“Diane?” Maura said. The woman turned slowly to look at her. “You must have a guess after all these years.”
Diane looked at the faces around the room. “The killing was an awful thing, and I’d be the first to say I want to know why Sharon died and at whose hand. If this fine crowd here at Sullivan’s comes up with a new idea about the killer, I’ll be over the moon.”
“Diane, you didn’t answer the question,” Maura said. “Why did the gardaí look at you first?”
Diane went very still and took her time answering. Finally, she said, “Because my husband was having an affair with Sharon.”
Twelve
Maura could have sworn that time stood still. Had nobody heard that piece of news before? Back when it happened? Since? Or were the men in the room reluctant to say it out loud? She glanced at Bart, and he nodded silently.
She needed time to think. “Okay, everyone, I think this would be a good time to take a break. If you want another round, get it now.” She checked with Mick and Rose to make sure they were ready. “And if you need to use the loo, now’s the time.” That was met with a few sniggers. It also seemed to loosen the tension in the room, to Maura’s relief.
She turned to Diane. “You knew? About them, I mean?”
“Yes.”
“The gardaí knew?”
“I told them then. I never concealed the fact. But Mark had an alibi, which left me.”
Maura shook her head. “I need some time to think.”
“Do you think less of me now, Maura?” Diane asked softly.
“I’m not judging you, Diane. I just need to work out how this fits. Excuse me.”
Mick seemed to have the bar under control as several men leaned against it, waiting for their pints. Rose, on the other hand, had disappeared into the kitchen in back, judging by the clatter of dishes back there, so Maura decided to follow her. She found Rose washing glassware by candlelight.
“Did you hear that, Rose?”
“You mean, the part where Diane says her husband was fooling around with the dead woman? Before she was dead, I mean?”
“Yeah, that. I guess it makes sense in a way. The two couples didn’t socialize—at least not as couples—according to Diane, although there might have been other things going on. Anyway, it would have been easy to slip around without anybody noticing. And it sure does provide a motive.”
“Do yeh think Diane cared enough about her husband to kill the woman?”
“Oh, Rose, how should I know? I don’t know these people. I know plenty of people fool around, and most of them don’t end up dead. But I don’t know Diane well enough to guess. Apparently the gardaí grabbed on to that as a motive and never let go.” Maura looked around the dark room, lit only by . . . “You found candles, Rose?”
“I did, under the bar.”
Maura vowed to take closer stock of what she had in the pub—something she had apparently neglected. “You don’t have to do the dishes,” Maura said.
“I think I do, if you count what’s been used and us with no dishwasher. It’s no problem fer me.”
“Well, thank you. I’ll dry.” Maura searched in the dim corners until she found a towel that looked clean and started polishing glasses. She sneaked a glance at Rose. “What’s up with your father? He’s been in a lousy mood all night, even before the snow started. Is something bothering him? Things all right at home?”
Rose’s expression was hard to read in the dark, but Maura thought she might be smiling. “He’s got a lady friend.”
That was an odd way to put it, Maura thought. “He’s seeing someone?”
Rose nodded.
“Doesn’t that usually make people happy?”
“Well, for most it might,” Rose said, then stopped again.
“So what’s the problem?” Maura demanded. She’d never heard Jimmy mention any woman in his life, although she’d known him less than a year, and she wouldn’t say they were exactly close. She knew that Rose’s mother had passed away a few years earlier, and Rose had been keeping Jimmy fed and their home clean since she was old enough to do it. Jimmy seemed to think that he deserved her services, although Maura had been pushing Rose to think about her own future and what she wanted to do with her life.
“Depends on who you ask,” Rose said. “I think she’s grand. She’s a widow from up near Drinagh. She came into a nice dairy farm from her husband. She’s me da’s age, maybe a coupla years older. She’s nice to look at and easy to talk to. We get on fine.”
“And? Come on, there’s got to be more. Why is Jimmy biting everyone’s head off?”
“She wants to change him, of course. And he’s not having any of it. He’s had it easy these past few years, what with me lookin’ after him. Suits him fine. But Judith—she wants him to pull his own weight, help her with the farm.”
Jimmy was still shy of fifty, so he must have had women along the way. Maura hoped that at least he’d been discreet for Rose’s sake.
Rose glanced at her and giggled. “Ah, Maura, yer tryin’ so hard to be . . . tactful. I’m not a child, and I know what’s what. Me ma’s been gone fer a few years. Me da’s been seein’ other women for a while now, and I’ve no problem with that. I’d love to see him settled with someone—with or without marriage.”
“So you can get on with your own life?”
Rose nodded. “And I’m a bit put out over me bein’ his excuse. ‘Ooh, I’d love to spend more time with yeh, dear, but I’ve the child to think about, and I’m all she has in this world.’ Handy if he wants to keep his distance, if yeh know what I’m sayin’.”
“So he likes, uh, to keep his options open?”
Rose nodded, her hands still deep in soapy water. “That’s one way of puttin’ it, and a kind one. But there’s not many women around here who might be interested in him fer a husband now, and he’s run through most of ’em. Sorry, that sounds a bit . . .”
