“Went upstairs to . . . ?” Macdara probed.
“Take a shower,” Siobhán said quickly, praying none of the younger ones would contradict her. “That’s when I saw him. We called you straightaway.”
“Not straightaway,” Ciarán said. “We freaked out for a few minutes. And then went to get James and he wasn’t in his bed, and then we tried to call James, and then we called you.”
Typical, Siobhán thought. Just typical. Maybe Macdara wouldn’t think a thing of it. Macdara turned to Siobhán. “James didn’t come home last night?” Or maybe he’d notice right away, like.
“Do you think he did it?” Ciarán said. “And that’s why he’s not here?”
“Ciarán!” Siobhán said. Why hadn’t Macdara let her send him away? Ciarán wrinkled his brows. Siobhán wanted to hug him, and kill him.
Siobhán tossed her head back. “James is a grown man, Garda Flannery.” Macdara flinched at her switch to formal address. She’d never called him Garda Flannery in his life. Oh, God, she was making a right mess of this. Even she was starting to feel guilty, like she was the one who’d done it and she just couldn’t remember actually doing it. Was that possible? Could she have killed him in her sleep? Don’t be daft. Besides. There’s very little blood. If he’d been killed here, there would be a lot of blood. Wouldn’t there? “He isn’t always home with the likes of us, if you know what I mean.” Siobhán tried to don a sexy look. Macdara frowned. Shoot. She wasn’t any good at seduction either.
Macdara pulled out his notebook again. “Are ye saying he has a girlfriend?”
“I suspect,” Siobhán said. Suspect? Why did she use the word suspect? “But he’s never brought her around.”
“He’d want to be here,” Ciarán said. “He’ll be so shocked.”
“That he will,” Siobhán said. “That he will.”
“Unless he did it,” Ciarán said. “And then he already knows.”
Macdara knelt down in front of Ciarán. “Is there any reason to think James would have done this?” he asked gently.
“No,” Siobhán said. Ciarán’s eyes widened as if a little common sense had just crept in. He shook his head.
Macdara straightened up and adjusted his notebook just as the other two guards came in from the back garden.
“There’s some trampled grass back there, alright,” one said.
“Like a body was dragged?” Macdara asked.
“Quite possible,” was the answer.
“Do we have any crime-scene tape in the vehicle?” Macdara asked. One hurried out to check while Macdara herded the O’Sullivans to the seating near the fireplace. “Do you remember hearing anything? Any noises in the middle of the night or early this morning?”
“I thought I heard glass breaking,” Ann said. She turned to Gráinne. “Remember?”
“What?” Siobhán said.
“’Tis true,” Gráinne said. “Ann woke me up to see if I heard it too.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Siobhán said.
“Because you don’t sleep in our room,” Ann said.
“Tell me exactly what you heard,” Macdara said.
“It sounded like it came from down here. Like someone had thrown a rock through one of the windows,” Ann said.
“Why a rock?” Macdara asked.
Ann shrugged. “Why are ye asking me? I didn’t throw it.”
“Ann,” Siobhán said.
Macdara held up his hand. “She’s alright,” he said.
“Could it have been a brick?” Ciarán asked Ann. “Or a shoe?”
“A brick, maybe,” Ann said. “Definitely not a shoe.”
Ciarán nodded with a very serious expression on his wee face, then pointed to Macdara’s notebook. “Are ye going to write that down?”
Macdara shifted uncomfortably and scribbled something out. “Let’s start again. You woke up because you thought you heard glass breaking. Like someone threw a rock into one of your windows. Or a brick. Definitely not a shoe.”
Ciarán and Ann nodded their encouragement. Gráinne looked at Siobhán and rolled her eyes. If it was a better time, Siobhán would have laughed. Macdara looked around at the windows, as did the rest of them, but all of them were intact.
“The back door was locked when the other guard went out to the garden,” Macdara said.
“We always lock up,” Siobhán said.
“Did Niall have a key?” Macdara asked.
“Of course not,” Siobhán said. She turned to Ann. “What time did ye hear glass breaking?”
