Death in the Burren (6 page)

He found a confused scene inside.

Susan, Aoife and other members of the staff were clustered at the reception desk being questioned by two men. A photographer was taking shots, particularly of Susan and she appeared to be in some distress.

Realising there had been a Press invasion McAllister whisked Susan into the comparative quietness of the office behind the reception desk.

“What in Heaven’s name is going on, Susan?” he asked.

“It’s Frank,” she said in a hushed voice, “ they have arrested him on suspicion of murdering Hyland.”

McAllister felt a stab of pain in his heart.

“That’s absurd,” he gasped.

“I know, but Curtis said certain evidence had come to light and he had to act on it”

“What evidence?”

“Oh, something to do with Frank’s car. I’m not really sure. I was so confused by the whole thing, John. I didn’t really understand what they were saying.”

“And where are they taking him now?”

“To Ennis, for questioning. Oh, I’m so frightened, John, I don’t know what’s going to happen. Is there anything we can do? Will Frank need legal help? And what am I going to do here with the guest house?”

“You’d better leave it to me for the moment,” said McAllister, suddenly realising that it was up to him to establish order and assess what could be done.

His immediate task was to clear the reception area and he firmly persuaded the reporters to leave.

He then went back to Susan and discussed solicitors. A telephone call sorted that out.

“Now what are we going to do with this place?”

Susan just looked at him numbly.

“I’m sure everyone will help out as much as they can,” Aoife chipped in, “you can count on me anyway Mrs. Holland. I’ll do anything extra you need me to.”

Susan smiled her thanks.

“That goes for me too, Susan,” said McAllister, “but with Frank away, and with you under this pressure, what we need is a somebody to take the strain off you for a while. A figurehead. I wonder … it’s a bit revolutionary but I think I’ve got the answer. I wonder would she take it on?”

“Who?”

“Patsy McBride. Patsy could manage an armoured division, let alone a guest house. Shall I ask her Susan? It’s up to you. She’s organising my lectures and field trips but they’re a mere trifle to her. What do you think?”

“Well if she wouldn’t mind it certainly would be a relief. Frank will need all the support I can give him until we sort out this mess.”

At this, Susan suddenly burst into tears and McAllister comforted her as best he could but she had to give way to her feelings after the shock of Frank’s arrest.

They eventually persuaded her to take a rest, if possible to sleep.

McAllister then decided it would be better if he called on Patsy rather than telephone, so he set off once again, towards Gregans Castle Hotel.

As if to deliberately compound the joylessness of his situation a strong wind had built up carrying with it heavy rain clouds which were soon lashing and buffeting the Sierra. It took all his concentration to keep the car on course and for a time his windscreen wipers, even on full speed, were barely able to cope with the downpour.

Matters improved somewhat when he passed Poll Salach and turned inland towards Lisdoonvarna leaving the more exposed coast road behind him.

Fifteen minutes later as he turned into the driveway of Gregans Castle Hotel the typical Atlantic coast rainstorm was beginning to lift. He hoped his idea would go down well with Patsy.

Maybe the passing of the storm was a signal that matters would take a more optimistic turn from here on.

There were so many concerns weighing on him just at this moment that McAllister felt both he and Susan could do with some good news.

T
HE DINING ROOM AT THE ATLANTIC RESTAURANT
was almost empty after evening dinner and the staff were putting the finishing touches to settings for the following morning’s breakfast. Most of the tables had been completed and two now remained occupied.

A party of six American tourists, whose flight into Shannon had been delayed, and who had arrived just in time to catch dinner, were completing their meal. At the other table sat Susan Holland, McAllister and the majestic figure of Patsy McBride they were having coffee.

Even though she spoke in relatively subdued tones Patsy McBride’s voice rumbled around the room in an arresting manner.

“Not at all, Susan. When John put the idea to me I instantly saw it as a challenge which I couldn’t walk away from. Look, (a), you and Frank need somebody to run this place for a while, (b), I’m willing and able. So, let’s get on with it.”

Even Susan, who was in quite a depressed state, could not resist a smile at Patsy’s bluntness.

