Mary Murphy stood at her cooker, taking her time putting on the kettle, keeping her back to Siobhán. When the tea was wetted, Siobhán sipped in silence. Mary didn’t make herself a cup; she simply leaned against the kitchen counter chain-smoking. Siobhán suddenly didn’t know what to say. The questions she really wanted to ask didn’t seem appropriate. Did you know Niall was trying to extort me? Do you have any idea who else he was trying to work over? Do you have any idea why he would say he has proof that Billy is innocent? Do you know anybody besides my brother who would want your son dead?
“I just want him home so I can bury him,” Mary Murphy said suddenly. “You know yourself.”
“I do indeed. That’s why I thought we’d have a fund-raiser. Folks will be wanting to pay their respects as soon as possible.”
Mary Murphy let out a snort. “Will they now?”
“Nobody wanted anything like this to happen.”
“James couldn’t get at Billy, being he’s locked away, so he took it out on my Niall for what happened to your parents. Everyone knows James’s got it in ’im.”
Siobhán stood. “That’s not true! James hadn’t had a drop to drink for nearly six months.”
“But he did that night, didn’t he? Right back to his old ways.”
“Aren’t you even sorry for what your son did?” Siobhán hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but resentment like hers could only hold so long.
“What did ye say?”
“You wouldn’t even pay your respects. I don’t care how much you love your son. My parents didn’t deserve that.”
“No,” Mary said, dropping her voice. “They didn’t. And I did pay my respects. Just not with everyone’s eyes on me, t’inking there’s the woman we blame.”
“What?”
“It’s always the mother’s fault, isn’t it?”
Siobhán looked down at her feet. “I don’t blame you for what Billy did. And my mam and da wouldn’t have either. And if James is guilty, then he should pay the price. But I’m just asking you to let the guards do their job before you go insisting that my brother is a killer.”
“Sit down.” Mary gestured to the chair. Siobhán perched on the edge of it again. Tears ran silently down Mary’s cheeks, and it startled Siobhán to see it. She’d been so wrapped up in her own anger toward Mary Murphy that she had almost forgotten she was human. Siobhán had an urge to take her hand or give her a comforting pat, but she knew her pity would not be welcome.
“When I ran into Niall in the bike shop, he wanted to talk to me about Billy.” There it was, out of her mouth before Siobhán could stop herself. But she had to find out what Mary Murphy knew. Was she believing the same crazy ideas as Niall?
Mary’s eyes flicked to Siobhán’s and stayed locked for a second. Defiance. That was the look. Defiance.
“When are ye thinking of having the fund-raiser?” Mary Murphy said. “We’ll need to talk to Father Kearney.”
“Of course. Whenever you think it would suit.”
“Where will we have it, like?”
“At the bistro. We could make a nice meal for everyone.”
“Where my precious boy’s body was found?”
“Found. But not killed. And I won’t let anyone sit at the table. It would be nice if folks could leave candles, and pictures, and warm wishes, like.”
“What do you mean not killed?”
“I don’t believe Niall was killed in the bistro. I believe he was brought in. After. I’m sorry.”
“Why would ye think that?”
“Because there was very little . . .” Siobhán stopped. She shouldn’t have opened her mouth. “There were indentations in the grass out back. Like someone had been dragged.” That didn’t sound any better at all. It was all macabre, this murder business, no matter how polite you tried to be.
“I see,” Mary Murphy said as she crushed out a cigarette.
“I think someone wanted to make it look like we had done it. Someone wanted to frame us.”
“And why would anyone want to do that?”
“You mean besides get away with murder?” Mary flinched, and Siobhán once again kicked herself. “I’m sorry. I think they knew people would suspect us because of what happened last year.” And because a few days ago Niall had the nerve to ask me for ten thousand euro to help clear Billy’s name. But nobody else had been in the shop for that exchange, so who else had Niall told and why? Or was Niall killed because he was trying to extort someone else, using yet another lie?
