Death in the Burren

by John Kinsella

  Holland went into the hallway and they could hear a muffled conversation. Then Frank entered the restaurant with Con Curtis.

  “Well I’m glad to see you up and well again.” He said to McAllister, who thanked him and introduced him to Ann.

  “I already met this lady in Galway when you were enjoying your slumbers.” Curtis laughed.

  “Coffee or a glass of wine, or something stronger?” Susan asked.

  “Coffee would be very welcome, thanks.” Curtis looked around expectantly. “It’s very quiet here tonight.”

  “We decided to have a short rest after the excitement of the past few days.” Holland said, somewhat pointedly.

  “I’m sorry about my part in that.” Curtis confessed.

  “Oh no hard feelings really, I understand you had to do what seemed right at the time. Anyway, everything worked out well as we had only a few bookings and these were reallocated in the area to everybody’s satisfaction. The staff didn’t complain at getting some free days and Patsy McBride, who held the fort while I was otherwise engaged,” he couldn’t control a brief knowing smile, “has gone back to Gregans Castle Hotel to hold the fort there, looking after John’s study group until he gets well again.”

  “So here we are,” Susan chipped in, “ and I hope you haven’t come to take Frank away again.” She put her arms around Holland and held on tightly.

  It was Curtis’s turn to smile. “Obviously I’ll never live this down. I can only hope you’ll forgive me in time.”

  “Sorry Con, I didn’t mean that. But you have come at a good time because we have been speculating on all the strange events of the past week and have come up with some good theories which are really quite frightening if they’re even half true.”

  Curtis listened very carefully as Holland outlined their analysis of what had been happening.

  “This is remarkably near the truth, as I understand it,” he agreed, “but the whole thing goes much deeper than that and we’re only coming to grips with a very complex set of circumstances which I won’t speak about now. My purpose in calling was to see how John was getting on and to say that you should all exercise a degree of caution while he is here as he could be targeted again.”

  McAllister sat bolt upright. “Oh come on Con, that’s a bit melodramatic, surely.”

  “My professional instinct, John, and naturally I hope I’m wrong. I wouldn’t get paranoid about it, but just lie low for a while until we sort this whole thing out.”

  As he rose McAllister asked if Eileen O’Leary’s death had been resolved. “Yes indeed. We know now that she was heavily sedated, put into the ocean some distance from shore and left to drown. In a word, murdered.”

  CHAPTER 15

  “CON WASN’T GIVING MUCH AWAY,” Holland commented when he returned to the dining room, having seen Curtis to his car.

  “At least we now know there have definitely been two murders.” Ann looked pensive.

  “I cannot imagine why anyone would murder Eileen, and in such a cruel and calculating way.” McAllister was quite sickened by what Curtis had told them. “I’m thinking back to the last time I saw her. When was it? Thursday. Yes, last Thursday at the Orchid Hotel. It was such a beautiful evening, with the Italians playing on the lawn. They dedicated their playing to her and then they asked her to play for them, which she did willingly. It was a strange choice, though, a piece by Debussy a lament for a dead nymph. It was incredibly beautiful, haunting, but I found it quite disturbing. I probably romanticised the incident too much by thinking she was using the music as a channel to express her own sadness.”

  “Tell me about that, John. I didn’t know the girl.” Ann asked.

  “She was a sculptress who lived and worked alone in a studio just beyond Michael Balfe’s hotel, not far from Poll Salach. Her husband had been drowned accidentally at Fanore last year and I thought it a sad coincidence that she had drowned there also.”

  “Suicide had crossed my mind,” Susan interjected, “taking into account her possible mental state.”

  “Mine also,” McAllister admitted, “but the truth is even worse. She seemed quite friendly with Balfe and I thought they might have some future together. There was something peculiar going on between Michael and the Italians, or their manager to be more accurate. I caught a glimpse of the two arguing that evening, and in Ennis Cathedral at the concert. I didn’t think anything of it at the time but I wonder now what could possibly have been going on.”

  “Do you remember, John, the evening we drove to see Michael when we heard that Eileen had drowned?” Susan asked.

  “He was very cut up I remember.”

  “And you had some idea that her death and Hyland’s might in some way be connected.” Susan went on.

  “It was just the beginning of my astonishment at the number of extraordinary happenings since I arrived in Derreen. My mind was simply in overdrive at the time, I didn’t know what to think.”

  “Do you remember we spoke about Michael on our way back here?”

  “That’s right Susan. Even though he was obviously distraught his whole bearing didn’t seem to be natural, somehow.”

  “You felt it was more than simple grief.”

  “Yes,” McAllister agreed, “there was something more to it. Do you remember as we were leaving Michael looked at us strangely and appeared for a moment to want to say more? Then he changed his mind.”

  “This is really all beyond me.” Ann brought them back from their musings.

  “Me too.” Frank was equally puzzled.

  “But tell me about your experiences, Frank,” McAllister changed the subject,” you’ve been through a hell of a time. We never got around to finding out why Curtis released you so suddenly.”

  “Oh, I would be just as grateful to forget the whole thing, John,” Holland smiled wanly, “it was all a dreadful mistake and Con is really embarrassed as hell over it. He fell for the bait.”