“You are rather a tonic, Patsy. But I’m very much aware that you are on holiday and this type of responsibility will fall far short of your expectations for a break in the Burren.”

“This is just it, Susan. I can go mad sitting around reading and waiting for the next meal. Liam would tell you that. Of course he’s as bad as me in his own way, so he’s in The States for a month’s golfing. Golfing, I ask you, could you think of a more imbecilic way of spending your time. Absolutely puerile.”

Susan had been mystified by the mention of Liam but quickly realised that he must be Patsy’s husband, whom she had never met.

“Anyway, he would be lost down here, but I couldn’t live without my few weeks in Gregans Castle and the Burren. If there’s nothing special on, like John’s project this year, I usually drum up some activity myself to work off the effects of the food. So you see, managing your business for a while is just what I need, now that we have the lectures, and all that, wrapped up.”

“But you’ll be missing out on your creature comforts.”

Patsy held up her right hand. “You must promise me, Susan, that this subject is now closed. I have made a decision and you’re stuck with me. Now, what do you wish me to do.”

McAllister smiled and he winked knowingly at Susan.

“However,” Patsy went on as she pointed the index finger of her raised hand towards the ceiling, “before we go into that I would like to say that I am very sorry about the fix you are in and about Frank being taken away by the Gardaí. I don’t know him all that well but simply cannot imagine him being involved in such a thing. That fellow Curtis must be trying to impress his superiors by making an early arrest.”

Susan frowned. “I hope it’s as simple as that. But no, that would be a very rash thing for a professional to do. Con has nothing to prove careerwise anyway. He’s very highly regarded.”

“I didn’t get a chance to ask you, in all the confusion earlier, if Con referred to the incident with Hyland the other night. Was that part of his suspicion about Frank?” McAllister asked.

“I’m not sure if it was his suspicion, John, but he asked Frank why he felt so provoked.”

“I see,” said McAllister thoughtfully,” but that in itself wouldn’t be sufficient reason for an arrest. What did Frank say?”

“He confirmed my own impression. Frank maintained that he surprised even himself and it was all over before he realised what he had done. It took an awful lot out of him afterwards, as you know. He was really out of sorts. It seemed to weaken him somehow.”

“I can understand a man reacting like that when his wife is insulted in public. Full marks I say.” boomed Patsy.

“Yes indeed,” agreed McAllister,” but Hyland was obviously a pathetic type, hardly worth the effort. What intrigued me more was his apparent obsession with Frank’s photography. What was that about Susan, do you know?”

“I really have no idea.” She looked blankly at them.

“Has Frank spent a lot of time out with his cameras?”

“Recently, yes. When we were building up the business he had no spare time but has been taking a lot of seascapes in the past few weeks. You know how Frank becomes obsessed with an idea. Some of the work he has done is really beautiful.”

“Why would that concern Hyland?” puzzled McAllister.

“I really have no idea. He was very drunk and presumably didn’t know what he was saying.”

“I’m still not clear as to why Curtis took Frank away.” said Patsy.

“I’m not too clear on that either,” admitted Susan. “Before he left, Frank told me Con’s main concern seemed to be that none of us saw Frank on Tuesday night - that combined with his anger towards Hyland. You remember, John, it was the night of the Ennis concert, and Frank slept alone because he wasn’t feeling well. He didn’t want to be disturbed when we returned and it was next morning before I saw him.”

“Yes that’s true,” agreed McAllister, “but surely there’s nothing unusual about that. Frank was feeling out of sorts and he wanted to have an undisturbed night’s rest.”

“Most natural thing in the world,” added Patsy. “Instinct, you know. Any animal would teach you that. Feeling a bit dodgy, so, go to ground for a while. Absolutely natural.”

“Frank was in a very sombre mood that evening,” recalled McAllister. “He said something strange about Boccherini’s music making him sad. I can’t recall the words right now but it did strike me as a rather gloomy comment.” He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “However, I suppose we could go on talking like this until Doomsday.”

McAllister looked around the room.