“Billy can’t even be here for his own brother’s funeral. How do you like that?”
“Did you know that Niall spoke to me about Billy? Did he mention it to ye?” Siobhán had to ask.
Mary Murphy removed another cigarette from her pack. “Niall was a grown man. He didn’t tell me who he was talking to or what he was saying. But he was a good brother. And he was a good son.” Mary’s voice grew in volume. She pointed a finger at Siobhán. “And your brother killed him. Niall didn’t deserve to be done like that.”
“James didn’t do it.”
“He was home all night, was he? Is that what you’re saying to me?”
“Folks are saying he got in a fight with Niall that night. Although it was James who took the punches—”
“How dare you?”
“There weren’t any marks on Niall’s face,” Siobhán blurted out. She couldn’t help it. It was true. If the fight between James and Niall got physical, then Niall had been the only one throwing punches. Had Niall’s knuckles been swollen, or was there any evidence that he’d hit James? Siobhán would have to ask Macdara. No good would come from discussing her theories with Mary Murphy, so she brought the topic back to the fund-raiser. “When would you like to schedule the gathering?”
“How’s Sunday after Mass?” Mary Murphy said.
“That’ll do just fine,” Siobhán said. “I’ll talk to Father Kearney, and he can help spread the word.”
Mary Murphy didn’t even get up to open the door. “Don’t waste your bread on the likes of me,” she called when Siobhán reached the door. “I was never one for it.”
Siobhán gritted her teeth and swiped up the pan of brown bread. She’d have to throw it out; surely the smell of cigarette had seeped into its core. Siobhán headed for the door again.
“Say hello to Gráinne,” Mary called out in a pleasant singsong.
Siobhán halted as the statement poured over her like a bucket of ice. “What?”
A slow smile crept across Mary’s face. It was the creepiest thing Siobhán had ever seen. “She’s such a wee dolt. Thank her for me, will ye?”
Siobhán did not blink or breathe for a few torturous seconds. “Thank her for what?”
Mary Murphy simply held the smile and Siobhán’s gaze. A chill ran up Siobhán’s spine. “Sunday week?” Mary said. The pleasant singsong tone had evaporated.
“Sunday week,” Siobhán manage to reply, and then flew out of the house before she could get her hands around Mary Murphy’s scrawny neck and squeeze.
Chapter 15
Declan O’Rourke was leaning against the bar and watching rugby on the new HD television that had been mounted on the wall just a few months prior. Siobhán would much rather look at the movie paraphernalia on the wall or even Séamus’s racing trophies that Declan proudly displayed on the top shelf. Eleven trophies in all, an impressive collection. One was missing, Siobhán noted with a pang. Last year. Séamus gave up the race two days beforehand to help the O’Sullivans after the crash. Maybe it was good she didn’t go to college. She could never imagine that neighbors in Dublin would do such a thing for each other.
Siobhán glanced at the screen again and sighed. She hoped it wasn’t an important game or she was going to have even more of a challenge getting anything out of Declan.
“How ya,” he said, turning to her when there was a break in the game. “What’s the story?” His warm welcome was genuine and infectious, despite the gap in his grin. Siobhán smiled back and t
ook a stool. There were only a few lads down at the other end of the bar, so lost in the game and their pints that they didn’t even look to see who had come in.
“Same old,” Siobhán said. If only.
“You’re either here to drown your troubles or you’re wanting to see me,” Declan said.
“Am I allowed both?” Siobhán said.
“Ah, sure, chicken. What are ye havin’?”
“A pint of the black stuff,” she said. Declan winked and set to pouring her a Guinness. She felt a little thrill, having a pint in the middle of the day. And why not? It had certainly been a rough few days.
“’Tis a fierce, nasty business,” Declan said while he waited for her pint to settle before pouring the head.
