mind the ride?”
“Of course I don’t, if you think it’ll help. But will this be risky? I mean, would they know that you’re interested in them? Considering them suspects?”
“It seems unlikely.”
“Huh,” Maura said, reflecting. “So we’re supposed to just walk in and have a chat with whoever’s home, right? No flashing lights, no police, er, gardaí wearing bulletproof vests with guns drawn?”
“It hasn’t come to that yet in Ireland.” Detective Hurley smiled. Maura could have sworn that he was trying hard not to laugh. He nodded at Sean Murphy, who said crisply, “Uniformed officers in the Garda Síochána do not carry firearms, although plain clothed detectives may. Furthermore, we may search an individual whom we have arrested without a warrant and seize goods so obtained as necessary or to support the charge. Although in most cases a warrant should be obtained for any search of a person, a vehicle, or a premises. Right, sir?” He glanced eagerly at Detective Hurley.
“Just fine, Murphy. But in any case, Maura, this is not an official search. We only want to ask some questions with regard to the harassment you’ve been subjected to. If it’s any comfort to you, we may make an arrest without a warrant if we suspect that an arrestable offense has been committed and have reason to believe the person is guilty of that offense. And we may search without an arrest warrant any residence where we believe a suspect to be. Of course, the easiest course is if the owner gives permission.”
Maura reached for another scone. “Okay, I get it. We’re just going to talk to one of the many, many McCarthys around here, who may or may not have anything to do with what’s been happening to me this week, or even with the dead guy in the bog. And you’re hoping that whoever answers the door will be happy to let you in and chat?”
“Precisely. Are you willing?”
“Why not? Let me tell Ellen we’re going.” She grabbed up her cup and plate and went to the kitchen in search of Ellen. She left the kitchen and found the two men standing in the front hall waiting for her. “Do I need to drive?”
“No. We brought the two cars, in the event of an arrest,” Detective Hurley answered. “You can ride with me.”
That statement sobered Maura quickly. It seemed to her that they had hardly enough information to even think about an arrest, but she guessed she would find out soon enough. She followed the men up the driveway, where the detective guided her to his unmarked car, then held the door for her.
Once they were on the main road, Maura asked, “How far is the place?”
“Clogagh? As I said, twenty miles, more or less, mostly by the main road. It should take less than an hour. Have you seen much of the country around here?”
Maura laughed shortly. “Only what I could see from the bus between Dublin and Leap, and the local roads around here to Skibbereen, Cork, and Drinagh, and a couple of townlands. That’s about it.”
“Pity. There’s much that’s lovely. Though this must seem dull to you—we’re mainly farms and open land.”
“We do have scenery back home too, you know, and it’s pretty. But I grew up in the city.”
“Of course.” Several miles passed in silence. She checked to see the other car, driven by Sean Murphy, trailing behind them.
Then she said, “I don’t know much about Irish law. If this grandson Whatever-His-Name-Is turns out to be the guy who’s been following me around, what’s he looking at? I mean, what can you charge him with, and what would be the penalties?”
“Do you want the long speech or the short one?”
“Whatever there’s time for.”
“Our crime rate here is very low, certainly compared to your country, and that’s something we’re proud of. So when something like this string of incidents happens, particularly to a visitor, we’re not going to send the fellow on his way with a slap on the hand. Assuming this is the same man, he’s committed quite the list of crimes. There’s assault with intent to do harm—that’s the event with your car. Endangerment. Dangerous driving. Harassment. Forcible entry, although we don’t know that he had any intention of stealing anything. Those are what we call headline offenses here.”
“And would that mean he’d go to jail?”
“Most likely. I don’t know much about your justice system in America, but if this is our lad, he’s committed more than one crime, and he has to face the consequences.”
“Amen,” Maura said. But still, she felt torn. On the one hand, Jerry McCarthy, if he was the right guy, had threatened her more than once, and she wanted him to pay for that. On the other hand, she was the outsider here, and she didn’t want to seem vindictive. What she wanted most was to understand why he was trying so hard to drive her away. If there was so little crime around here, then he must have had an important reason to come after her.
They said little more for the rest of the trip. Maura read road signs, trying to figure out what was where. Past Clonakilty the main road veered north, inland. After another five miles or so, Detective Hurley turned onto a smaller road that led east, running straight for two miles or so. Maura watched the scenery unroll, wondering what they were going to find ahead.
They turned, crossed a small bridge, then turned again, the lanes growing ever narrower. Then Hurley pulled into a muddy, rutted drive and stopped. He turned to her. “This is it.”
Maura looked around her. They had parked in the open area that lay between a house and a cattle barn—or what she assumed was a cattle barn, based on the wisps of hay and clumps of manure she could see. This was not a picturesque slice of scenic Ireland: it was a relatively modern dairy farm. The house, like so many she’d seen, could be fifty or a hundred years old, and the barn was corrugated aluminum. Sean Murphy’s car pulled in behind theirs.
Maura had to ask, “How the heck do you guys ever find any place around here? There are no road signs, no house numbers. Does GPS even work, in a place where the roads don’t have names?”
“This is the right place,” Detective Hurley said.
“What happens now?” she said.
“I’ll need a word with Murphy.”
Maura waited while he conferred with Sean and then sent him around to the other side of the property. Hurley and Maura waited together until Sean returned.
“Brown car behind the barn, sir. Plate matches.”
Buried In a Bog Page 19
