Read The Irish Cairn Murder Online
Authors: Dicey Deere
The Irish Cairn Murder (20 page)
I
nspector O'Hare's mouth was dry. He had a box of mixed fruit drops in his top desk drawer, but this was hardly the time. He mustn't lose the chain; no, it wasn't a chain, it was barely more than a thread. “Ms. Plant. Both you and Mr. Ricard were staying at Nolan's Bed and Breakfast, so you were in close contact, andâ”
nspector O'Hare's mouth was dry. He had a box of mixed fruit drops in his top desk drawer, but this was hardly the time. He mustn't lose the chain; no, it wasn't a chain, it was barely more than a thread. “Ms. Plant. Both you and Mr. Ricard were staying at Nolan's Bed and Breakfast, so you were in close contact, andâ”
“No! Not at all! Barely a good-morning, what with Sara Hobbs so solicitous! Acting like a guard dog, protecting me from who knew what. The man with the club, I suppose. And Sergeant Bryson, on my heels every minute. So Rafe thought,
Risky. Better not.
Not even to talk to each other. Breakfast at separate tables.”
Risky. Better not.
Not even to talk to each other. Breakfast at separate tables.”
“I see.” Inspector O'Hare licked dry lips and longed to soothe his throat. But now he was inching along the thread. “Yet you and Mr. Ricard managed to meet secretly, away from Nolan's, despite the diffculty of your sprained ankle.”
“I don't exactly follow?” Brenda Plant looked puzzled.
“You were seen meeting with Mr. Ricard near the cairn, in the west field near Castle Moore. More than once.” The thread was getting taut. “It is only logical, from a police point of view, that you were conferring about the progress ofâ”
“That's an outrageous assumption!” Ms. Plant's face was furious. “Is this a trick? Trying to implicate me in the blackmail
at the cairn! I never went there! I had nothing to do with the blackmail! I tried to dissuade Rafe from it entirely! Iâ”
at the cairn! I never went there! I had nothing to do with the blackmail! I tried to dissuade Rafe from it entirely! Iâ”
“No, no! Ms. Plant! I don't mean to implicate you. Not at all!” O'Hare felt warm dampness under his arms. “Simply, it's police procedure to follow everyânot to overlook anything. Likely it was only the need ⦠the need for privacy between two lovers. So, in the fields ⦔ O'Hare coughed. “It was only natural. Lovers. It was just that, since someone happened to witnessâ” He stopped. To his own amazement he felt a blush rising, heating his face.
“Witness?” Brenda Plant laughed. “What nonsense! There was nothing to witness. They're lying.” She half turned and swept a glance over the listeners. She turned back to Inspector O'Hare. “What witness? Which of them? Who's the liar?”
“No one here. It was a child.”
“A
child?”
Brenda Plant laughed again. “A boy? A girl? A child who made it up! Children do that. Wanting attention. Starting trouble. The witches of Salem. Burned at the stake. Tied up and drowned because of children's lies.”
child?”
Brenda Plant laughed again. “A boy? A girl? A child who made it up! Children do that. Wanting attention. Starting trouble. The witches of Salem. Burned at the stake. Tied up and drowned because of children's lies.”
But from one of the listeners, a half laugh and a husky voice said, “It wasn't a lie. It did happen. Making love in the field.”
K
ate Burnside's voice. Chin tipped up, she turned to Inspector O'Hare. Her eyes were bright, there was mockery in her voice, color in her cheeks. She'd come alive again in these last minutes, a wilting plant that had been watered and now sprouted glossy green leaves and dewy blossoms. She said, “Oh, yes, Inspector! There was lovemaking in the fields! Lovemaking with the blackmailer. Only the woman wasn't Ms. Plant. It was Kate Burnside.”
ate Burnside's voice. Chin tipped up, she turned to Inspector O'Hare. Her eyes were bright, there was mockery in her voice, color in her cheeks. She'd come alive again in these last minutes, a wilting plant that had been watered and now sprouted glossy green leaves and dewy blossoms. She said, “Oh, yes, Inspector! There was lovemaking in the fields! Lovemaking with the blackmailer. Only the woman wasn't Ms. Plant. It was Kate Burnside.”
