Death in the Burren (9 page)

“I think it’s time for a well earned break,” McAllister suggested. “Let’s head back to the roadway and call everybody together. We can make a general check on how things are going, while we have lunch.”

As they made their way gingerly back across the rocks one of the young Galway girls spoke up.

“Is this near where the murder happened last week, Mr. McAllister?”

“Yes, Roisin. Funny you should say that right now. Do you see that cliff over to the right? I found the body just there at the bottom of it, on the waterline.”

“You found the body! I didn’t know that.”

“Well it’s not something I would broadcast. I’d prefer to forget it to be quite honest with you. I wish it had never happened.”

“What murder was this? We did not hear about it” Monsieur Lautier chipped in.

“A local fisherman. I found his badly mutilated body just over there last Wednesday morning.” McAllister pointed to the spot.

“Ah I see. We had not arrived last Wednesday. Have the Gendarmes arrested the killer?”

“Well, they have arrested somebody but I don’t think he’s the killer. He’s a friend of mine actually.”

Lautier’s eyes narrowed. “A friend of yours! Mon Dieu! How can that be?”

“Oh it’s a long story. I simply think he’s been caught up in a web of circumstantial evidence. Or, to make his plight even more sinister, evidence planted by somebody else.”

“Ah!, the planted evidence. Always a difficult problem I would think.”

“What makes you think that Mr. McAllister?” Roisin asked.

“I’d rather not go into it at the moment Roisin, if you don’t mind. It’s just that everything that’s supposed to have happened is totally out of character with the person concerned. I simply don’t think it could have happened the way the Gardaí say, but of course I cannot prove it.”

“Sounds awful.” Roisin was sympathetic.

They made their way cautiously towards the road, and as they passed a particularly prominent clump of samphire McAllister’s attention was drawn to a patch of red showing through the leaves and flower heads. Then he remembered that it was usually September before the green leaves and yellow green flowers of the samphire were joined by the dark red of the fruit, and in any case this was the wrong red hue.

He leaned down and put his hand into the clump to investigate and then realised he was looking at a Swiss knife which had become wedged in the limestone rock in the centre of the samphire. He drew it out. It was a particularly large and bulky Swiss knife and he enquired of the others if any of them had dropped it, but nobody claimed ownership. McAllister put the knife in his pocket and they completed their walk back to the roadway.

They signalled to the other figures dotted around the landscape and soon all were gathered together having a picnic lunch. It was relaxing sitting there in the sunlight, comparing notes and, as is the custom, waving to the occupants of passing cars. By this time practically all traces of the previous night’s storm had gone and a pleasant sea breeze was blowing.

A car approaching from the direction of Fanore drew up beside them.

“I’ve never seen Poll Salach so crowded.” It was Andy O’Lochlen.

McAllister greeted him and introduced him to the members of his party. O’Lochlen had spoken with some of them the previous evening. He winked knowingly at McAllister and nodded imperceptibly towards the two Frenchmen.

“I’m glad to see you here.” McAllister added. “I didn’t think you were serious last night.”

“Well I’m only passing. Actually, I’ve some things to get in Doolin and decided to stop when I saw you all here.” He sent another conspiratorial glance towards McAllister.

O’Lochlen gratefully accepted a beaker of tea and listened attentively to the general discussion.

McAllister suddenly remembered the Swiss knife and showed it around in case it’s owner was among them.

Again no response.

“I suppose I’m meant to keep it.” he joked. “On the other hand I may give it to Con Curtis in case it’s on his list of missing items. It is an unusual example and may be of value to somebody.”

O’Lochlen left them after a short while and, as if that was a signal to get back to work, everybody resumed their studies.

The minibus returned with Patsy McBride at three fifteen p.m.

McAllister waved and she joined him in his new location on the eastern side of the road, away from the sea, where the effects of the salt spray carrying on the wind could be shown on the vegetation, despite the distance from the water.

“I can see things are really humming around here, John.” She enthused. “Was it all too much for O’Lochlen? I passed him on the road a little way back. He was talking to Michael Balfe. Seemed rather intense, the two of them.”

