Martyn Powell had always said that one of Sheridan’s greatest assets as a sports reporter was in persuading even the most reluctant athlete or manager to open up to her. When Vinnie Murray told her he could spare her half an hour, she was relieved she hadn’t lost her touch.
‘We’ll go out for a cup of tea,’ he said. ‘My office is a mess.’
They walked as far as the Hibernian Hotel, where Sheridan ordered a cappuccino for herself and a tea for the garda and explained that she was interested in the Elva O’Malley case.
‘I thought as much,’ he said. ‘Every so often someone with an interest in Paudie asks about it. It was a tragedy for him, of course.’
‘There’s very little concrete information. I wondered if there was more to it than came out at the time.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know,’ confessed Sheridan. ‘I suppose I was hoping for a juicy murder mystery.’
The superintendent laughed. ‘I’ve only investigated one murder in my life and this wasn’t it. Ardbawn isn’t Midsomer, you know.’
Sheridan chuckled. ‘I’m glad to hear it. I wouldn’t have liked to think I could be struck down at any moment by a member of the church choir or something.’
‘Hopefully there are no homicidal maniacs in the stalls waiting to hit you over the head with a candlestick. You said you’re working with the Central News. A bit of conflict, don’t you think, in investigating Paudie?’
‘I’m not investigating him,’ protested Sheridan. ‘I’m trying to put a story together. It’s not for the Central News. It’s just a profile piece on him and his life.’
‘Have you spoken to him at all yet?’
‘Not yet,’ admitted Sheridan. ‘I wanted to know as much as possible about him before I did.’
‘Have you spoken to anybody in Ardbawn?’
‘Only Nina Fallon. She’s the owner of the guesthouse where I’m staying.’
Vinnie Murray nodded and added a heaped spoonful of sugar to his tea.
‘Look, I’m curious, that’s all. He’s such a successful man and there’s so little about him. The whole thing about his wife is interesting. Defining, maybe.’
‘Defining?’ The garda looked thoughtful. ‘Probably. It certainly changed his outlook on life.’
‘So what exactly happened?’ asked Sheridan.
‘Elva O’Malley fell out of an upstairs window, hit the ground below and died instantly,’ said Superintendent Murray.
‘How did she fall?’ asked Sheridan.
‘We could never say for sure what caused it.’
‘Was it an accident?’
The garda spooned more sugar into his cup.
‘There was no one else involved.’
‘Was she drunk? Or on drugs?’
‘There was alcohol in her blood, and we found a half-empty bottle of wine on the kitchen table.’
‘Oh. I didn’t see anything about that in the stuff I read.’
Vinnie shrugged.
‘So it’s possible that alcohol contributed to it.’
‘Possible.’
‘Was it suicide?’ asked Sheridan.
‘There was no note. Suicides, tragically, are something I’ve seen a few times. And every time there was a note.’
‘So you think it was simply an accident?’
‘Yes. I do.’
‘You’re very sure about that.’
‘There was nothing to make us believe otherwise. There was no break-in and no burglary, so we had no reason to think that she surprised an intruder. Her husband – and you know how it is in the best detective novels, we always suspect the husband – was at a meeting with three other people when she died. Cast-iron alibi.’ The superintendent looked intently at her. ‘In real life when people have cast-iron alibis it usually means they’re in the clear. It’s not like the movies, where they’re involved in some elaborate and frankly implausible plot.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Sheridan shook her head. ‘There’s plenty of unsolved cases around. Or ones where years later you find out that someone’s got away with what seemed the perfect crime.’
‘Not this time.’ Vinnie Murray was definite.
‘All the same, there was big, big insurance payout afterwards.’
‘That’s why we investigated it thoroughly. We might be in the sticks but we’re not morons, you know.’
‘Had she been upset or worried in the days leading up to the accident?’
The garda smiled. ‘You’re a right little Miss Marple, aren’t you?’
‘Not really,’ said Sheridan. ‘I’m not trying to solve anything here. Apparently you know what happened. But it’s a sad story.’
