Cherringham: A Deadly Confession (10 page)

“The day before a big race, everyone is very nervous.”

“I guess the stakes are high?”

“You’re probably thinking thousands, yes?”

Jack nodded.

“No,” said Bell. “Millions. Sunspa is favourite tomorrow in one of the biggest races of the season. From here to Manila to Dublin, bookies will be taking very large wagers, Mr. Brennan.”

“And if Sunspa doesn’t deliver, you need to be able to prove the horse is clean — yes?”

“Precisely. Usually security is tight. You shouldn’t have even got onto the estate. But it seems the whole staff wanted to be up in the top paddock to see my new horse train. Damn. It won’t happen again.”

“I’m sorry I caused you such trouble.”

“I do what I have to in order to protect my interests.”

I bet you do,
thought Jack.

Back in NYC he’d come across similar men in the world of racing who would stop at nothing.

In the silence he looked out across the meadows to the hill opposite, where a line of racehorses were being led gently back towards the stables.

Quite the set-up…

“Now tell me why you want to talk about Eamon,” said Bell.

Jack explained how Father Byrne’s death was suspicious. And how he’d found regular payments to Bell in the priest’s bank statements.

Bell laughed. “So — God — you think I killed him? Killed a priest?”

“An old friend of his is concerned that his death wasn’t an accident.”

“Eamon Byrne was a good customer of mine, Mr. Brennan. And you don’t kill customers.”

“What kind of customer — if you don’t mind my asking?”

Bell shrugged. “I lent him money.”

“And he paid you back?”

“Usually. Eventually.”

“But not recently? You mean he defaulted?”“Formal word — I wouldn’t use it. Let’s say he was late, and it was getting later.”

“He didn’t pay? Last month?”

“No.”

“So what did you do?”

“I sent him a reminder.”

Jack took out the anonymous note. “This one?”

“Ha, that’s it,” said Bell. “Kinda melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“It didn’t work, though.”

“No. When you’re tapped out, you’re tapped out. It happens…”

“So, what would you have done next?”

“I didn’t kill him, Mr. Brennan. If I had, that would be one way to guarantee I wouldn’t
ever
get my money.”

Jack took another sip of his coffee.

“I think I saw a picture of Father Byrne — here — with a horse and a bottle of champagne.”

“Right. Sure. I remember that day. Cheltenham Gold Cup. First time we had a winner. Eamon had a bundle riding on it.”

“He looked pretty happy.”

“You know what? He was always happy,” said Bell. “Nothing ever got him down. He could charm the birds off the trees. Went for life big-time — know what I mean?”

“When did you last see him?”

“Last week, Thursday I think.”

“Here?”

Bell shook his head. “Sandown. Races.”

“What did he want?”

Bell laughed. “More money.”

“But you didn’t give it to him?”

“No. Like I said — he’d missed an instalment. It is a business … not a charity.”

“Did he say why he wanted it?”

“No. Said something had come up. Something urgent.”

“Any ideas what?”

“I’m guessing that I’m not the only person he owed.”

“Bookies you mean? Other loan sharks?”

“Loan shark? Please, Mr. Brennan. You’re drinking my coffee, enjoying my view.”

“Unregulated lending agencies, then.”

“That’s better. I like that.”

“So who else might have threatened him?”

Jack watched Bell consider this.

“I liked Eamon, you know. He played hard. We laughed a lot. Drank a lot of whiskey together over the years. Spent some wild nights. But he was his own worst enemy. He couldn’t say no — to anything. Or anyone,”

What’s he trying to tell me,
thought Jack.

“He used to say that if he saw an apple on a tree he had to take it and eat it. He couldn’t walk past it.”

“You mean money?” said Jack.

Jack waited, as Bell got a text on his phone and read it. Then he got up.

The meeting was clearly over.

“I mean women, Mr. Brennan,” said Bell. “Priest or no priest, he liked the ladies. Have you been investigating this priest with your eyes shut?”

Jack froze.
This case just turned on its head,
he thought.

“And now I have to go, I’m afraid.”

