A Case Of Murder (Kendall Book 6) (14 page)

“Who told you that?” Charters asked.

Kendall shook his head. “That’s not important,” he replied dismissively. “So did you?”

Charters started to smile. He nodded. “Yes, it’s true. I guess I was there a lot.” He paused for a few moments. “It was Keiron wasn’t it? He told you.”

“I’m curious,” Kendall continued, ignoring Charters’ comment. “You have just indicated that Lynch was hardly a friend, and yet you still spent time, a lot of time, at his yard.”

Charters nodded once again. “Correct.”

Kendall shook his head. “I’m puzzled,” he said. “Why? Do you have an interest in boats, is that it?”

Charters said nothing for a few moments. “Well I guess I do have an interest, especially if I think that they might have been used in drug smuggling.”

“Interesting,” said Kendall. “Go on.”

“It’s quite simple,” he replied. “We know that drugs have been coming in to Killmacud for some months now. And we are sure that they are coming in by boat.”

“And you thought it might have been Lynch’s boat,” Kendall suggested.

“It was a possibility,” Charters replied. “But I had no proof. It could have been anybody’s boat.”

“So you thought that you’d check out Mr. Lynch,” said Kendall. “Did you find out anything, anything significant?”

Charters looked down and shook his head. He sighed. “Nothing,” he replied. “Not a thing.”

“What did you expect to find?” Kendall asked.

Charters shook his head once again. “I didn’t know what I expected,” he replied. “I was just hoping to find something, anything I guess. Some white powder maybe; or some incriminating papers perhaps.” He paused for a moment. “You know I was so sure that it was him. I just thought there would have been something.” He heaved another sigh. “Nothing. Not a thing.”

Somehow Kendall thought that would be the answer. After all if anything had been found it was unlikely that Charters would be languishing in a prison awaiting trial for murder, and Lynch still going around offering fishing trips.

“But why Lynch?” Kendall asked.

Charters sighed, and shook his head slowly. “Simple, he had a boat.”

“But there must be lots of people who have boats,” said Kendall.

Charters smiled and nodded. “True, but he was local,” he replied. “I was convinced that it was someone local.”             

“Okay, we’ll leave it there, for now,” said Kendall. “Let’s get back to the night of the murder. So you got to the Cove. What happened then?”

“Well I let Katy off of her lead,” Charters replied. “I always let her off at the Cove, she likes a run along the shore. So she goes running. Then I notice her lying down by what I thought was a big rock. I walked over and, well it wasn’t a rock. It was a man.” Charters paused for a moment, and brushed a tear from his eye.

“Go on,” Kendall coaxed gently.

“I bent down to see,” Charters continued. “He was dead. He had been stabbed, several times. I saw the knife, and, I don’t know why but I picked it up.”

“Then what happened?” Kendall asked.

Charters shook his head. “The next thing I know is that Constable Donovan is standing next to me, asking a lot of questions. Then the ambulance arrives.”

“Had you called for it?” Kendall asked.

Charters shook his head. “The ambulance you mean. No, I never called for it,” he replied. “I mean, why should I?”

Kendall heaved a sigh. “Well I don’t know if there’s anything helpful there, Mr. Charters, but we’ll see,” he said as he stood up. Incidentally do you know anything about a company by the name of Anglo-Irish Commodities?”

Charters thought for a moment and then shook his head. “Sorry I’m afraid not. Should I?”

“Oh I guess not,” said Kendall. “Anyway I’ll come again if I can. Best get gone now, I’ve a few people to talk to.”

“Please Mr. Kendall, I know it’s difficult for you,” Charters said. “But I am reliant on you, I’ve nowhere else to go.”

Kendall looked at the prison guard who merely frowned, and walked to the door. He opened it and waited for Kendall to pass through. Kendall stopped, and turned. “Keep positive,” he said. “I’ll be seeing you.”

