Death in the Burren

by John Kinsella

  Bryson interjected. “Were the Italian musicians part of the set-up?”

  “Only the manager, I believe. He was one of the principal operators within the European network, and wasn’t too happy with aspects of Balfe’s operation here. That’s why they were seen arguing, and it was he who signed Eileen’s death warrant, in effect.”

  “How come? Was she part of the operation too?”

  “Oh, no. Eileen was an innocent party. But her closeness to Balfe inevitably brought her into contact with the scheme, and our Italian friend ordered her elimination, because she was perceived as a loose cog within the system, something they couldn’t control. She had to go. It was as simple as that.”

  “So she was killed?” Bryson asked.

  “That’s correct.”

  “Who did it?”

  “That hadn’t been established by the time I left Clare, but they’ve probably got the details from Balfe. I suspect O’Lochlen may have carried out the handiwork, but it’s too late for a confession now.”

  “Eileen didn’t drown naturally.” Ann spoke up. “She was unconscious when she was put into the water, probably miles out to sea. Her body was carried in by the waves and it looked like a simple drowning.”

  Bryson was fascinated. “So, at this point, you had an accident made to look like a murder, and a murder dressed up as an accident. No wonder everything was so confusing!”

  “Yes, confusing it certainly was.” McAllister agreed. “But it was the beginning of the end for the drugs ring, as such. They would never be allowed continue by their masters in Europe with a Garda investigation buzzing around so close to them. The episode with the Swiss knife brought everything to a head. If O’Lochlen had finished me off with that shot the operation might have survived, because nobody would ever have discovered the reason why I had been killed.”

  “The inscription on the blade.” Ann explained.

  “That’s right. O’Lochlen had already recovered the knife from my room, and, if he’d put me out of commission, then that particular danger would have been taken care of.”

  “But he didn’t succeed, of course, and you were a continuing threat to him and his buddies.” Bryson remarked.

  “A fatal threat! So as a result of that they decided, probably as part of a prearranged shutdown plan, to destroy the Orchid Hotel, and all the evidence it would provide for the Gardaí and Interpol. But O’Lochlen decided I would have to go too. Hence the fire at Frank’s guest house, which was intended to get all of us in fact. But that turned out to be a serious mistake. It was O’Lochlen’s undoing.”

  “Your guardian angels were looking after you all the time.” Ann smiled.

  “You were also a considerable thorn in O’Lochlen’s side, right through.” Bryson observed.

  “Burning the Atlantic Guest House was a silly act of pique, really. Totally unnecessary. O’Lochlen and Considine must have done it on their own initiative. It could never have been agreed to by Balfe because all that was needed, from the point of view of shutting down the drugs operation, was to burn down the Orchid Hotel and then escape to sea. They had already arranged to get away on their Doolin boat and meet with a larger craft out in the Atlantic. All they had to do then was sink the Doolin boat and disappear.”

  “But O’Lochlen had a personal score to settle.” Ann shuddered.

  “It went wrong, though, when they skidded and crashed their car at Craggagh. Then Susan and I came along and they hijacked our car and took us hostage. They tried to get to Doolin by the inland road but by then the Gardaí were beginning to block off the area and they were eventually forced back towards Ballyvaughan, and the possibility of picking up a boat there. However, they ran out of petrol at Gregans Castle Hotel and you know the story from there on, of how Patsy got so tragically involved.”

  “So much death and destruction.” Bryson was sombre.

  “It makes me sick to think how I added to it.” McAllister was visibly upset.

  “Now, John, everybody knows the whole thing was an accident.” Ann tried to calm him.

  “I didn’t intend to kill him.”

  “But everybody knows that!”

  “If I hadn’t had that fit of bravado, Patsy and O’Lochlen would probably be alive today.”

  “Oh, hold on fella.” Bryson was insistent. “Hold on now. As I figure it you had no option but to do as you did. That shot hitting Patsy was the wildest bad luck, we all know it was intended for you. And there’s some justice in the fact that you cracked his skull open instead.”

  McAllister slouched back in his chair, and then, as if by magic, saw the antidote to his morose self pity approaching.

  He was tall, about six feet three inches, and very erect. Bronzed, in a similar manner to Bryson, and with abundant flowing silver grey hair he caused heads to turn as he made his regal passage across the dining room towards them. His appearance was made all the more striking by the contrast of the formal dark suit and black necktie which he wore.

  “A truly kinglike figure of a man.” McAllister thought in admiration. “It had to take somebody like that to counterbalance the personality of Patsy McBride and to do justice to her marriage. He reflects everything that was powerful and noble in Patsy’s personality, she’ll always continue to live through him.”

  “Liam, my old buddy, it’s great to see you. I’m really glad you made it.” Bryson was delighted.

  “I had to make the effort,” McBride spoke softly, “for Patsy’s sake. I could hear her telling me to shake myself and get a move on.”

  “Great.” Bryson echoed the feelings of Ann and McAllister.

  “And now I have to follow her next instruction.”

  “What’s that?” Bryson asked.

  “Have a solid pint of Guinness.”

  “Your wish is my command, Master.” McAllister bowed and led the way to Alfie Byrne’s.