Cruel Winter: A County Cork Mystery

by Sheila Connolly

  “And what of yer own husband?” Seamus demanded. “Could this Sharon have gotten it into her head that Mark was her true love, and she wanted to be wit’ him ferever, but he wasn’t having any of it?”

  “You’re suggesting that he killed her because she wanted him for herself?” Diane asked.

  “Yer after tellin’ us that yer lifestyle suited you both. Mebbe he didn’t want to see it changed, and Sharon was going to mess things up, and she wouldn’t hear ‘no.’”

  “But to kill her?” Diane shook her head. “My husband may have the morals of a tomcat, but he’s no killer. He’s too lazy, for one thing. He couldn’t have planned this whole thing, and having lived with him for years, I can tell you he would have left some trace. Plenty of trace. He probably would have left his shirt behind or taken off his shoes.”

  “Great marriage yeh’ve got there,” Joe muttered.

  “I won’t defend it, but it works for us. And he’s not the kind of man who could have put such a mad plan together quickly.”

  “How’d he react when you were suspected of killing Sharon?” Maura asked.

  “When the gardaí first brought me in for questioning, he laughed. He thought it was a joke. He never thought it would come to anything, and I suppose he was right about that. It’s still a bit of a joke between us—‘my wife, the murderer.’”

  “Do you think it’s funny?” Seamus asked in a more quiet tone.

  “No, but it seldom comes up any more. As I said, my friends in England don’t know much about it. I lead a different life there.”

  “Let’s get back to the map,” Maura said. “Was there any back way from Schull to where Sharon’s house was?”

  “There might have been, but I didn’t use it. As I’m sure you all know, there are a lot of lanes, many of them barely paved. I hired a car when I visited back then, and I didn’t want to get stranded in the middle of a field somewhere because I’d torn out the muffler or the transmission or whatever on some rocks.”

  That was something Maura could sympathize with, since she often felt the same way. But she still had questions. “Didn’t your grandparents know the back ways?”

  “Probably. But they’ve been gone a long time. Some of those lanes, if they’re not used, they get grown over fast—in a few years. They all but disappear. I don’t remember any in the 1990s.”

  Maura noticed that some eyelids were beginning to droop and decided she’d better shift the conversation to a higher gear. She stood up. “Okay, folks—let’s assume for the moment that Diane is telling the truth. So if Diane didn’t kill Sharon, who did?”

  Seventeen

  “Say the husband hired someone else to kill her,” Jimmy said suddenly. He’d helped himself to a generous glass of whiskey and was standing behind the bar savoring it.

  “Which husband?” someone called out.

  “Either. Both,” Jimmy replied.

  “Hang on,” Maura interrupted. “Are there hit men in Ireland?”

  “Not quite like the Mafia, Maura,” Mick said, looking faintly amused. “But it could be that someone was hard up for the money, and somehow either Mark or Paul found that person and made him—what do they say? An offer he couldn’t refuse? All he had to do was sneak out to Sharon’s house, kill her, and disappear. Coulda been a local man, so he’d know the ways.”

  “But, but—” Maura sputtered, questions crowding in.

  Luckily other people had the same questions. “Which husband are yeh lookin’ at, Mick?” Seamus asked. He seemed to be having a very good time.

  “Sharon’s husband is the likeliest, is he not?” Mick told him. “The killer is usually someone close to the victim, and he’d have reason to want her dead.”

  Maura found her voice again. “But why? Because she was sleeping around? Was that so important back then? Important enough to kill over, I mean? I could see it if Paul had killed her in the middle of an argument, if she was throwing it in his face, or if Paul walked in on Sharon and Mark together, but if Paul hired someone to do it, that would have taken planning and time. He would have had plenty of time to cool off.”

  “Maybe she’d told him she was leavin’ him fer Mark and that made him angry,” Liam said. “Or maybe he’d put all his assets in her name and he couldn’t afford to have her leave him.”

  “That’s an interesting idea,” Maura said. At least it was new. “He was in construction—what was his reputation like? Did he cut corners? Take bribes? Drag his feet in finishing his projects unless a little more money came in?”