The American party had left and the trio sat alone in the restaurant. The dining room staff had also departed and there was no sound to be heard. The light’s of a distant fishing boat could be seen rocking on the swell.

They sat in silence for a moment. Susan looked totally dejected as she hunched forward at the table. She was leaning on her elbows with her hands tightly clasped, the knuckles showing white. She cried again and her two companions comforted her as best they could.

While Susan regained her composure McAllister pondered on the seriousness of the situation. Curtis could point to a flimsy motive, and an equally flimsy theory, about Frank having an opportunity to carry out a murder because he hadn’t much of an alibi. McAllister knew in his bones that Curtis’s suspicions must be stronger than that, otherwise he would not have taken Holland in for questioning. Curtis must know something else.

McAllister recalled the events of Tuesday night. After the concert Susan and he had some tea before retiring, and that was about it. Nothing remarkable. Then he remembered the car which woke him at 3 am. He decided to ask Susan if any of their guests were expected to return late that night.

But not now, not while she was so upset.

A telephone rang. Susan rose to answer it. McAllister put his hand on her shoulder and indicated that he would take the call.

“It’s at Reception,” she said. “Thanks John.”

The caller identified himself as Seamus Higgins, the solicitor who was acting for Frank Holland. He wanted to speak with Susan.

She returned, white-faced, but showing an unnatural composure. They knew something was very wrong.

“Frank has been charged. New evidence has come up and the situation is serious.”

“Did Higgins say what the evidence is?” asked McAllister.

“Apparently they found traces of paint from Frank’s car on the low wall at Poll Salach and, much worse, blood smears matching Hyland’s on the boot surrounds. They are on their way now to impound the car.”

As he lay in bed that night McAllister tried to come to terms with the fact that his good friend Frank Holland might be a murderer. Not exactly an impulsive murderer, but one who was quick to grasp the opportunity afforded to him on Tuesday and use it to track down Hyland and dispose of him.

The more he dwelt on the situation the more confused he became. How, for instance, did bloodstains get on the boot of Holland’s car? Had Frank killed Hyland in one place and then transported the body to Poll Salach? And if so why?

More fundamentally, why did he kill him at all? No convincing motive had come McAllister’s way. But then he didn’t necessarily know the whole story.

He could console himself, however, with the knowledge that Frank Holland, as he knew him, was simply not the type of person to kill.

But how well did he really know Frank?

How often had he heard of instances where people had suddenly acted out of character? Why should Frank be an exception?

Nonetheless his gut feeling told him there was something drastically wrong with the way events were unfolding.

The frustrating thing was there was absolutely nothing he could do.

N
EXT MORNING,
despite a fitful night’s sleep, McAllister vowed he would have to concentrate on assembling the material for his opening lecture at Gregans Castle Hotel on the following night.

It was necessary to integrate his observations at Poll Salach into this lecture so that the field trip there, next Monday morning, would be of maximum interest and benefit to his class.

He had had a quick breakfast and noted that the restaurant was working as efficiently as usual. Susan had left early to keep an appointment with Frank’s solicitor, and to see Frank himself. Patsy McBride was enjoying her new role and making a particular success of her imposing front of house presence chatting with diners and generally creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere.

McAllister laboured long into the morning. He was a fastidious worker and was not satisfied until he had organised his material into a well rounded lecture.

This done he rose stiffly from his chair and resolved to go for a walk along the coast road to clear his head and stretch his tired limbs.

It proved to be a good decision. A soothing breeze fluttered in from the ocean and enveloped him in a moist warm cushion of air. He enjoyed the gentle movement of the wind across his face and stopped from time to time to close his eyes and experience it to the full. He breathed deeply, feeling the balmy air fill his lungs, and soon felt the tiredness draining from his limbs.

In this mood McAllister tried to take an objective view of the events of the past few days. He sat for a while looking out over the huge expanse of water with it’s gently flickering surface and was reassured by the normality of it all. Somehow he felt that matters must come right in the end. Perhaps he was being a naïve optimist, but what was wrong with that?