“It is indeed,” Siobhán said. This was just the opening she needed. Siobhán maintained an expression of pity for a moment before diving in. “In fact, I was just talking to Mike Granger. He mentioned how you saw a few lads running around the back of his store the night of the murder.”
It felt odd to say the word murder out loud, and she could’ve sworn one of the lads at the end of the bar popped his head up on hearing it, but by the time she looked over, he was back to staring at the game. She didn’t recognize him; so many of the young lads around Kilbane were suddenly turning into men. And it was only if they came to the bistro regularly that she could keep track of them all. Since taking over the work of her parents, she certainly hadn’t been going out to the pubs at night.
Declan set her pint in front of her, and she decided to be happy for the little moments instead of fixating on what could have been. Maybe the neighbors in Dublin wouldn’t have treated her like family, as they did here, but there was a whole world of possibilities she knew she was missing.
She would have been spending her evenings at pubs and restaurants, and her weekends shopping on Grafton Street, strolling through Phoenix Park, or hitting the tourist sites. She got so wrapped up in feeling sorry for herself that it took her a minute to realize Declan hadn’t answered her question about seeing lads up to no good that evening. His eyes were back on the game. “Mike said I should have a word with you about the lads he saw running around the back of his shop that night.”
“Did he now?” Declan looked at Siobhán again. “Are you doing alright, petal? Are you going to be opening again for business?”
“If I do, are you finally going to start coming in?”
“I’m always here,” he said. “You know yourself.”
“I do indeed.”
“But I’ll sneak out for your grand reopening. How’s that?”
“Very sweet of you. Oh. I almost forgot. I’m going to have a bit of a fund-raiser for Mary Murphy.”
Declan’s mouth opened slightly. “For Mary Murphy?”
“Well. For Niall, really. It’s going to be a while before she can have the funeral, and the expenses will be dear. Niall mentioned she’d been having a bit of a hard time even before this business. So I offered to have a gathering, and she said yes.”
“She said yes?” Declan’s eyebrows arched up.
“We’re going to put aside our differences and honor Niall’s memory. It’s what me mam and da would have wanted too.”
“You’re having it at the bistro?”
“Of course.”
“I see.”
“You know Niall wasn’t killed in the bistro,” Siobhán said. “Somebody moved him there.”
Declan leaned in. He might not have been one for giving out information, but he was always the first to soak it in. “How so?”
“Nothing else makes sense. There was very little blood.”
Declan shook his head. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that. Not after what you’ve been through.”
“Anyway, it’s Sunday week. I have a feeling you’ll get all the folks in here after.”
“In that case, I’ll show up meself,” Declan said. “They can live with the doors shut for a few hours.”
“Thank you. Would you mind spreading the word?”
“Will do.”
“Thank you.”
Declan winked. “I almost forgot,” he said. He bent down underneath the counter and came up with a book. Siobhán glanced at it. The Encyclopedia of Celtic Mythology and Folklore. Tears came to her eyes. “Thought you might get a kick out of it. I hope you get back to your college plans soon.” Declan didn’t wait for a reply, instead he busied himself by washing glasses. He knew there was precious little chance she’d be going to college anytime soon.
She hugged the book to her chest. “Thank you.”
“Not a bother, chicken.”
“Can you tell me what you saw that night?” Siobhán said, lowering her voice and leaving out the word murder this time.
Declan sighed. “I was out smoking a fag when I saw movement around the side of Mike’s shop.”
“Movement?”
“A few lads running around. I only saw the backs of ’em. But they looked as if they were in a hurry alright.”
“Were they short? Tall?”
“Their heads were down, and they were running, so it’s hard to tell. Nothing out of the average.”
“It doesn’t have to be out of the average. Anything will help.”
“One of ’em might have been wearing a cap.”
That didn’t help. All the lads in Kilbane wore caps half the time. “Could one of them have been Niall?”
Declan contemplated the question with some gravity. “I don’t know. He was in and out of the pub like always. But he left for the final time around midnight, I’d say. Now that you mention it, there was something different about his head. Was it a cap?”