  “He’s not dead, you know,” Diane said wryly. “He’s done well for himself, although he doesn’t do much work in Ireland these days. But back home, I haven’t heard or read anything against him.”

  “Do you follow the news about him, then, Diane?” Mick asked.

  “Not deliberately. I’m not stalking him, if that’s what you’re asking. But his name comes up in the business section of the journals now and then, and I can’t help but notice, can I?”

  “Sharon’s death did him no harm?”

  “Well, since he was never a suspect, why would it? He no doubt got a lot of sympathy at the time, which wouldn’t hurt.”

  “So you and your husband didn’t see Sharon and him when you were at home in England?” Maura asked.

  “No,” Diane said impatiently. “As I’ve said before, we weren’t friends before it happened. We just happened to cross paths in Ireland now and then. You can’t think that we’d bond over a shared murder. That’s ridiculous.”

  “What if it was the both of ’em?” Jimmy asked eagerly. He seemed to have gotten interested in the conversation now. Maybe the whiskey had helped.

  “What, they planned it together?” Maura asked.

  “Why not? Say Sharon is mad fer Mark, and she throws it in Paul’s face. But Mark doesn’t want any part of it—he was just in it fer a bit of fun. Paul tracks down Mark to tell him to back off, and Mark tells him he wants no more to do with Sharon. But now Paul doesn’t want her either, so the two of ’em sit down and start lookin’ fer a way to get her off both their backs. In a manner of speakin’,” Jimmy finished triumphantly. “And the two of ’em work it out together, like.”

  “Well, that would have confused the gardaí,” Maura said. “But I’m having trouble picturing these two guys, who barely know each other, sitting down in London somewhere and saying, ‘Okay, let’s get rid of Sharon—you have any ideas?’”

  Diane snorted. “I can’t see it either, Maura, although I’d bet Paul would be the brains behind it. But isn’t this far too complicated? You’ve got two people conspiring to hire a hit man and have him kill someone in another country. It would have been a hell of a lot easier just to divorce Sharon and be done with it. I think my husband would have made it clear he wasn’t going to step into Paul’s shoes, or at least not until after he’d spent a while consoling Sharon,” she said wryly.

  “What if she’d come to you and told you she wanted Mark? What then?” Bart asked.

  “Wouldn’t have done her any good. I’ve already told you, I knew what she and my husband were up to, and I didn’t really care. I would have said as much to her.”

  “But she still wanted him, so she pitched a fit and grabbed a knife and attacked you, and you got the thing away from her and turned on her, and she ended up dead!” Liam said, almost bouncing in his chair with enthusiasm.

  “Seriously?” Diane said, her tone amused. “And where did this happen? At her house? At my house? The gardaí and their scientist people checked both: no blood at either house. Neither of us was missing a knife. Do you really think she invited me over for a drink one evening and told me she wanted my husband, and would I please step aside, and then I went berserk and dragged her outside—all the way to the front gate—and stabbed her? Please!”

  “Sorry.” Liam hung his head.

  It did sound ridiculous if you put it that way, Maura thought. But Sharon had died, viciously stabbed by somebody. “Anybody want to go back to t
he hit man theory?” Maura asked the group.

  “There were often strangers in Schull, although fewer in winter than in summer,” Joe offered.

  “So a hit man who arrived by boat might not have been noticed?”

  “Right.”

  “But if he wasn’t local, how would he know where to go?” Jimmy demanded. The whiskey had definitely warmed him up.

  “Okay, so he arrived early, then, and checked it out,” Maura suggested.

  “Seems like finding a local fella would make more sense,” Bart said.

  Maura wondered briefly if he was playing devil’s advocate or if he knew something. “But how would Paul or Mark have known who to ask?” Maura said. “They were pretty much strangers to the area—they didn’t know the people around there.”

  “True enough. But if Paul was a big man in the buildin’ trade,” Bart said, “he could have known someone who knew someone, if you see what I’m sayin’.”