Ann shrugged. “I dunno, exactly. Just that it was the middle of the night, like.” Her blond hair was a rat’s nest, but she still looked so sweet and innocent. When she wasn’t talking, that is. Her attitude was almost as snippy as Gráinne’s. The girls were becoming strangers day by day.
“Middle of the night,” Macdara repeated.
“That sounds about right,” Gráinne said. “Like late middle, not early middle.”
“That’s very helpful,” Siobhán said. Gráinne played with her hair and nodded solemnly as the sarcasm zoomed right by. Siobhán prompted Ann. “Then what?”
“I woke Gráinne up, asked her if she heard glass breaking downstairs; she called me a stupid eejit, shoved me, and told me to go back to sleep,” Ann said. She slid a look to Gráinne. Told ye.
Gráinne threw her arms up. “It was the middle of the night, for feck’s sake. I thought she was dreaming.”
“So you shoved her?” Siobhán said. She didn’t know whether to focus on that or the language. How did she get here? She didn’t have a clue as to how to be a parent.
“It’s good they didn’t come down,” Macdara said. “I’d hate to think if they’d”—he cut the rest of the thought off. Ciarán was staring at him with saucer eyes.
Come in at the wrong time and witnessed a murder. Siobhán shuddered to think what would have happened.
“And none of you let Niall Murphy inside?”
“Of course not,” Siobhán said.
“Could he have had a key?” Macdara asked again. Had he forgotten he asked it earlier, or was he trying to catch them in a lie?
“Definitely not,” Siobhán said. “But we keep a spare in the back garden.”
“Where?” Macdara looked to the door.
“In a glass jar buried in the corner of the garden closest to the door.”
Macdara made note of it. “We’ll check to see if it’s still there.” Siobhán wanted him to run out and check this very second, but she kept her gob shut. Nobody liked someone else telling them how to do their job.
“Do you think Niall was here to see one of us?” Gráinne suddenly cried out.
“Why would he be here in the middle of the night to see one of us?” Siobhán said.
Macdara was staring at Gráinne. “Can you think of any reason?”
“Of course she can’t,” Siobhán said. What was he trying to say? Gráinne just shook her head and looked away.
“Maybe he was hungry,” Ciarán said.
“He was probably langers,” Ann said. “And he didn’t know it was the middle of the night.”
“Maybe he tripped and fell on your scissors,” Ciarán said, turning to Siobhán.
“And then got up and calmly sat in one of our dining chairs?” Siobhán said. She didn’t mean to, but they were starting to sound like a bunch of daft eejits.
“Maybe he had just enough life in him to sit down,” Eoin said. Eoin mimed sitting down.
“We don’t even know that they’re our scissors,” Siobhán reminded them. Ann shot a worried look at Gráinne. Gráinne glared back. It gave Siobhán a sinking feeling. She’d have to remember to ask what that was about when they were alone.
“The killer could have brought the scissors with him,” Ciarán said.
“Premeditated murder,” Gráinne mused.
Macdara was staring at all of them, mouth open. “We watch a lot of CSI,” Ciarán said.
“Right,” Siobhán said. “But
it is true. We know for sure now he wasn’t stabbed here.” Macdara stiffened, but he didn’t respond right away. Uh-oh. She got the distinct feeling he was browned off. At her? What did she do?
Macdara turned to the young ones. “Do you have anything else to add, you three?” Ciarán, Ann, and Gráinne shook their heads. “Why don’t you go upstairs, now. Give us minute here.” They stood obediently. Siobhán would have had to ask at least three times.
“Can we watch telly?” Ciarán asked.
“Quietly,” Siobhán said. “And no CSI.”
“Why not?” Ciarán said.
“Because we’re living it,” Gráinne said.
“I want to stay,” Ann said.
“You heard Garda Flannery. Up with you now,” Eoin said. Gráinne stomped off, followed by Ann, then Ciarán. He kept looking back.
“Tell me everything,” Ciarán said before disappearing out the French doors. Macdara turned to Siobhán and Eoin.
“Where do you keep your mop?” Macdara said.