“Sheila shaved his head just after seven.”
“So he might have been wearing a cap to cover it up, like,” Declan said, as if they’d solved the mystery.
“But you’re not sure?”
“I wasn’t expecting there’d be a quiz,” Declan said. “Sorry, pet, I can’t say for sure.”
“But my brother was here.”
“You know yourself. He and Niall got into a shouting match at the bar. It would have become physical if the new Yank hadn’t have stepped in and pulled them apart.”
“Chris Gorden?” Siobhán hoped Declan would say more.
“You’ve met him?”
“Not really. Ran into him is all. Literally bumped into me.”
“I bet he did that on purpose,” Declan said with a wink.
“What’s his story?” Siobhán said casually.
Declan’s face lit up as it always did when he was the first to deliver a bit of news. “Tall lad. About your age. Most of the colleens think he’s nice to look at.”
“He tried to break up the fight?” For an outsider, that was either awfully brave or awfully stupid.
“He tried, I tried, Séamus tried.” Declan sighed and turned a rag on the counter.
“So then what? They took the fight outside?”
“Not while I was here, petal. I don’t know when or how James ended up beaten in the alley.”
“So you never saw Niall and my brother physically fight?”
“No. They cooled off; we all thought it was over. The Yankee Doodle had a chat with Niall. After a bit, Niall seemed to settle.”
“Somebody beat up my brother that night,” Siobhán said. “If it wasn’t Niall, then who?”
“Jameson,” Declan said. “That whiskey would be my guess.”
“Besides the whiskey. Someone gave him a few punches. He has the bruises to prove it.” And the blood. “Macdara is convinced it was Niall.”
Declan sighed. “They certainly wanted have a go at each other.”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Siobhán said, “but I wish you wouldn’t have served James. He was about to get his six-month Pioneer Pin.”
Declan sighed. “It’s the worst part of me job. I didn’t want to see James drinkin’ any more than you did, chicken, but it’s not my place to deny a grown man a drink. And
I cut him off after the shouting match. If he drank more after that, he didn’t get it from me. And I did cut him off. He was raging.”
Great, just great. “Did he leave? Go someplace else maybe?”
“If he did, I don’t know where, and to be honest, I didn’t care, as long as he was outta here. Séamus offered to take him home, but James told him to feck off.”
Oh, no. James never would have said that when he was sober. “You said Niall and James were shouting at each other. What was it about?” Siobhán had a pretty good idea, but she had to ask anyway.
“I wasn’t paying much attention. When lads are fighting, it’s usually about land, lassies, or money, or all t’ree.”
Siobhán sighed. “What was Niall wearing?”
“Are ye considering becoming a detective?”
“Sorry. But Macdara says they’re looking at James for this. And drunk or not, I know he didn’t do it. Niall was wearing a suit when I found him.”
Declan’s eyebrows arched up again. “A suit?” Siobhán nodded. “Well, I can’t tell ye what he was wearing. But I can tell ye this. It sure as feck wasn’t a suit.”
Siobhán nodded. Just as she thought. Not that she had any more answers. In fact, the more questions she asked, the less any of it made sense. “Did ye ever think we’d have a murder mystery right here in Kilbane?” she said.
“Surely not,” Declan said. “Although it’s usually the spouse who done it.”
“Niall wasn’t married,” Siobhán said.
“Right, so. Doesn’t help us at all,” Declan agreed. Siobhán glanced behind the bar and spotted a HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner curled up as if it had just come down.
“Did Bridie throw Séamus a birthday party that night?” she asked. It was a little hurtful she wasn’t invited, but maybe they kept it a small affair.
Declan glanced at the banner and shook his head. “That was from a month or so back.”
“Oh.”
“It would be mighty funny if it had been for Séamus, though.”
“Why is that?”
“His birthday is in December.”
Murder in an Irish Village Page 12