  “Maybe,” Maura said, unconvinced. “But that would be a big risk for him, wouldn’t it? You can’t just ask one of your construction foremen, ‘Hey, I want to kill my wife—you know anyone who’s looking to make a little extra money?’”

  That brought a muffled laugh from a couple of the men.

  Billy spoke suddenly—Maura had thought he was asleep. “Yeh’ve a sayin’ where yeh come from—KISS, is it?”

  “You’re right, Billy. ‘Keep it simple, stupid.’ You’re saying we’ve kind of left ‘simple’ behind?”

  “Yeh might say that. Over the past while, yeh’ve suggested a boat, a plane, a hit man, a conspiracy between the two husbands, and more than one other man to do their biddin’—and all of ’em didn’t leave a trace behind. Sounds a bit daft to me.”

  Billy was right—this was getting ridiculous. Maybe the gardaí back then had considered all these possibilities and rejected most of them quickly because they were silly and completely absurd for Ireland—much less rural Ireland. Which left only the main parties involved and the local people. No wonder they had focused on Diane: she was the easiest answer. She was there on the scene, she knew the victim, and she had a simple, basic motive that most people would understand.

  But Diane said she hadn’t killed Sharon. Was she telling the truth? It all kept coming back to that.

  Maura scanned the crowd: after the last brief flurry of excitement, most people were beginning to droop, and it was getting late. “How about we take another break? It looks like we’re all going to have to sleep here. Why don’t you all clear the floor to make room? There are some rugs and stuff upstairs that might make the floor feel a little softer, but I can’t offer you anything better. And Gillian and Billy should get first choice.”

  “Ah, don’t worry yerself about me, Maura,” Billy said. “Many’s the time I’ve fallen asleep in my chair and slept until mornin’. I’m fine where I am.”

  “You wouldn’t rather go home to your own bed, Billy?” Maura asked.

  “There’ll be no heat there. It’s warmer here.”

  “Your saying there’s a real bed that’s not bein’ used?” Liam asked.

  “Down at the end, at Billy’s place. You want it? Or should we all draw straws or something?” Maura asked.

  “We’ve got our own sleeping gear, so we won’t mind if there’s no heat,” Donal pointed out.

  Maura looked around again. “Anybody object?” When no one did, she told Liam, “I guess it’s yours. And Billy’s got a couch, right?”

  “That I do. You boys are welcome to the both of them.”

  “That’s fine, then,” Maura said firmly. “Gillian?”

  Gillian smiled ruefully. “In my state, it’s hard to get comfortable in any position. I guess I’ll follow Billy’s example and take the other stuffed chair, if you don’t mind. Maybe put my feet up.”

  “Great. The rest of you, sort things out. You can go upstairs and scrounge for anything you like, but I don’t think you’ll find much.”

  “Will there be a pint in it fer us?” someone asked plaintively. Maura wondered just how much of the stout she had left. It was past closing time, but who was going to notice? “Sure.” She turned to Mick. “Can you make sure we have enough wood or turf or whatever to see us through until morning?”

  “No problem. With all these bodies packed together like sprats, it’ll be warm enough. What is it you call it in the States? A slumber party?”

  “So I’ve heard.” Next, she asked Rose, “How’re we fixed for breakfast?”

  “There’s a bit of bread I’ve held back, and butter, but little else,” Rose said dubiously.

  “Well, nobody’s going to starve. Coffee?”

  “Plenty. And tea as well.”

  “Well, there you are. And the sun will come out in the morning and melt all the mess by lunch. Right?”

  “We can only hope,” Joe said.

  Having something practical to do seemed to have energized the men, and there was much banging and crashing going on as they armed themselves with torches and went up the rickety stairs to explore what there was above. At least they sounded happy.

  Maura made her way over to Diane, who was leaning against the fireplace surround, her arms wrapped around herself. “I’m sorry I brought all this down on you, Maura,” Diane said.

  “Hey, I’m not. It’s been interesting, at least for me. We could have gone on, but I think everybody’s tired, and this seems like a good point to stop. Like Billy said, we’re kind of getting out into left field with the theories about what really happened.”