“Our mop?” Siobhán said.
“We’ll need to see if anyone’s been tidying up after themselves lately,” Macdara said.
“Are you serious?” Siobhán said.
“I’ll get it,” Eoin said. He started for the kitchen.
“Hold up,” Macdara said. “We’ll do it. From now on, you don’t go anywhere I don’t approve; you don’t touch anything.” Macdara glanced outside. “There hasn’t been a tragedy like this since . . .” He stopped.
Her parents’ accident. Siobahn bit her lip and looked away.
Macdara came up and put his hand on her shoulder. The weight of it sent shudders through her body. “I’m sorry. This is happening at the worst time for all of you.”
Tears filled Siobhán’s eyes, and she stepped away. He was still Macdara, but in this case he was a guard first. She’d best not forget that.
“Siobhán,” Macdara said quietly.
She didn’t dare meet his gaze. There were too many people around.
One of the other guards came out of the kitchen, pushing the mop and bucket. “It’s here. It’s clean.”
Siobhán looked at Macdara. Take that.
Macdara nodded and turned to Siobhán. “Start from the beginning,” he said. “Where did you say James went last night?”
Chapter 7
Once the detective superintendant arrived and declared it an official crime scene, the bistro instantly transformed into a beehive of organized chaos. Siobhán watched, fascinated, as the guards dusted, gathered, photographed, and conferred.
Macdara found Siobhán by the counter. She wondered if it was hard for him to let outsiders take over. That’s how she would feel if it were her. She wasn’t even a member of the gardai, and she was itching to step in. But he seemed more concerned about her.
“We found the key in the back garden still in the glass jar.”
Siobhán swallowed and nodded, even though she couldn’t process what that meant for the case. How did the murderer get in?
“After we’re done with the scene, would you bring that jar in and make sure you don’t keep a key outside anymore?”
Siobhán nodded again.
“Are you okay?” His voice softened to a concerned whisper. He was no longer speaking as Garda Flannery but as Macdara, her friend.
“Who’s going to tell his poor mam?” Mary Murphy had already withdrawn from the town after the accident. How in the world was she going to cope with this news? Although Siobhán had secretly never liked the woman, she couldn’t imagine the pain this was going to cause. Especially with her only other son in prison. If Naomi O’Sullivan were here, she’d be thinking and praying for Niall’s mam. Siobhán would do the same.
“We’re sending guards to the house as we speak. They’ll break the news as gently as possible.”
“I wouldn’t wish it on anyone,” Siobhán said.
“You know yourself,” Macdara said.
Siobhán glanced at a stream of light snaking in through a gap in the closed shutters. “Folks will be wondering why we’re not opening.” She didn’t mean to take away from Mary Murphy’s pain, but this was going to shake the community of Kilbane to its core. Not to mention ruin the bistro. Their livelihood. Without it, how on earth would the O’Sullivan Six survive?
“I’ve got a bit of good news,” Macdara said.
Siobhán waited. Please tell me Niall did accidentally fall on the pair of scissors.
“The pathologist is already in Cork for a conference. She’s on her way as we speak.”
“That’s a relief,” Siobhán said. The sooner the body was out of here, the better.
“Since the spare key was still in the jar, just where you said, I have to ask you again. Are you sure there isn’t any chance at all that Niall Murphy had a key?”
“Why would Niall have a key to our bistro?” She sounded snappy, but who wouldn’t after hearing the same question at least three times? The very thought of Niall having a key to the bistro set her on edge.
“There’s no sign of a break-in,” Macdara said. “Either he used a key or someone let him in.”
Siobhán shook her head and threw her arms open. “Did you check Niall’s pockets for a key?”
“Excellent observation.” He turned and yelled over his shoulder to one of the Cork guards, who didn’t look any older than James. “Check his pocket for a key, will ye?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t have a key. If he had a key, I certainly didn’t know about it.”
“If he had a key?” Macdara said. “So you’re saying he might have had a key?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying!”
Macdara’s face softened. “It’s a right shock. Finding a dead man in your dining room.”