O'Hare waited. It was one thing he had learned to do early in his career, one of the most important. Kate Burnside was smiling, looking back at him as though challenging him. “Does that shock you, Inspector? Disgust you? Nettles on my back! Even that Saturday! Later, I brought wine. Wine, and October sun and his jacket under me. Each day, to meet him. Sunday! And Monday! Each day! I couldn't wait!” She gave a sudden, wild, shaky laugh. “Even one night at O'Sullivan's barn, where I paint! Even there!”
Inspector O'Hare felt buffeted. Struck. He had an astonishing sudden vision of young horses running free across the hills and valleys of Ireland. Nothing to do with the ruined, still-young face of Ms. Kate Burnside. Yet â¦
“You're lying!” Brenda Plant's voice was furious. Her face was pale. “He wouldn't! Rafe wouldn't! Never!”
Kate Burnside laughed. “Oh, please! You're a woman, after all. You were his lover. How could you not guess that
some
thingâA man like that!”
some
thingâA man like that!”
“Guess? Why would I?” Brenda Plant's voice was furious. “Do you suppose I'm clairvoyant? Do you think I'm Madame Something-or-other with a pack of cards? Or that I looked in a crystal ball and saw you and Rafe making love among the nettles or in a barn? Ridiculous! Of course I knew nothing of what you're talking about!”
A silence. Then from the back, near the soda machine, a new voice: “But Brenda! Ms. Plant! You
did
know.”
did
know.”
H
eads turned. Sergeant Jimmy Bryson, looking appalled at his own words, was staring at Ms. Brenda Plant. Inspector O'Hare, startled, shot a quick glance at Torrey Tunet, standing there with her thumbs hooked in the pockets of her jeans. She met his glance and raised an eyebrow.
eads turned. Sergeant Jimmy Bryson, looking appalled at his own words, was staring at Ms. Brenda Plant. Inspector O'Hare, startled, shot a quick glance at Torrey Tunet, standing there with her thumbs hooked in the pockets of her jeans. She met his glance and raised an eyebrow.
O'Hare said, “Sergeant Bryson?”
But it was to Brenda Plant that Bryson spoke. “The tiddly old fellow, Danny. In Finney's, that Monday night, singing âReilly's Daughter' at the bar, then talking about the visiting chap with the suede fishing hat, how he'd fished for a bit of cuddly and caught himself a lulu. How Billy had spied them going into the O'Sullivan's barn one time. That's when you knew, isn't it.” It was not a question. It was Sergeant Bryson bleakly confirming something to himself.
Brenda Plant said softly, mechanically, as though she were having a conversation with someone invisible, “Oh,
that
was bitter! After I'd almost killed Tom Brannigan to protect him! Then I hated him.
Hated
him!” She drew in a breath that caught on a sob. She put a hand to her throat.
that
was bitter! After I'd almost killed Tom Brannigan to protect him! Then I hated him.
Hated
him!” She drew in a breath that caught on a sob. She put a hand to her throat.
Inspector O'Hare thought,
Now,
and he gave a little shudder as he felt something like a bead of quicksilver slide down his back between his shoulder blades; and it was almost as though he were hearing someone else say the comforting
words, but of course it was his voice and he was smiling sympathetically at Ms. Brenda Plant as he said, “Don't worry, Ms. Plant. Easy enough to prove you had no hand in the killing. We can quickly clear you of any involvement, any suggestion that you acted violently when you discoveredâThat's easily done. We can simply take your fingerprints to compare to the unidentifiedâ”
Now,
and he gave a little shudder as he felt something like a bead of quicksilver slide down his back between his shoulder blades; and it was almost as though he were hearing someone else say the comforting
words, but of course it was his voice and he was smiling sympathetically at Ms. Brenda Plant as he said, “Don't worry, Ms. Plant. Easy enough to prove you had no hand in the killing. We can quickly clear you of any involvement, any suggestion that you acted violently when you discoveredâThat's easily done. We can simply take your fingerprints to compare to the unidentifiedâ”
“No!”
An involuntary cry of panic. Brenda Plant's hands flew up as though warding off a blow. “No! No, no!” Her eyes met Inspector O'Hare's keen gaze. A long look passed between them; it was fully a half minute before Brenda Plant sank back and dropped her upraised hands to her lap.