“Oh no,” McAllister laughed. “Andy had things to do, but he stopped by for a while, as promised, and had some tea.”

They worked on enthusiastically for a few more hours and McAllister then collected all the paperwork which was to assist him in compiling a map of their day’s observations. He arranged that they would convene at Gregans Castle Hotel the following evening.

Tired, but obviously satisfied with their day’s labours, they departed for the hotel. Patsy saw them off, as she had arranged with Susan to return to the guest house with McAllister.

“I know I’ve handed the reins back to Susan, but, on the other hand, it might be no harm if the old sergeant major showed up now and then to keep the troops on their toes.”

McAllister smiled. Patsy really was a tonic.

Susan came to greet them as he parked the Sierra.

“I’m sure you’re both ready for a very special meal. That was a long day.”

“You are certainly reading my mind with uncanny accuracy, Susan.” McAllister sighed. “I could literally eat the proverbial horse. Or at least a Connemara pony if you have one to spare.”

“Incidentally, I hear the Gardaí are not altogether happy with the circumstances of Eileen’s drowning.” Susan added. “They have asked the State Pathologist to examine her body.”

“They don’t think she died accidentally?”

“I think they suspect murder.”

McAllister froze.

For once Patsy was speechless.

A
S HE INDULGED IN A LUXURIOUS
foam bath McAllister mulled over what Susan had told them.

In reality he was too taken aback, too physically tired also, to have any constructive thoughts on the on the matter. He simply pondered.

There was one thing he could confidently claim though. This had been the strangest week in his life. No question about it!

A curious pattern emerged as he reviewed the time since he rounded Black Head last Monday. Well, not exactly a pattern, but a remarkable stop/go sequence. Normality followed by sudden abnormality followed by another bout of normality. Then a further surprise, and so on, but with matters getting progressively more serious.

He had driven down from Dublin last week absolutely at peace with the world only to miss death by inches at Black Head. Then, as anticipated, he had a very pleasant evening with Frank and Susan, but that had been spoiled by Hyland’s behaviour. Eventually he had met up with Patsy and sorted out details of his course. This had been followed by a wonderful evening in Ennis. Then he had set out next morning, full of the joys of life, to do his preparatory fieldwork, only to find a dead body!

He had another very pleasant evening at the Orchid Hotel but this was followed by the arrest of Frank Holland and the drowning of Eileen O’Leary.

Finally he had launched his course with a successful opening lecture and a very good day of research at Poll Salach only to discover that Eileen had not drowned accidentally but had probably been murdered. The Gardaí had now to solve two killings.

Admittedly they had made one arrest, but McAllister was convinced Curtis had acted prematurely.

It was as if he was involved in two separate and distinct sequences. The one he had planned and was carrying through. The other was gnawing and pulling at him in a series of events that impinged more and more on his time and thoughts.

Were they linked or totally random? Would they continue to crowd in on him inexorably?

He conceded that whatever force was behind them was likely to have it’s way, and wondered what was to follow.

McAllister then shook himself from his reverie, hoping that his musings had been leading him into the realms of fantasy and that there was no sinister force loose in the Burren whose purpose was, as yet, unclear.

Reluctantly he eased himself from the comfort of the warm bath and prepared for dinner. As he put away his outdoor clothes he noticed that the Swiss knife, which he had found at Poll Salach, had slipped from his coat pocket onto the bed. McAllister examined it with interest. It was very bulky and had a large number of features which he flicked open one by one. A corkscrew, a bottle opener, some which he did not understand and a formidable selection of blades. Fully opened it looked like some kind of fantastic lethal creature from a futuristic age.

As he closed the knife McAllister noticed a set of letters and numbers crudely scratched on the longest blade, “90A 0L”.

“Ninety A, zero L.” He read slowly and deliberately because he was unsure if they were zeros or letter O’s. “Doesn’t make any sense to me. Obviously a personal identification mark. Oh well, it’s only a knife.”

He put it away in his bedside locker and spent a few minutes sorting out the day’s notes, which were also quite bulky.