“I get it, Rose. What’s different about this one? What’s her name, by the way? Do I know her?”
“She’s Judith McCarthy, and she’s not one fer the pubs. She’s a strong woman any way yeh look at it, and she’s set her mind on finding a new husband who’s young enough to be of use to her. Why she’s landed on me da I cannot say. But I’ve told her she has my blessing, no matter what Da says. I won’t be his excuse any longer.”
“Good for you. Does she have children of her own?”
“One son at university and a daughter who’s a teacher over at Bandon. So they’re not at home, save for the odd holiday. And she’s not plannin’ on adding to the family. She’s a bit past that.”
Rose was one smart girl. “Rose, what would you do if you could do anything you wanted?” Maura asked, not for the first time. But she’d already asked Gillian the question, and she might as well collect everyone else’s.
“See a bit more of the world—or at least of Ireland. Dublin, mebbe. Go to cookery school.”
Finally, someone with a plan! “Great,” Maura said firmly. “Let me know if I can help. Oh, and would Judith have a problem with Jimmy working here if they end up getting married?”
Rose shrugged. “I think she’d rather he helped with the cattle, but she’s been managing on her own fer years now. I’m guessing he’d like to keep something fer himself, like the job here, even if it is only part time. If she has her way and they end up married.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind, as long as he’s a bit less angry all the time. That’s not going to bring in any customers.”
“That’s true.” The glasses were all washed and dried, and Rose drained the basin she’d been using for them. “What’re you hoping fer out there?” Rose nodded toward the front room.
“I have no idea, to tell the truth. I mean, I’ve never heard about this murder, and then Diane walks in. Everybody else in the place knows more than I do about her. I thought it might be interesting to talk through what happened, and Diane seemed to want that. Everybody assumes she killed this woman Sharon, and she ju
st dropped the motive in our laps. But there was never enough to take Diane to court, right? Was that fair? That people judged her without evidence? Did the gardaí back then do a good job, or did they get it wrong? And don’t forget—if Diane didn’t do it, someone else did, and he or she is still out there.”
“Why do yeh think there’s anything left to talk about so long after it happened?”
“I don’t know that there is. But from what I’m hearing, people are still talking about it. It’s kind of like a sore tooth that you can’t stop poking your tongue at.”
“That’s because it wasn’t ever solved. Murder is a rare thing in Ireland, Maura. Not like in yer country—or Boston, even.”
“Are you going to help me out with this thing?” Maura asked. “You haven’t said much until now, but I know you’ve been busy with the food.”
Rose cocked her head. “What is it you think I can do? This happened before I was born.”
“Then you can be impartial. Like me. Listen to whatever evidence there is, and hear it with fresh ears. Gee, that’s a bad way to put it, but you know what I mean.”
“And what if yeh do find somethin’ new? What’re yeh goin’ to do?”
Maura hadn’t considered that, and she realized she had no answer—yet. “If—and that’s a big if—we find something new, I’d tell Sean about it when the roads are clear. Let him handle it.”
“What is it yer thinkin’ he can do?”
“Rose, I don’t know! He’s a garda, and he’ll know what to do, okay?” Maura realized she hadn’t been paying attention to whatever was going on in the front room for too long. “We’d better get out there before that lot drinks us out of business.” And Diane had no defenders in the room, as far as Maura knew. Except maybe Bart. What was he thinking?
“I’ll bring the glasses, then, shall I?” Rose said.
“Fine. Thank you, Rose.”
Maura strode back to the main room and paused in the doorway for a moment to let her eyes adjust. The room was still dark, lit only by the oil lamps and the fire, and there was only blackness outside the plate-glass windows. The smoke of the fire eddied around the room, particularly near the ceiling, so the wind must still be strong out there, forcing the smoke down the flue. No sign of the storm ending any time soon, from what she could see.
People had arrayed themselves again in the chairs facing the fire—Kind of like jurors filing into a courtroom, Maura thought irreverently—and most were holding filled pint glasses. Billy was still in his usual seat to one side of the fire, and Gillian had moved herself to his other side; Diane had reclaimed her place in the other chair by the fire so she could face the group. Everyone in the room turned and looked at Maura when she walked in, which was unsettling; she felt way out of her element here. She glanced to her left and saw Mick was still behind the bar, and Rose had joined him and was setting the clean glasses below the counter. Mick gave her a small nod.
Maura faced Diane. “You ready?”
Diane shrugged. “Let’s get started.”
“All right, then,” Maura said with more assurance than she felt. She turned to the group. “Remember, we’re just talking. Rose and I are the only ones who weren’t around back then, so we may have the most questions. The rest of you, pretend it’s the first time you ever heard all of this. Feel free to ask questions, but be polite. Everybody okay with that?”
The men nodded.
“Before we start, did anybody here have any personal connection to the original investigation? Except for you, Bart, I mean. Like, were you a garda or related to one? Or did you hang out in any local pubs with one? Or were you friendly with any of the people involved?”
“What’s that matter?” Danny asked.
“Because you might think you know more than some people here. Maybe you do, but you have to share what you know. And share whether you think that source was reliable, not just drunk and showing off. Deal?”