  “You mean you were set up over the Hyland affair?”

  “So it would appear. Somebody worked very hard to pin his death on me. I don’t blame Con one bit. There was so much circumstantial evidence built up around me at the time that he had no option but to take me into custody.”

  “But what changed all that?” McAllister asked.

  “I simply don’t know. Con was very tight-lipped about it. He apologised profusely, of course, but said my misfortune was just part of a larger web of events about which he wasn’t in a position to speak at the time. Or even now, judging by what he said, or didn’t say, tonight.”

  “Yes, what were his words?” Ann tried to recall, “it was a very impressive phrase…… “coming to grips with a complex set of circumstances” …..”

  “A very complex set of circumstances.” Susan emphasised.

  They sat in silence for a while.

  “Let’s have something to celebrate. At least, we’re all together again, safe and sound.” Holland suggested.

  “For the moment.” McAllister said glumly.

  “What do you mean, John?” Ann looked concerned.

  “Don’t you remember? It’s not that long ago since Curtis told me to lie low in case I’m targeted again.”

  “Yes…well…,” she reluctantly agreed, “… a little caution won’t do any harm until Curtis wraps this whole thing up. I can’t imagine anybody risking a second attack on you.”

  “I sincerely hope not.” McAllister wasn’t reassured.

  “Ann is right.” Frank was more positive. “That shot at you was opportunistic and now that the hunt is on it’s going to be a far more risky affair to try again.”

  “I’m really fed up with this whole business.” McAllister was by now showing considerable annoyance.

  “Now John, it’s not like you to be pessimistic. I think the problem is exhaustion, You’re only out of hospital, remember? A good night’s sleep now, and a few days rest will get you back to normal.” Ann did her best to reassure him.

  “I’ll take your advice straight
away, Ann. Actually I’ve been feeling shaky on and off and would love to sink into bed. You don’t mind?” He looked at them pleadingly.

  “We’re going to call it a night too.” Susan said. “Now that none of the guest rooms are occupied we’re going to grab a little luxury and take one over. It’ll be a little more comfortable than our usual cramped room down the corridor.”

  McAllister delayed a little longer over a last glass of wine and then made his way gratefully to his room. His head was beginning to ache and he took some painkillers.

  Despite the reassurances he couldn’t shake off the onset of gloom. Both Frank Holland and he had been subjected to some very cruel treatment, the motives for which, if they made sense at all, only did so within some mysterious larger context, as inferred by Curtis.

  But what could that possibly be?

  He was in no doubt that Andy O’Lochlen was a central figure in that larger context and he was pretty certain in his own mind that O’Lochlen had been behind the attempt to kill him.

  It was while he grappled, yet again, with the search for an explanation that McAllister drifted into an exhausted sleep.

  CHAPTER 16

  THE GREEN DIGITS on his bedside clock showed 3 a.m. when McAllister woke.

  At first he wasn’t sure if he was actually awake, or dreaming, as he had some hazy recollection of seeing those green numbers, showing that exact time, before. There was also the glow of light coming through the window, from his right.

  Hadn’t he also seen this before?

  Perhaps, but now it was somehow different. This time the light didn’t flash momentarily and then die. Now it flickered and danced and seemed to grow in intensity.

  As he focused his attention on this state of affairs he began to realise that the light was coming from the direction of the restaurant building across the car park. Then there was a sudden thud and a brief shudder ran through his room.

  Immediately this was followed by a sharp cracking sound, then a stronger reverberation accompanied by an intense burst of light, this time close by from his left. It was now that McAllister caught the acrid smell and realised what was happening.

  “Good God,” he shouted in terror, “the place is on fire!”

  His instincts were suddenly divided. Should he exit through the window as fast as possible or run down the corridor and warn the others of the danger?

  “But where exactly are they?” he thought, “where is Ann?”

  McAllister had gone to bed early and had no idea what room she was in, or what room Frank and Susan were in.

  The heat in his room was rising fast and he decided to make for the corridor but when he opened the door he was flung back by a billow of hot smoke which immediately attacked his eyes and lungs.

  There was no alternative. He staggered to the window and began to climb out.

  At that point McAllister heard a scream from somewhere within the building and his panic intensified.

  He wanted to go back but that was impossible. His choices were either to risk almost certain death in the cloud of poisonous smoke or to get through the window and see if he could run around the building to help from outside. By now he was engulfed in smoke as it invaded the room, and he escaped as best he could.

  Once outside he could see that both buildings were well ablaze.

  Seizing a chair from a set around a picnic table on the lawn McAllister began smashing the bedroom windows. Fortunately it was a low building with all the rooms on the ground floor and in his frenzy he was able to smash them easily with sharp blows of the chair.

  Breaking the first window he released a wall of smoke and flame and had to retreat.

  The fire hadn’t established a hold on the next room, but it had begun to fill with smoke.

  Peering through the broken window when the first rush of smoke had dissipated McAllister could make out a figure lying on the bed just beside the window.

  He was almost certain it was Ann.

  He put his hand inside, released the catch and climbed in.

  “Is that you, John? Oh, thank God.” Susan’s voice behind him was reassuring.