‘It was sad for everyone.’
‘Could Paudie have hit her?’ asked Sheridan, after a moment where neither of them spoke. ‘Maybe earlier in the day or something? And she could have had concussion, which led to her falling out of the window.’
‘There were no signs of injury on Elva O’Malley that weren’t consistent with a fall.’
Sheridan sighed. ‘OK. OK. So maybe she was simply drunk . . . Did she have an alcohol problem?’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘So why the wine in the middle of the day?’
‘It wasn’t that much,’ the garda said. ‘A couple of glasses. Perhaps she’d drunk them in the garden earlier, relaxing. It was a glorious weather.’
‘All the same . . .’ Sheridan considered things a bit more. ‘Any chance Paudie was having an affair?’
‘If he was, the woman didn’t turn up in his life afterwards,’ Vinnie pointed out.
‘I heard that there was a woman.’ Sheridan looked suddenly hopeful. ‘I even saw her picture in the paper.’
But the superintendent shook his head. ‘Rose O’Reilly, from Castlecomer. More than three years later. And it didn’t last.’
‘Perhaps they were playing a waiting game. Maybe Paudie knew that Elva was a bit flaky and was trying to drive her to it.’
Vinnie Murray laughed. ‘You’ve definitely been watching too much TV,’ he told her.
Sheridan looked dejected. ‘You’re making it very difficult.’
‘I’m just saying that perhaps you’re barking up the wrong tree,’ said the garda. ‘Elva’s death was a tragic accident and Paudie had to work hard to get over it.’
‘It’s the money part that makes it interesting,’ Sheridan confessed. ‘Mid-level businessman becomes multimillionaire after his wife dies. So it’s not surprising people were suspicious.’
‘Of course they were,’ said the superintendent. ‘We were too. We’d have been negligent not to have been. But I can tell you here and now that Paudie would’ve preferred to have his wife than the insurance money. He loved her, and he was truly devastated when she died.’
‘He could’ve been a great actor.’
‘No,’ said the garda. ‘His grief was genuine.’
‘Fair enough.’ Sheridan slumped in the seat. ‘I guess I wanted it to be dramatic and exciting, but things don’t always work out the way you want. I should bloody well know that by now.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you.’
‘Ah, you know, it’s probably a good thing.’ Sheridan smiled at him. ‘I’m trying too hard to find mysteries where there aren’t any.’
‘We did a thorough investigation,’ said Vinnie Murray. ‘Paudie wasn’t the big businessman that he is now, but he was still a well-known figure in the town. If there’d been something untoward, we would have uncovered it. We’re not stupid.’
‘I didn’t think you were.’
‘Go on!’ Vinnie grinned. ‘You were looking for incompetent country bumpkins floundering around.’
‘I wasn’t,’ she protested.
‘Sometimes a tragedy is just a tragedy,’ said the garda. ‘And the truth is that Paudie really had to pick himself up afterwards. It was hard for him. But, like you said, defining in the end.’
‘D’you like him?’ she asked.
&n
bsp; ‘I haven’t seen him in years,’ replied Vinnie. ‘But I liked him back then. I still like him now. He’s done a lot for this area of the country. He deserves his success.’
‘Fair enough.’ Sheridan stood up. ‘Thanks for your time and for the information.’
‘Maybe not the information you wanted. But the truth,’ said the garda. ‘However,’ he added, ‘I can tell you something that you seem to have missed.’
‘What?’ She looked at him hopefully.
‘He sued a local paper over suggestions that he had something to do with it. He won. That paper doesn’t exist any more.’
‘He bankrupted them!’ Sheridan was astounded.
‘I don’t think it was entirely due to him. But having to make a payment to him certainly didn’t help. So if you were thinking of saying anything scurrilous about him, you’d want to be very sure of your facts first.’
Sheridan nodded glumly. Then she picked up the bill and went to the cash desk to pay it. When she turned around again, the superintendent had gone.