“I’ll have to find a few hours to enter this information on my map before tomorrow night,” he thought. “Perhaps after dinner. No I really won’t be in the mood then. O.K. first thing tomorrow morning. It will have to be done thoroughly and accurately so a fresh mind will help.”

Having thus unburdened himself McAllister completed his dressing and went eagerly to the dining room.

Patsy and Susan were talking earnestly when he arrived.

“John, I insist that Patsy relaxes for a while and has dinner with you. Would you please talk sense into her. She wants to take over the whole place immediately and hasn’t eaten all day.”

“Amazing what a good fast will do for you from time to time, especially in the open air.” Patsy was in great form. “Turns on the energy taps. Very good for the engine.”

“Come on Patsy. I need some company. You can’t expect me to dine alone. What I need now is a good meal in pleasant company. Do me the honour.”

McAllister drew back a chair and gestured to her to sit down.

Patsy looked from one to the other. “Oh alright if you put it like that, John.”

As they talked McAllister noticed with some amusement that Patsy, for once, seemed grateful to switch off and not be the all conquering heroine.

“Just a big bluffer,” he thought, “ as human as the rest of us. We all have our limits, even though she has the capacity of two average people. Handsome too when she gives one time to notice. She must have been a stunner in her time. Yes a formidable lady in more ways than one.”

“Has Liam been in touch?” he asked.

“Liam? Good Heavens no! Once he hits the golfing circuit it’s as if he has gone to the moon, and you know there are no postal services or telephones there. It does him good though, even to remind him of his human frailty. He was always a hopeless golfer and he’s hardly going to improve now. Liam usually wears a cloak of humility for a week or two when he comes home from a golfing spree, and that’s a bonus, believe me.”

“Is he normally a bit overpowering?” McAllister enquired as he tried vainly to imagine someone close to Patsy being overpowering in her company, least of all her husband.

“An absolute tiger.” She jerked back to her old self briefly. “That’s what has me as I am, trying to hold my corner. It’s either that or go under.”

Then she looked into the middle distance. “I can’t wait for him to come home though.”

She winked at McAllister. “I get out of practice, you know.”

McAllister’s mind whirred as he groped vainly for a response to this rather double edged statement but he was saved by the arrival of their main course, which turned out to be a delicious roast loin of pork with apricots and prunes. Susan had promised something special from the chef.

They ate in appreciative silence for a while.

“A right pickle we’re all in at the moment.” Patsy looked at him with sudden concern. She was watching Susan busying herself around the restaurant.

He knew what she meant and nodded.

“Yes I’ve been trying to convince myself that we’re not caught up in some very sinister situation.”

“Funny you should say that. I’ve come to that conclusion too.”

McAllister hesitated. “I wouldn’t say I’ve come to a conclusion yet, but I feel as if we’re being surrounded by a web of events. Yes that’s it, a web.” He dwelt on the word. “It’s as if an unseen spider is spinning and plotting away, and the whole web, or design, hasn’t been revealed to us yet. Is that how you it strikes you, Patsy?”

“That’s putting it in a very imaginative way. I feel there’s something bloody strange going on and I’d love to get to the bottom of it. If we’re right, and one person is responsible for the murders, and for framing Frank, then that person is not a hundred miles from here. What has me mystified is how these events might be linked.”

“This is it, Patsy.” McAllister chipped in. “ Whoever is behind all this is either a maniac or has a motive which we cannot even guess at yet.”

“Person, or person’s. What do you think? I hadn’t thought of that before.” Patsy looked thoughtful.

“Indeed. Why not?” McAllister agreed. “Anything is possible at this stage because we’re only talking about vague suspicions. To be coldly logical about it we don’t even know if Eileen was murdered. If she wasn’t, then that will uncomplicate matters a lot.”

Patsy shook her head. “The Gardaí wouldn’t call in the pathologist on a whim. They must have some strong suspicions, and simply want them verified.”

They sat in silence for a while until their thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of dessert, a delicious Creme Brulee. This lifted their spirits, and as if wishing to escape from their negative discussion began talking about their plans for the rest of the week and to identify modifications in the light of the day’s work at Poll Salach.