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

Mulligan

As Kendall came out of the main gates of the prison, he took a deep breath of fresh air, and said a silent prayer. He turned back to look at the grey walls of the prison, and shook his head. He had just spent less than an hour behind that high wall. How anyone could spent years in such a place did not bear thinking about. He looked up at the sky. The earlier sunshine had gone, and it was now as grey and overcast as the building he had just left. The heat of the day had gone, and the weather had suddenly turned cold, and threatened rain once again.

The weather was as depressing as he was beginning to feel. He heaved a sigh. Would he be able to help Charters, he wondered. Was he really innocent? Sure the police do make mistakes, and often the wrong man is arrested. But, in reality, it didn’t happen that often. Most times the police got the right person. Had they got the right man in this case?

Kendall had to admit that he had some doubts. But were those doubts good enough to prove Charters innocent? Would they be enough to influence the Court? Maybe, but he still lacked that all important ingredient – proof.

* * *

“Tom,” a voice called out. “Over here.” It was Mallory. Kendall looked at his watch. It was twelve fifty.

“Get in,” Mallory said. “If we hurry we should just make the restaurant by one.”

“And hopefully before the heavens open up,” Kendall added.

* * *

With lunch over, the rains started, putting a stop to any further sight-seeing. So it was decided that they would call it a day, and make their way back to Killmacud.

“Well I certainly hope that you girls had a good day?” Mallory asked as they drove out of Cork, on to the N22, heading west. Judging by the parcels they were holding, the answer was fairly obvious.

Mollie smiled. “I had a great day, thank you,” she replied. “Very successful. I spent a lot of Kendall’s money.”

“How was your day, Tom?” asked Catherine.

That was a good question,
Kendall thought.
Just exactly how was his day?
He hadn’t come to any major conclusions that was certain. He hadn’t received any answers had he? He had just ended up with a lot more questions, and a few more people to speak to.

Kendall took a deep breath. “Well, there’s a long way to go yet, and a lot more questions to be answered,” he said. “But there’s one thing I’m now pretty certain of.”

Mallory looked at Kendall. “And what’s that?” he asked.

Kendall took another deep breath. “I am now fairly convinced that Brian Charters never committed that murder,” he replied. “All I have to do now is to prove it.”

“So do you know who did do it?” Mallory asked.

Kendall heaved a sigh, and shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not,” he replied. “Not yet.”

* * *

The bar at O’Rourke’s was unusually quiet when Kendall and Mollie returned from Cork later that day. It was as crowded as ever, but it was not it’s normal, rowdy, boisterous self. There was no friendly banter, no arguing, in fact there was no talking whatsoever.

“It’s very quiet in here tonight,” said Kendall as he arrived at the bar.

O’Rourke said nothing but merely nodded. Without waiting to be told he started to pour a whiskey and placed it in front of Kendall. Then he placed a martini in front of Mollie.

Kendall took a drink and glanced around. As far as he could tell all of the regulars were there. “So what’s going on?” Kendall asked as he turned back to face O’Rourke. “It looks like someone won the lottery, but had lost their ticket.”

O’Rourke shook his head, and heaved a sigh. “It’s Mulligan” he replied simply.

Kendall quickly looked around once again. Mulligan wasn’t at his usual table. “Where is he?” he asked.

“Old Mulligan is dead,” O’Rourke replied.

“Dead,” repeated Kendall. “What was it? A heart attack?”

“The Garda found him today on the beach below Finster Rock,” explained Derren Lynch. “It seems that he tripped and fell to the beach below.”

“They found him this morning,” said O’Rourke. “It was just after you left for Cork.”

“Tripped and fell?” repeated Kendall.

“Broke his neck,” said O’Rourke. “The police say he must have died instantly.” O’Rourke shook his head. “I just can’t believe it. He was here last night as usual.”

“I know,” said Kendall. “I saw him. He was talking about that German sailor.”

“That’s right, you were here, weren’t you?” O’Rourke continued.

“I was buying him whiskey, remember,” said Kendall. “And he was telling me that stupid story about the German sailor being washed up on the beach.”