The boutique just off the main street wasn’t the sort of place Sheridan normally shopped, but she’d caught sight of the jade-green dress as she and the garda superintendent were walking to the hotel, and the image had stuck with her. However, she felt a little awkward when she walked inside and realised that she was the only customer, and that the sales assistant was already asking if she could help. Sheridan’s preferred method of buying clothes was to go into a chain store and rummage through the racks with no clear ideas of what she wanted. Which was why she usually ended up in T-shirts and jeans.
‘It’s a lovely dress,’ said the sales assistant when Sheridan mumbled that she was sort of interested in it. ‘Very flattering because of its wrap-around styling. Why don’t you try it on? What size are you?’
‘Fourteen.’ Sheridan always felt fat when she had to confess to being a fourteen, no matter how often she was told that she was just well built (a term she nevertheless felt made her sound like a horse). In any event, it freaked her out when she went through the rails and saw dresses starting at size eight. Or sometimes even six. They couldn’t be for real people, she often thought, while sometimes wishing she could fit into one.
The assistant, though, didn’t look at her as though she was a freak, but simply selected a dress and handed it to her. Sheridan went into the changing room and pulled her jumper over her head. She hoped the assistant wasn’t the sort who rapped at the door, poked her head around and asked how you were getting on when you were still standing around in your knickers and trying to suck in your stomach. But she didn’t need to worry. The assistant left her alone.
She was a completely different person in the dress. So different that she couldn’t quite believe it. The gentle folds of the material fell loosely around her, the wrap-around effect smoothing her shape so that her thighs didn’t seem to signal their presence straight away, as was usually the case on the rare occasions she tried on dresses. The colour, a few shades darker than she normally chose when wearing green, enhanced the flame of her hair and the tawny brown of her eyes. She stared at her reflection in shock, then looked for her mobile, took a photo and sent it to Talia asking for her opinion, because she couldn’t trust herself to think that she was wearing a dress and looking good.
A few seconds later the mobile rang.
‘Where are you?’ demanded Talia.
‘A shop in Kilkenny.’ Sheridan’s voice was low because she didn’t want the assistant to hear her.
‘Who’s that dress for?’
‘Me, of course.’
‘I know that!’ Talia said impatiently. ‘But you’re buying it because of someone. Who?’
‘Can’t I just buy a dress?’
‘It’s me you’re talking to,’ said Talia. ‘Who?’
‘I met a guy,’ confessed Sheridan. ‘He asked me out.’
‘Way to go, girl! You’re holed up in the country and you’ve met someone. Fair play to you. I wasn’t expecting that!’
‘We’re just having dinner,’ protested Sheridan. ‘It doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Come on, Sheridan. You never bought a dress for Griff. And you thought you loved him.’
‘This is different,’ Sheridan said. ‘He’s bringing me to a nice restaurant and I have to look good.’
‘And that certainly never bothered you before,’ said Talia. ‘Didn’t Griff bring you to L’Ecrivain once? You wore Levis.’
‘They were my very best Levis,’ Sheridan reminded her.
‘You had three days to buy a dress but you didn’t. As I recall, Ms Gray, you said that you weren’t going to be shoe-horned into the whole stupidness of feeling you had to be someone other than yourself just because you were going to one of Dublin’s finest eateries.’
‘Yeah, well, Dublin’s different too,’ said Sheridan.
‘Tell me about this man,’ demanded Talia.
‘He’s just someone I met. He’s nice but it’s not a big deal.’ Sheridan tried to sound casual.
‘Don’t talk rubbish, it’s a massive deal!’ cried Talia. ‘You’ve been keeping secrets from me. Whenever you email, you just say it’s going well and you’re enjoying Ardbawn more than you thought but that you’ll be glad when that girl comes back from her maternity leave and you can high tail back to Dublin. You never said anything about hunky men who might keep you there.’
‘You’re reading way more into this than you should,’ said Sheridan. ‘OK, he’s nice and I . . . I have to admit that I fancy the pants off him. I’ve never really felt like this before. But I’m sure I’ll get over it.’
‘Sheridan! You’ve never felt this way before? Not even with Griff? Who is this guy?’