An involuntary cry of panic. Brenda Plant's hands flew up as though warding off a blow. “No! No, no!” Her eyes met Inspector O'Hare's keen gaze. A long look passed between them; it was fully a half minute before Brenda Plant sank back and dropped her upraised hands to her lap.
Dead silence. Then “My God!” Winifred Moore's strong voice carried. “The Warrior Woman killed him! With that puny little penknife!”
I
ncredulity. An inhalation from a dozen throats, then a slow breathing out, a giant sigh.
ncredulity. An inhalation from a dozen throats, then a slow breathing out, a giant sigh.
Hand in a pocket of her jeans, Torrey convulsively clutched a chocolate bar so tightly that she could feel the knobby lumps that were almonds. She looked over at Inspector O'Hare. He was leaning back against his desk, feet crossed; he was caressing his chin and soberly regarding Ms. Brenda Plant. A trill of whispers rippled among the listeners, then died; they waited.
“You tricked me,” Brenda Plant said softly to Inspector O'Hare.
“You knew.
You and Ms. Tunet. Because you found out that Natalie Cameron wasn't the only one who'd maybe killed Rafe. You found out that it could've been that Kate Burnside bitch over there who'd killed him. Or me. You found out because of Ms. Tunet, her snooping, lying, stealing. Wasn't that it?”
“You knew.
You and Ms. Tunet. Because you found out that Natalie Cameron wasn't the only one who'd maybe killed Rafe. You found out that it could've been that Kate Burnside bitch over there who'd killed him. Or me. You found out because of Ms. Tunet, her snooping, lying, stealing. Wasn't that it?”
Inspector O'Hare nodded; appalling as it seemed, his lips twitched, but he resisted looking over at Ms. Torrey Tunet, snoop, liar, thief.
“But you didn't know which of us, Inspector, did you? You and Ms. Tunet.”
“Quite right, Ms. Plant.”
“Of course. I see. You already have my fingerprints on the penknife, haven't you, Inspector?”
“Yes, Ms. Plant.” It was in the sheaf of papers on his desk. “Forensics checked them against your fingerprints that were taken from a photograph of the cottage that Ms. Tunet rents from Castle Moore.” Inspector O'Hare hesitated; he had an absurd feeling that he should apologize to Ms. Brenda Plant, murderess. But tricking her had been the only way. He'd pushed stubbornly on until with that one involuntary
No!
Ms. Brenda Plant had given herself away. Crafty, this
informal.
Not exactly Hamlet, with his play within a play to work upon Claudius, murderer of his father. Still, it had served.
No!
Ms. Brenda Plant had given herself away. Crafty, this
informal.
Not exactly Hamlet, with his play within a play to work upon Claudius, murderer of his father. Still, it had served.
Over on his left, Kate Burnside gave a kind of sobbing laugh of relief and hugged her shoulders.
As for Natalie Cameron, a still figure on the folding chair between Dakin and Sean O'Boyle, her hazel eyes were regarding Brenda Plant with fascination.
“It was an accident,” Brenda Plant said, and once again it was as though she and Inspector O'Hare were quite alone in comfortable chairs, drawn up before a fireplace with a crackling fire. “I followed Rafe from Nolan's. My ankle hurt, it was agony. I didn't even know if he was going to meet his âcuddly' or if he was going to the cairn for the blackmail money. I didn't know!” She shook her head and one of the curved combs holding her hair back slid down so that a fluff of hair fell across her brow.
“He reached the cairn. And waited. So did I, back among the trees. Then I saw Natalie Cameron arrive to meet him. Watching, I could see she'd brought no money. She was frantic but helpless, a frightened little animal. She ran off, stumbling and crying.”
Brenda Plant stopped for a moment, staring back at that Tuesday noon.
“When she was gone, I limped up. I accused Rafe of
betraying me with some loose village woman. He laughed and put the penknife he was holding down on the cairn and lit a cigarette. But when I went on about what I'd heard, that he was seen going into a barn with his âcuddly,' he got furious and struck me
here.”