“He loved telling stories,” said O’Rourke. “Well it was late when he left wasn’t it, near ten if I remember rightly. He was certainly the worse for wear.” He shook his head. “I shoved him out. Told him to go home.” He paused for a moment, there were tears running down his cheek. “I shouldn’t have done that, I should have taken him home, or got someone to take him. Poor old fellow.”

Kendall was puzzled. “Why would he have gone up, where did you say?”

“Finster Rock,” replied Quinn. “It’s not really much, no more than a hill really, no more than forty feet above the beach.”

“Right,” said Kendall. “But why would he go up there?”

“That’s where his cottage is,” explained O’Rourke. “Not exactly on the Rock itself, but there’s a pathway, a short cut. It runs along the hillside, following the coast, and leads to his cottage.”

“Of course he was pretty drunk,” said Lynch. “And what with the rain last night, he could have easily slipped.” He paused for a moment and shook his head. “Terrible thing to happen though, dreadful. You just never know do you.”

“He was drunk that’s for sure,” said Quinn. “But he’s been drunk lots of times, sometimes a lot drunker, and he’s never fallen before.”

“So what are you saying then?” asked Lynch. “Maybe you’re saying he never fell. It wasn’t an accident. Maybe someone pushed him, is that it?”

“Oh come on, Derren, I’m not saying anything of the kind,” Quinn protested. “But you must admit that he has been drunk lots of times and he’s never fallen before.”

Lynch nodded. “Certainly he has been very drunk dozens of times, I agree, so what about it? He’s just been lucky that’s all. But this time was different.”

“Different,” repeated O’Rourke. “In what way different?”

Lynch said nothing for a while, but just looked at everyone. “His luck just ran out,” he said. “Simple as that.”

“There’s one odd thing though,” said Quinn. “That pathway is nowhere near the edge is it?”

O’Rourke nodded. “It’s a good ten, fifteen feet away,” he said. “Why?”

“So how come he was so close to the edge that he fell?” Quinn asked.

Lynch shook his head. “Who knows,” he replied. “With Mulligan anything was possible. He probably never realised where he was. He probably never stayed on the path. In his state he could have been all over the place.”

“So, Mr. Lynch are you saying that Mulligan died as a result of a simple tragic accident?” asked Mollie, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Lynch shook his head. “I’m not saying that Miss, although it does look that way. I mean what other explanation could there be?” he replied. “But more to the point it’s what the Garda are saying. Constable Donovan has looked at the evidence, and that’s his conclusion.” He paused and took a drink. He turned to face the others. “And I’ve no reason to doubt what they say?”

“So what are the police saying?” asked Kendall.

“An accident,” replied O’Rourke. “Mulligan was the worse for wear. The old drink you know. He got too close to the edge, slipped, and well there you are. The poor old man fell and broke his neck.”

“Broke his neck,” repeated Kendall. “Were there any other injuries?”

“There were no other injuries,” replied Lynch.

“No other cuts, or bruises?” asked Kendall.

“No, nothing like that,” said Lynch. “As I said just the broken neck.”

Kendall heaved a sigh. “Strange wouldn’t you say?”

Lynch shook his head, clearly becoming impatient. “Strange,” he repeated. “What’s so strange?”

“He falls, what fifty feet, on to the rocks below  ….”

“It’s nearer forty sir,” Quinn interrupted.

“All right so it’s only forty feet,” Kendall agreed. “Even so it’s still a long way wouldn’t you say?”

Quinn nodded in agreement.

“And no other injuries,” continued Kendall. “I would have expected a few cuts, a bruise or two, wouldn’t you?”

“Well you might be right,” said Lynch. “But there were no other injuries.”

Kendall was far from convinced and vowed to pay a visit to the scene at the earliest opportunity. “Who found him?” he asked.

“Oh that was Vincent, Vincent Mulvy,” replied O’Rourke. “He thought Mulligan was drunk, and was just sleeping it off.”