‘I’m probably exaggerating,’ said Sheridan, even though she could still feel shivers up her spine every time she thought of Joe.
‘You sound excited. Different.’
‘Oh, I’m sure it’s just because there isn’t much going on here,’ said Sheridan. ‘Perhaps if I’d met him in Dublin I wouldn’t even have noticed him.’
‘You think?’
‘He’s very attractive,’ Sheridan conceded. ‘I suppose I would’ve noticed at least.’
‘You’re in love!’ exclaimed Talia. ‘I’ve never heard you sound so thrilled about a guy before.’
‘I’m not in love! I hardly know him.’
‘Love at first sight! Even better.’
‘Stop it!’ cried Sheridan, although she was laughing. ‘It’s just . . . Oh, I don’t know. Anyway, I didn’t intend for us to have a big discussion about him. All I wanted to know is what you thought of the dress.’
‘You know perfectly well already what I think,’ said Talia. ‘You must have known when you sent the pic. He’ll be thinking about getting you out of it from the moment he sees you.’
‘I don’t want that sort of dress,’ Sheridan protested. ‘I want to look gorgeous and elegant, not slutty.’
‘And you do,’ Talia told her. ‘You look incredible, Sheridan. All I’m saying is that any red-blooded man will want to have sex with you.’
‘I don’t want to have sex with him,’ Sheridan said. ‘At least . . . not on a first date.’
‘I’m so excited for you!’ Talia’s enthusiasm for the dress and for the new man in Sheridan’s life was very evident. ‘You went through a rotten time and you’re coming out of it with a replacement job and a replacement man too.’
‘Both could be equally temporary,’ Sheridan reminded her.
‘So what!’ cried Talia. ‘You’re back in the saddle, Sheridan Gray. And I’m delighted for you.’
Sheridan smiled as she closed her phone. She realised that she’d only sent the picture to Talia because she wanted to let her friend know about Joe. And because she wanted to show off in her dress. Maybe she wasn’t so different from every other girl in the world after all.
The sales assistant tapped at the door and Sheridan opened it.
‘Stunning,’ was all the assistant said.
>
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Sheridan twirled slowly in front of the mirror and looked anxiously at the other girl. ‘I didn’t check the price, though.’
The dress was expensive. But not outrageous. Sheridan handed over her credit card. Even if it all went pear shaped with Joe later, the dress was an investment. But the truth was, she hoped it would be more than that.
Sheridan took a more winding route back from Kilkenny so that she could drive past March Manor. Although she now accepted Superintendent Vinnie Murray’s insistence that Elva’s death had been a tragedy, the story was still going round in her head. She stopped a few yards short of the house, on the opposite side of the road, just outside the entrance gates to the Ardbawn Riding School. There was little to see from her position, as the house was sheltered by the high trees that were planted either side of the driveway, but Sheridan could make out the structure of the building, its slate roof and tall chimney stacks. She could also see cows in the field behind it, and assumed that this was Paudie’s famed Limousin herd.
Perhaps there was no point in thinking about him as a potential route back into a full-time job. Her original intention had been to find out and reveal something untoward about his business dealings, simply to get her own back on him for the staffing policies that had made her redundant. Learning about Elva had made her more interested in the man himself. The whiff of intrigue about her death had made it seem all the more fascinating. But looking at his house now simply made her feel like a snoop. The man had suffered a tragedy in his life, had picked himself up, ruined a newspaper and made a fortune afterwards. Most people would think of that as success.
But Alo had said that the site would be interested if she did a profile. It didn’t have to be sensational, just revealing. She could write something thoughtful and positive about his recovery from personal grief, and show that she was more than just a sports writer. She could persuade him that the time was right to be more open about himself. Being here in Ardbawn was a massive advantage. She could get him to talk to her because she was a local now. He wouldn’t think of her as being a hostile interviewer. He’d see her as the girl who was working on the Central News. His very own newspaper. His tame reporter. He’d be well disposed towards her. Why wouldn’t he?
Better Together Page 22