She lifted her chin and pulled down the front her high-necked lavender sweater; the bruise on her neck still showed red and purple and yellow. “On my throat! It could have killed me!” She settled the neck of her sweater back up and smoothed a hand down the lapel of her navy jacket. “He'd forgot that I'm the Warrior Maiden! Most of the violence in the movies was fake. But the parts I did with stones and knives were real. The way I looked at Rafe then, I could see him remembering and he dropped the cigarette and grabbed up the penknife. But I got hold of his wrist and ⦠and thenâIt was an accident!” Brenda Plant raised a trembling hand and reset the curved comb in her hair. “An accident!”
betraying me with some loose village woman. He laughed and put the penknife he was holding down on the cairn and lit a cigarette. But when I went on about what I'd heard, that he was seen going into a barn with his âcuddly,' he got furious and struck me
here.”
She lifted her chin and pulled down the front her high-necked lavender sweater; the bruise on her neck still showed red and purple and yellow. “On my throat! It could have killed me!” She settled the neck of her sweater back up and smoothed a hand down the lapel of her navy jacket. “He'd forgot that I'm the Warrior Maiden! Most of the violence in the movies was fake. But the parts I did with stones and knives were real. The way I looked at Rafe then, I could see him remembering and he dropped the cigarette and grabbed up the penknife. But I got hold of his wrist and ⦠and thenâIt was an accident!” Brenda Plant raised a trembling hand and reset the curved comb in her hair. “An accident!”
Â
In the silence that followed, Kate Burnside took a flat silver flask from her purse, unscrewed the cap, and raised the flask and drank. Sergeant Bryson, stiff-faced, studied his fingernails. Winifred Moore, chewing on an empty cigarette holder with her strong teeth, muttered something around it to Sheila Flaxton, meanwhile grinning over at Torrey Tunet.
Inspector O'Hare took a deeply satisfying breath. He was thinking with anticipatory pleasure of his forthcoming report to Chief Superintendent Emmet O'Reilley at Dublin Castle. Then he'd call Gilly, in forensics.
He looked over at Natalie Cameron. Vindicated. The gavel in a Dublin court would not, after all, descend and crush her.
But ⦠Inspector O'Hare moved his shoulders uncomfortably inside his blue jacket. That other. Her secret now exposed. Dakin's patrimony.
Â
Â
“Oh, Ms. Tunet! I'm so excited! I had a part in it, didn't I! The blue jay!” Marcy McGann of the orangy red hair, the pretty face, and the gargantuan appetite was at Torrey's side. Torrey saw that Marcy was the only one who'd gotten up, the others all still sat, waiting for ⦠for
what?
Did they expect to see Inspector O'Hare put chains on Ms. Brenda Plant, who still walked with a cane?
what?
Did they expect to see Inspector O'Hare put chains on Ms. Brenda Plant, who still walked with a cane?
“It's so
exciting!”
Marcy said, “Maybe I'll be interviewed on RTV And in the papers! Mightn't I be, Ms. Tunet?”
exciting!”
Marcy said, “Maybe I'll be interviewed on RTV And in the papers! Mightn't I be, Ms. Tunet?”
“You might be, Marcy.”
“Ahh ⦠that other, Ms. Tunet. About ⦔ Marcy hesitated, blushed. “You know. About Dakin Cameron. His father being ⦠someone else. That's too bad.”
“Yes, Marcy.” Too bad. No unalloyed joy for Natalie Cameron, alas. Nor for Dakin. Photographers would be snapping pictures of the sixteen-year-old inheritor of Sylvester Hall, the boy whose father was the Sylvesters' ex-chauffeur. It would be on the RTV eight o'clock
Guess What?
program to which everyone in Ireland seemed currently addicted. The smarmy gossip sheets would be gleeful and full of guesses: Surely Marshall West, a man of the highest integrity, would break off his engagement to Natalie Cameron! Or not? In pubs across Ireland, folks would place bets.
Guess What?
program to which everyone in Ireland seemed currently addicted. The smarmy gossip sheets would be gleeful and full of guesses: Surely Marshall West, a man of the highest integrity, would break off his engagement to Natalie Cameron! Or not? In pubs across Ireland, folks would place bets.
“Bye,” Marcy said, and went off.
A clank and rattle from the soda machine. Willie Hern. The village clock struck two. Torrey sighed; she had a sudden desperate need for Jasper. Damn it! Why wasn't he here instead of off at the Kinsale Food Fair stuffing himself with delicacies and gourmet dinners? Or at leastâ
The door of the Garda station opened.
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