  He called back without turning. “Yes it’s me alright and thank God you’re safe too. I’ve got Ann here but she seems to have been overcome. If I lift her to the window will you give me a hand taking her out?”

  There was a rending crash and the bedroom door burst inwards sending another cloud of flame and smoke towards McAllister. He had barely time to lift Ann from the bed and pass her into Susan’s outstretched arms before toppling to the ground outside as the whole bedroom became an inferno of sparks, smoke and shooting flames.

  They carried Ann hurriedly away from the building. McAllister’s panic and cold fear subsided when he noticed her eyes opening.

  She had responded quickly to the effect of the fresh night air.

  “Where’s Frank?” he asked anxiously, now that his immediate worry about Ann was over.

  “He’s O.K. He seems to have twisted his ankle, though. I left him lying on the ground around the corner, and I’m sure he’s managed to crawl away.”

  They carried Ann across the road, away from the guest house, and sat her gently on the narrow grass verge with her back propped up against the low stone wall.

  The scene was nightmarish. Three figures clad only in night-clothes, huddled together, caught in the fierce glow of the inferno just yards away across the road -the whole ghostly tableau surrounded by the intense darkness of the remote countryside.

  “Thanks for getting me out.” Ann spoke in a weak voice which disintegrated into a fit of coughing. “I thought I was finished.”

  “Now, now, Ann,” McAllister soothed her, “don’t try to talk. Just breath easily.”

  “John, would you please check if Frank is alright?” Susan asked anxiously. “I’ll stay here with Ann.”

  McAllister made his way painfully and stiffly around the blazing guest house and was relieved to find Frank lying up a slope, well away from the heat of the fire.

  Frank was obviously experiencing a lot of pain but had the presence of mind to warn McAllister about the danger to their cars, which were parked quite near to the accommodation building.

  “If the flames spread outwards any more they may catch fire and explode.”

  As he made his way back to the front of the guest house to investigate McAllister realised he had no car keys. However, spurred on by the extreme urgency of the problem he resorted to the use of his trusted weapon, the garden chair.

  Again wielding it he succeeded in smashing a window on each car. He managed to open the drivers doors and then, in turn, manoeuvred them backwards down the gentle slope and across the road to comparative safety.

  McAllister returned to Frank and helped him further away from the blaze and towards the spot where Ann and Susan were waiting.

  They looked totally miserable as they huddled together in their scant night-clothes, but were extremely relieved to see the two figures approaching, one hopping and leaning heavily on the other.

  “I think we should sit in one of the cars.” Susan suggested.

  “Good idea.” agreed a tired McAllister.

  The four sat gratefully into the Sierra, Frank and Ann with the assistance of Susan and McAllister. They sat in silence looking across at the slowly subsiding fires.

  The effect was still ghostly as flames and sparks shot erratically into the night sky and it was clear that precious little of the buildings would survive the blaze.

  “We’re very lucky to be sitting here,” said Ann dolefully.

  There was no response - there was no need to respond. She had simply voiced the thoughts of all four.

  After a while McAllister roused himself. “I think we should do something. We can’t sit here all night.”

  “There seems to be another fire down there.” Susan was staring through the rear window.

  They turned to look and, right enough, there was an enormous glow in the sky, in the direction of Poll na Doibe
.

  “Good Lord,” said Holland in disbelief, “that must be Balfe’s place. There’s nothing else down there. That fire is only a mile away.”

  “That’s enough for me,” said McAllister grimly, “I’ll have to do something right now. I can’t sit here any longer.”

  “But what can you do, John?” Ann pleaded.

  “For a start we’ll call the Fire Brigade and the Gardaí.”

  “But we’ve no telephones. They’ve all been swallowed up in the fire, remember?”

  “Look, I’ve been thinking. I can get Frank’s car started, that’s if you don’t mind me meddling around with the wiring, Frank.”

  “Go ahead. Do whatever you have to, John,” Holland felt helpless with his twisted ankle.

  “I can drive up the road to Craggagh. There’s a Post Office and a pub there and hopefully I’ll raise somebody.”

  “You’ll look a marvellous sight in your pyjamas knocking on doors in the middle of the night,” Ann reminded him.

  “Oops, I’d forgotten that. Wait now,” he went on, “I’ve some gear in the boot.”

  McAllister pulled the inside boot lid lever and went to the back of the car to investigate. He could see quite clearly by the light of the fire that he had left his trainers and track suit in the boot and he donned them quickly.

  Susan appeared at his side. “Frank suggested if I come with you that a midnight knock will look less threatening. There are bits of clothes in his boot too and I can put some of those on.”

  “O.K. let’s get moving so. You get yourself ready and I’ll give Ann and Frank these rugs. They’ll be alright for a while.”

  McAllister then pulled some wires from Holland’s dashboard and after trying out various permutations the engine sprang to life.

  He pushed open the passenger door and the unrecognisable figure of Susan in rubber boots and an oversize raincoat fell in beside him.

  The journey to Craggagh was only half a mile and McAllister, at high speed, would have made it in less than a minute but for the car jutting out across the narrow road as he rounded the bend into the village.