Jack got up too. “Thanks for talking — and for coming along when you did.”

“You’re welcome, Jack. Those fellas would have turned you over for sure.”

“I know.”

And Jack headed across the garden to his car. As he did, Bell called to him.

“Hang on. You said you were working for an old friend of Eamon’s?”

“That’s right.”

“May I ask who?”

“Liam O’Connor. You know him?”

Bell laughed. “Certainly do. Give him my regards.”

And Jack watched as Antonio Bell disappeared into the house.

Jack on the bank down river from the Grey Goose, Riley racing about, chasing birds that always soared away just seconds before Riley would reach them.

Afternoon, sun low … and he was beginning to realise that he knew what he and Sarah, even Liam, had to do…

But then, amid Sarah rattling off a string of amazing things she had discovered, she said she had one more thing she wanted to look at.

A bit more digging.

And then they’d meet, talk.

And plan.

Time, for a lot of reasons, was not on their side.

Riley came bounding back as if eager to get Jack to join in with chasing the birds.

“Sorry, boy — waiting for Sarah. You go play…”

Riley cocked his head, and then he barked and tore into the knee-high grass of the meadow.

And then Jack caught motion from the side, Sarah’s Rav-4 coming down the track which led from the old bridge.

He waved as she pulled up close to the Goose, and Jack started walking to her.

Sarah got out of the car; big grin on her face.

“Jack. I’ve found something. And I think that maybe it all connects with what Bell told you.”

He nodded.

This,
he thought,
is a delicate moment.

He felt they nearly had all the pieces. But like some overly complex jigsaw puzzle, how did it all fit together?
Could
they fit it together?

The clock was ticking.

“Let’s walk and talk,” he said.

And together they strolled the path that ran beside the river.

*

Sarah listened as Jack told her about Bell and his dealings with Eamon.

“So, not a suspect?” she said.

“’Fraid not. Makes no sense.”

“Good,” she said.

He stopped, turned, and looked at her. “Good?”

She had found out a lot. And now it was time to tell him.

S
he started by going through all the payments to foreign accounts, to what looked like children’s charities.

Initially, looking very much like Father Byrne was doing the Lord’s work.

But then those funds had depleted, transfers out, the charities vanishing.

“Money for the ponies?”

“I’m guessing,” she said.

“And the Hospice, St. Elrich?”

“Right. That too, closed, busted — again with Byrne’s fingerprints all over it.”

Jack nodded. “You know … based on that, could be a lot of suspects out there, a lot of people who’d have an issue with the Flying Father.”

Now it was Sarah’s turn to pause.

“Sure. Lot of people, in other places. But not here, Jack. Not in Cherringham, ready to kill the priest. Right? Unless…”

“You mean…?”

She turned away. “At first, I couldn’t find anything about the retreaters. No personal connection to Byrne, certainly. But then I thought … what about relatives, maiden names? And there it was. Each of the three had a connection to the hospice, St. Elrich’s…”

“Wow. You
are
good…”

“Gustav’s wife’s mother died there under poor operating conditions. Same for relatives of Tom Porter and Isabel Allard. All three families, all with elderly relatives who need not have lost their savings, maybe need not have died.”

“And yet did.”

“Yes. Because of Father Byrne.”

“Quite the motive. And I guess they found each other online?”

“Sure. These days any group with grievances can share information. Happens all the time online, issues with churches, hospitals, the police, courts. People find each other.”

“So — are we saying that it looks like they all came here to take revenge on Byrne?”

“With that connection? It makes sense.”

Jack looked away.

Sarah thought she had nailed it.

Her computer skills had gone toe-to-toe with Jack’s old school detecting, and solved this case.

But…

“Could be,” he said.

“Only ‘could’?”

He smiled. “You did great. And in the nick of time, since they are all leaving first thing in the morning.”

“But you’re not completely sold?”

“Let’s just say I think there may be another surprise or two here.”

“What do we do? Try to get them to stay? Call in the police?”

“No.” He smiled, squinting in the brilliant afternoon sun. “Let’s do something that I’ve always wanted to do.”