  “Nothing I haven’t thought of myself, sad to say.”

  “Do you mind my asking—what’s your husband like?”

  “He’s not a bad man. Weak, self-indulgent, irresponsible, maybe. He’s been a decent father to his son, though he hasn’t seen him often. Since we were both older when we married, I guess we didn’t expect or demand much from each other. Someone to go to events or places with. To share the bills. That kind of thing. I know—not very romantic, is it?”

  “I’m not the person to ask, Diane,” Maura said. “I don’t do romance.”

  “Maybe that’s best. But in all fairness, I cannot see Mark killing anyone. He doesn’t have it in him. Any more than I do.” She cocked her head at Maura. “Do you still believe me after what you’ve heard?”

  “I think so.”

  Diane nodded once. “What about the others?”

  “If we put it to a vote now, I’d say you—or we—have raised some reasonable doubt. But I don’t think they’d all support you.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. I’m not angry at the gardaí, you know. I can follow their reasoning. I was the logical choice. But they failed to make their case because they had no evidence. Because there was no evidence to be had. Nobody goes away happy.”

  “Why don’t we see what happens in the morning? If nobody brings it up again, we can let it rest.”

  Diane sighed. “Let them talk if they want. As I said earlier, this may be the only trial I ever get, and if they can find a killer who isn’t me, I’ll be forever grateful to all of you.”

  “Fine. I’ll go pretend to supervise, I guess. Not that there’s much to do. Help yourself to the warmest corner.”

  Maura slid behind the bar, mostly to keep out of the way as the other men hauled down things she didn’t even know she had. Someone had taken the stools and most of the chairs to the back room, out of the way. Billy and Gillian were enthroned by the fire, looking like contented cats. She could see Billy as a judge—wise and fair. Gillian was harder to categorize. At least she looked comfortable.

  Funny what a mixed lot they had collected here this evening by random chance. Billy, who had never married but appeared to enjoy the company of women. Gillian, who hadn’t planned to marry but now seemed to be backing into some kind of long-term relationship. Jimmy, who’d been married before but who seemed to be reluctant to return to that state, if Rose had it right. Mick? Well, he was the wild card. Maura had no idea what his history with
women was, and she wasn’t about to ask. He never mentioned relationships apart from the one with his grandmother. And he’d kissed her—a definitely noncasual kiss. As for the rest of the men? Most had signaled that they were or had been married. Probably a good statistical sample.

  Diane was the odd person out. Her marriage was not the center of her world, and she claimed she’d looked the other way when her husband had slept around. That didn’t win her any points with the guys in the room. Maybe they all secretly wished for something like that, but that didn’t mean they wanted to hear it said—much less by a woman who was also a suspected killer. The whole situation was weird all around.

  By the time the men were done, the floor was strewn with coats and rugs and other odds and ends, and the guys were bellying up to the bar again for that promised last pint. Maura turned her attention to filling glasses. When everyone who wanted one had a pint, it was close to midnight, but nobody showed any sign of slowing down. Decision time.

  “Hey, everyone,” Maura said loudly. “You ready to call it a night, or do you want to keep talking?”

  “Let’s finish this thing!” Seamus called out.

  “Everybody willing?” Cheers all around. “Okay, then let’s go. Settle somewhere, and there’s no penalty if you fall asleep. Now where were we?”

  Eighteen

  Billy smiled. “Yeh were out in the far field huntin’ down crazy theories. Good thing we got rid of the little green men early in the night. Now look for a simple answer, will yeh?”

  “But where’ve we got to go fer it?” Danny complained. “Diane sez she didn’t do the deed. Her husband and Sharon’s husband were in another country, fer God’s sake, and not in possession of a plane or helicopter or hovercraft to make the trip. Can we be sure that Sharon didn’t stab herself to death?”

  “Twenty times?” Seamus said to him. “Once, mebbe. And if she’d wanted to do herself harm, there were easier ways to do it. Warmer and drier ones as well. Don’t they say that most women turn to poison? It’s far neater—no mess to clean up.”