More nods.
Quit stalling, Maura! she told herself. If you’re going to do this thing, just do it!
“All right,” she began. “Let me state the facts that we know. Sharon Morgan was murdered on her own property in West Cork in January 1996 by someone unknown. Her body was found the next morning by neighbors, and the gardaí were called. They arrived and began their own investigation. The pathologist arrived from Dublin later that day, and the body was removed for examination. The gardaí sorted out who was running the show and began collecting evidence and interviewing people. Anybody know how many people they talked to?”
“I’d heard it was more’n a hundred,” Seamus said. “Not just neighbors, but anybody who might’ve been drivin’ by in the night or seen or heard something they thought was suspicious. I have to say, most of those came to nothing. Except fer Diane.”
“Thank you, Seamus—that’s a lot more than I expected,” Maura said. “Diane became a suspect because someone, or maybe a lot of people, knew her husband was seeing Sharon and thought that was a motive. But Diane was never arrested. Nobody else was either. And that’s kind of where things still stand today.”
Joe stood up. “Can we ask questions when we want? Should we raise a hand or just stand?”
Maura swallowed a smile. At least Joe was taking this seriously. “You can just raise your hand if you have a question. Do you?”
“I do. Seems I don’t know the details as well as some here. Let’s start with, how did she die? I mean, was it violent? Cruel?”
“I don’t know the details beyond that she was stabbed,” Maura told him. “Diane, can you give us the details?”
Bart spoke before Diane could begin. “Sharon Morgan was stabbed multiple times in the chest and neck area. More times than were needed to kill her. This happened outside, and the ground under her was soaked with her blood. She bled to death where she was found.”
Maura glanced briefly at Diane, whose expression was stony. She’d heard this before.
Danny waved his hand and asked, “Did she put up a fight?”
“There were few defensive wounds on her,” Diane said in the same level tone. “A shallow cut or two, but nothing to show she fought hard with the attacker. Most likely she was surprised by the first blow, and then she had no chance.”
Danny sat, but then Joe jumped in again. “Was she messed with?”
“Do you mean, was she sexually assaulted?” Maura asked. Several men looked uncomfortable at her choice of words. Had all the gardaí who had originally investigated been men? Had they felt squeamish about asking questions like this? Joe nodded.
Diane responded in the same neutral tone. “No, there was no sign of any recent sexual activity, willing or not.”
Billy spoke for the first time. “We’ve been thinkin’ of the poor woman as a body, but can you tell us a bit more about her? You knew her, did you not?”
Diane turned to him. “I’ve said this before. Yes, I knew her, but not well. I wouldn’t call us friends, exactly—more like casual acquaintances. But if you’re asking if she was strong or fit, I’d say she was kind of a medium-size person. Not short, not tall. Not frail nor heavy. Could she have put up a fight against someone in the middle of the night, someone she trusted? Maybe. I can’t say.”
Billy went on, “Did she walk much?”
“You mean hike? She wasn’t a health fanatic or particularly athletic. Or did you mean, did she walk into town?”
“How far was her house from the town?”
“A couple of miles, I think. I think she did walk if the weather was good. Some people said back then that she would bring them parcels or stop by with a cake or something if she was passing by on foot. But she was not particularly athletic. I think—and I admit I’m only guessing, based on what was reported after—that she came to Cork to relax, slow down. She didn’t make a point of socializing, not with the local people or with visitors of her own, and there were relatively few of those. She was polite and pleasant enough, but she wasn’t looking to make friends. I guess you’d say she
was kind of a private person.”
Maura decided to step in. “You said earlier that there was no sign of a forced entry or a struggle at the house. Would she have let just anybody in?”
Diane turned to Maura. “Isn’t that how it is around here? Most people are trusting, or at least they used to be. If someone comes to your door, you chat with them. You invite them in for a cup of tea. That doesn’t mean that these people are the best of friends, only that they’re friendly by local standards.”
That matched what Maura had seen around Leap. Maura gave a short nod, then turned to the group. “I’m the new kid here. Do you agree that’s how things are around here?”
No one objected. Maura turned back to Diane. “So the fact that she let this person in really doesn’t tell us much, does it? Only that she was following the local custom, although it was kind of late. It could have been someone she knew, or it could have been a stranger. All we can say is that she wasn’t afraid of him. Right?”
“I’m afraid so,” Diane said. “It could have been almost anyone.”
Thirteen
Maura realized there was one big question that no one had asked yet. It was time to get it out on the table. “Diane, you kind of hinted that the gardaí focused on you because of your motive—that your husband and Sharon were having an affair. Did other people know? Did somebody make that public? See them together? Was there gossip at some pub in Schull?”
Diane didn’t answer right away. She looked over the small crowd, where the men outnumbered the women. “Let me put this in perspective for you. In 1996, the local gardaí were almost all men. Even now, I’ve read that women make up less than half of the force in this country, though I can’t guess which departments. Gentlemen,” she said with a touch of sarcasm, “will you admit that men and women see things differently?”
Cruel Winter: A County Cork Mystery Page 11
