by Paul Charles
‘I pulled the trigger. There was a pop, as usual. The priest started to speak, “Eimear…” he said, but before he’d managed another breath the ice pellet was destroying his brain. I checked his neck for a pulse. He was dead. There was, as you’ve already suggested, quite a discharge from his neck. I quickly grabbed the tea towel he’d left on the table earlier and held it to the wound until the discharge was complete. I wiped his neck clean. My idea had been to kill him because he was evil. At the same time, I didn’t feel my daughter should lose a mother. So, my plan was that one of the priests would discover him there and think that he’d died a natural death and that would be it.
‘I heard some shuffling upstairs. I thought Father O’Leary was on the way down to satisfy his sweet tooth once again before mealtime. So I threw the soiled tea towel under the sink, as you do, as we all do, and I got out of there. I forgot my empty Sweetex packets, of course. Most people would have just thrown them in the bin as rubbish, but not you Starrett, no, not you. Because the bishop was in residence and Father Matt was so young, the guards were called. And here we all are, not even a week later.’
Starrett was amazed by how normal Eimear appeared. She looked like and sounded like she was taking everything in her stride. She had a week to come to terms with Father Matt’s death and she had just under a month to come to terms with her daughter and Father Matt’s relationship. Would there come a time when Eimear would start to think if only she’d bit her lip, counted slowly to ten and instead of acting the way she had, that is to say, trying to sweep the incident under the carpet like it had never happened, it might have, just might have been better for her to behave like a mature mother? That is to say, she could have, should have, given guidance to Father Matt and Jessica. Told them that if they were really serious about their relationship, to just slow it down a wee bit? Maybe she could have advised him to leave the priesthood, get an ordinary job, settle down and go about it all the right way? Would Eimear ever think that if she had just done all of the above, then maybe Jessica and Matt McKaye would have, could have, lived happily ever after?
But Eimear’s main problem had been that she was doing all she knew how to do: trying to totally block the incident from her mind. She wanted to ignore it. She’d even refused to discuss the late-night rendezvous with Jessica. It was as if she was trying to pretend that it had never happened. However as soon as she found out her daughter was pregnant, there was no longer a possibility of ignoring it. The evidence was there, growing inside her daughter, and soon all the world would be capable of witnessing it and the family she’d dedicated her entire life to would be shamed.
Someone had to pay for that and that someone was Father Matthew McKaye.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Day One: Wednesday
The very next day, in another graveyard, in yet another beautiful Donegal landscape, Starrett was attending another funeral, this time the funeral of his lifelong friend, Major Newton Cunningham.
In Starrett’s experience, funerals usually took place on beautiful autumnal mornings. The thing about beautiful autumnal mornings in Donegal is that the sun, as it lights up every corner of the rich tapestry of fields; hills; mountains; trees; rugged hedges; blue heavenly skies; faint white clouds and all creatures great and small, does tend to show off our creator’s magic in all its spiritual glory. Starrett wondered was this meant to be a reminder for the survivors, just as himself, of exactly what they were going to miss when they too passed.
Just after the burial, a man came up to Starrett and asked if they could have a private word. Starrett agreed and led the man to a quieter part of the graveyard, by an old oak tree. The man had a Dublin accent and introduced himself as Superintendent John Connolly. The superintendent gave the detective a speech about a conversation he’d recently shared with the Major. Basically, the Major had advised the superintendent that the only way Ramelton’s Serious Crimes Unit could continue would be if it was allowed to continue to run the way it was currently run. The superintendent wanted to honour the Major’s wishes, and he realised that the Major could not be replaced, so he was volunteering to deal with the gardai politics on Starrett’s behalf. He suggested that Starrett might even want to increase his team, only by two, but he could pick whomever he wanted.
Starrett wasn’t really in the mood for either the chat or the thoughts it might provoke, if he was honest, but he could hear the Major’s voice in his ear, ‘Just be open to some of the proposals that will be made to you and remember, not all the seniors are bad people.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ Starrett had offered as a concession to the Major. In Starrett’s language ‘I’ll think about it’ didn’t mean ‘No, but I don’t want to tell you “no” right now.’ It meant he would think about it.
‘But that leaves us with a bit of a problem,’ Superintendent John Connolly confessed.
‘Sorry?’ Starrett said, distracted by the fact that he thought the conversation had already reached its natural conclusion.
‘Earlier this morning the body of Bishop Cormac Freeman was found–’
‘But I thought he was in custody?’ Starrett said, his already confused feelings now running a new riot.
‘He got out on bail and, as far as Dr Samantha Aljoe can determine he was murdered yesterday evening, between the hours of nine and eleven.’
‘And you think I–’ Starrett said, now too confused and troubled to even try to think straight.
‘No, no, of course not! Otherwise it would have been premature of me to have that conversation with you. Besides which, Dr Aljoe confirms that during the time of the bishop’s death she and half the county were with you, at the Major’s wake.’
A few minutes later, when the superintendent had gone on his way, Starrett walked across to Maggie Keane and explained the full situation.
‘I could leave here with you now, leave the guards for good, Maggie,’ Starrett offered, and meant it.
‘I know you would, Starrett, that’s exactly why you don’t have to. Go and do your work, we’ll see you later today,’ she said, as she gave him a big hug before winking at him as they broke off. Both Moya and Katie gave him a big heart-warming hug, too.
He and Gibson were just about to leave the graveyard when a thought seemed to hit him, and it was a troubling one.
‘Hault your horses, Nuala,’ he said, ‘please, wait in the car -- I’ve two important bits of work to do to tie up the case.’
The detective strolled up to Father Robert O’Leary, who was in attendance at the funeral in order to be of assistance to the frail Father Peregrine Dugan, who was taking a rare day off from his work on The History of Ireland to make an even rarer public appearance.
‘Fathers, sad day, a very sad day,’ an emotional Starrett offered them.
They both offered the detective their condolences.
‘So, you solved the case on the seventh day,’ Father O’Leary said, ‘I always knew you would.’
‘And it was Herodias’ sister (if she even had one) and not her daughter, Salome, after all?’ Father Dugan said.
‘Sadly, yes,’ Starrett replied, really meaning it.
‘You’ve heard about Bishop Freeman?’ Father O’Leary asked, while still shaking the detective’s hand.
‘Just,’ he replied, looking back to the vacated place in the graveyard by the old oak tree where he’d recently had the conversation with the Major’s replacement. ‘I’m off there now, but I’ve solved another of St Ernan’s mysteries.'
'Oh really?' Father O’Leary asked looking a little concerned.
Starrett futtered around in his inside pocket for a few seconds and produced an envelope which he handed over to Father O’Leary.
'The packet of Hamilton Nibs?' O’Leary guessed with as much enthusiasm as Starrett had seen from him in the last week.
Starrett nodded yes.
Where? Father O’Leary spelt out in the cold air with his forefinger and thumb.
'We found it down in your basement in the r
oom Father Gene McCafferty was holed up in,' Starrett offered. ‘I’ve one question for you before I go.’
‘And your question?’
‘Why,’ Starrett asked Father O’Leary, ‘do they call Father Edward the Ginger Beatle? I get the ginger bit,’ he added, trying to show he was not above plying his trade to work out domestic puzzles as well as criminal ones.
‘Apparently,’ Father O’Leary replied, ‘The Beatles had a song called ‘Eleanor Rigby’. I believe, during the course of the song they sing about a certain Father McKenzie.’
‘Yes, right, right, of course,’ Starrett boasted, avoiding eye contact with the priests, ‘the obvious connection.’
The End