Kendall took a deep breath. “Well with all due respect to the local Garda, and to Constable Donovan, it all seems a bit too quick in my opinion, to come to a definite conclusion,” he said. “Certainly, from the few times I’ve met Mr. Mulligan it’s clear that he likes a drop of drink.”

“Aye, he did that,” said O’Rourke. “But he could hold his liquor.”

“He certainly could,” agreed Quinn. “Sure he got drunk time and time again, but I’ve never known him to fall.”

Suddenly O’Rourke started to laugh. “Well there was the time a few years back, when he got drunk, and broke that window, remember.” He pointed over to the window.

“I remember,” said Quinn. “But he didn’t really fall did he? He tripped on your worn carpet.”

“Well he certainly stumbled in here, last night, remember, just as he was leaving.” said Lynch. “So what do you say to that?”

Quinn shook his head. “Maybe there was other reasons for him to stumble,” he replied. “Maybe he just lost his balance.”

“Or maybe he just tripped,” suggested Mulvy.

Lynch nodded. “Maybe so,” he reluctantly agreed. “But that was here, in the bar wasn’t it. No one saw him after that did they? So no one knows whether he stumbled or not. All we know is that his body was found at the bottom of Finster Rock, and his neck was broken. That’s good enough for me. He fell, a sad accident I admit. I’m sorry for the poor old fella, he was a character and no mistake, but there it is.” He paused and took a drink. “No amount of talking is going to change that now is it? He was drunk, and he tripped, and, well these things happen.”

“Maybe so,” said Quinn. “Whatever he’ll be missed around here.”

“He will at that,” said O’Rourke. “He was certainly a great character.”

Kendall shook his head. “You know Mr. Lynch, you might be right. Officer Donovan might be right,” he said. “Maybe Mulligan had just had one too many last night. Maybe more than usual. Maybe he was unable to stand properly, and maybe he did stumble, and maybe he did trip and fall.” He drained his glass, and slid it towards O’Rourke for a refill. “I said maybe.” He heaved a sigh. “But maybe it didn’t happen that way, maybe there was another possibility.”

“Oh come on, Mr. Kendall,” said Lynch smiling. “We know you’re a detective and all, but you’re trying to make up something that’s not there.”

“Possibly you’re right,” Kendall replied as he picked up his drink. “But I’ve a few niggly questions I’d like to get answers to that’s all.” He took a drink. “And if you knew me you would know that when I get something in my mind it just won’t shift until I’ve got a satisfactory answer.”

“I can vouch for that,” said Mollie.

“Well I’ve no questions, I can tell you,” said Lynch. “I’m satisfied. The police know what they are doing. And with all due respect, I’d rather take their word, than yours. No offense meant.”

Kendall heaved a sigh, and took another drink. “None taken,” he replied. “That’s the trouble with freedom of speech. Everyone has it.”

“Go on Mr. Kendall,” said O’Rourke. “What’s on your mind?”

Kendall took a long drink, draining the glass. He placed it on to the counter. Without waiting to be asked O’Rourke obliged with a re-fill.

“How far would you say it is from here to Finster Rock?” Kendall asked.

“About a mile,” said Quinn.

Mulvy shook his head. “No way, it’s nearer three quarters, and not an inch more.”

“Alright, let’s say it’s three quarters of a mile,” agreed Kendall. “So we are saying that Mulligan, the worst for too much to drink, managed to walk that distance without falling down.”

“Ah now, Mr. Kendall he could’ve fallen along the way,” suggested Mulvy. “And we not know a thing about it.”

Kendall shook his head. “You might be right, but somehow I don’t think so,” he replied. “Now I’m no expert I admit, but I do know something about being drunk.”

“I can vouch for that as well,” Mollie added helpfully.

Kendall looked at her and glared. He then turned back to face Mulvy. “If he had fallen once, because he was so drunk, that’s where he would have remained.”

“That’s right enough,” agreed Mulvy. “He wouldn’t have been able to get up again would he? I know I’ve been there.”