“Which is?”

“Have one of those gatherings where you get everybody together — the retreaters, the nuns, Liam, you, me — lay it all out … and see what happens.”

“Doesn’t sound very methodical.”

He laughed at that. “If you’re right about these people, they’ll have a hard time sticking to their story that they have no connection to one another before meeting last week.”

She nodded. “Could be interesting.”

Sarah saw Riley, just a small, brown dot from this distance, running around down where the river curved left. The dog suddenly stopped and raced back.

As if he would go only so far without Jack, and no farther.

“And how do you plan on staging this little scene?”

“For that, I think … I’ll need the help of a higher power.”

She watched him take out his phone and waited.“Ah, Sister Mary. Jack Brennan. I’m wondering if I might ask you to do something, tonight. Just after everyone finishes dinner there.”

Sarah could guess that the Mother Superior wouldn’t like Jack’s idea at all.

But the alternative — the police, the accusations, the appearance of hiding a possible murder? There was no way the nun would want that.

After some back and forth…

“Thank you, Sister. We’ll be there, with Liam O’Connor as well. Think … in the end, we’ll all owe him a great debt. See you then…”

Then Jack turned to Sarah.

“Think we better go over all the details together, maybe write them down.”

“Good idea — since you’ve never done anything like this before.”

He grinned at that. “Only one word of advice: don’t show you’re surprised at
anything
.”

“Even if I am?”

“
Especially
then…”

And they walked back to the Goose to prepare their post-dinner confrontation, with Riley now racing ahead of them.

Sarah stood next to Jack, by the large bay window at the back of the Convent’s reception area, surrounded by statues, paintings, and spartan wooden chairs.

Liam O’Connor was looking at the bookshelves, sliding out one volume, then another.

Sarah could hear voices not too far away, dinner was over and everyone was walking this way.

Mother Superior — for her part — knew that something important was coming.

And — on cue — she was the first to enter the room, the others trailing behind her as if she was leading in a line of truants.

The faces told a story.

Gustav, Tom, Isabel — all looking angry and grim, huddled together, visually giving lie to any claim that they did not know each other.

But then the two young nuns entered. Sister Evangeline and Sister Jacqueline … with different looks. Jacqueline seemed confused, but Evangeline kept looking down, and around — anywhere but where Sarah and Jack stood.

Might settle the question of who was the mystery nun in the rectory,
she thought.

And Mother Superior meanwhile, stayed towards the back, arms folded; you couldn’t make a more stony face even if you tried.

“Okay. What the—?” Tom Porter started. Then, as if realising the setting, “—what’s going on here?” He looked from Jack to Mother Superior, who was the first to speak.“Jack and Sarah had a few more things to ask you. I told them, they could come—”

Now it was Gustav’s turn, “We have already spoken to them Sister, and I must pack for my trip back to Hamburg.”

Isabel looked the most shaken of the three. She quickly nodded. “Me, as well, I haven’t—”

Jack cleared his throat.

It was showtime
.

“This … shouldn’t take too long folks. Just a few quick details to clear up.”

Really?
thought Sarah.

She and Jack had uncovered more than a few little details.

“Sarah, can you tell them what we learned about dear Father Byrne?”

She nodded. All eyes were on her. Maybe they still hoped this would all be about the dead priest and not about them.

“Father Byrne, it seems, had a history of abusing church funds, money meant for charities, and channelling them into his own account.”

She looked at Sister Mary to see if she would protest this besmirching of one of the church’s pillars.

But she didn’t move. Signalling, Sarah guessed, that she knew Byrne’s foibles all too well.

Sarah went onto give more details, citing specific examples.

Then Jack turned to her and said, “And then … there was the hospice, right Sarah? Now what was it called… St. Elrich’s?”

She nodded, playing along.

And she could imagine the retreaters’ stomachs tightening.

She wouldn’t be surprised if they bolted.

“Yes. St. Elrich’s Hospice, a place for the ill, for those needing care before they passed away, surrounded by family and friends.”