“’Tis,” Siobhán said. In her mind she started cataloging the keys. They each had one, of course, so that made six. Her mam was a trusting sort, so there was no telling how many neighbors had spares. After all, they had keys hanging on hooks behind the register belonging to other folks in town. People looked after each other in Kilbane. It wasn’t unusual to phone a neighbor to ask them to pop in and check on such and such if one was going to be late getting back home or to their shop. Spare keys were far from being a smoking gun.
Not to mention the number of times James lost his key after a night in the pub. Why, they might as well have kept their doors wide open with the number of people who could have had access to the locks. Siobhán didn’t want to deal with any of it. James was the oldest; he should be here trying to figure this out.
She picked up her mobile, and this time she dialed O’Rourke’s, praying that Declan could tell her where to find James. The phone rang and rang, but nobody picked up. That was odd. Siobhán couldn’t recall a single time that Declan hadn’t answered on one of the first few rings. Hating to do it, she sent Eoin to see what he could find out. He came back twenty minutes later, out of breath and sweating.
“Well?” Siobhán said. They were standing outside on the footpath, having been kicked out the moment the state pathologist arrived. At least she was here.
“O’Rourke’s is closed,” Eoin said. “I tried to look in the windows, but I couldn’t see a thing.”
Years of dirt will do that to a pub, Siobhán thought. “O’Rourke’s is closed?” She’d never known that to happen. Ever.
“I even went around back. It’s all locked up.”
Declan only closed on Christmas. She hoped he was alright. “Why don’t you try one of the other pubs?” Siobhán said. “Someone will know what’s going on.”
“What do I say if they start asking me questions?”
“Tell them you’re looking for James, or ask them if they’ve heard about O’Rourke’s being closed, but not a single other peep,” Siobhán said. “Sometimes the best way is to answer a question with a question.”
“Answer a question with a question?” Eoin tilted his head in confusion.
“Exactly,” Siobhán said. “You’ve got it.”
>
“Can I buy a pint?”
“Absolutely not,” Siobhán said. He’d be of legal drinking age in a few years. And, of course, he was probably sneaking a few with the lads when they were out. But she certainly wasn’t going to condone it, and she prayed he didn’t take to it like James had.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” he said as he headed off. Siobhán squeezed her eyes shut. Neither did she. But the first thing she had to do was look after the younger ones. It wasn’t going to be healthy for them to stay here. She called Bridie.
“Is it true?” Bridie said in lieu of hello. “Is it Niall? Is he dead?”
“How did you know?” Siobhán asked.
“Courtney, of course.” Siobhán should have guessed. No one would be surprised if they discovered that instead of veins, Courtney was wired with communication cables. She was always the first to know everything. “Are you alright, petal? I’d be going out of my mind.”
“I need a favor,” Siobhán said.
“Say no more,” Bridie said. “Pack their bags and bring them over.” Siobhán nodded even though Bridie couldn’t see her through the phone. Friends knew what you needed before you even uttered a word. That was the Kilbane that she knew and loved.
“I don’t see why I have to go,” Gráinne said as they trudged over to Bridie’s, suitcases in hand. “I’m sixteen.” Why were they always telling her how old they were, as if she couldn’t count?
“You like Bridie,” Siobhán said.
“We’ll get to make things,” Ann said, her eyes sparkling.
Gráinne rolled her eyes and shoved Ann. “I’m not going to make anything.”
“Hey,” Ann said.
“Don’t shove your sister,” Siobhán said. She shoved Gráinne.
“Are we ever going home again?” Ciarán said.
Siobhán took his hand. “Of course,” she said. “Of course.”
Bridie and Séamus lived a few streets back, down the street, a right at the post office, up the hill, and a left at the yellow house. They were one of the few who didn’t live above their shop; in fact, they were a good driving distance from it. Séamus didn’t mind; it gave him another bike route. And Bridie didn’t spend much time at the cycle shop anyway. Except, of course, she was there the other day. With Niall. Siobhán wondered if she had any clue as to who could have done this.
Murder in an Irish Village Page 6
