Deadly Intent (10 page)

‘Watch out!' Ronan gestured to join him behind a tree. ‘I can hear people.'

They both listened carefully. Voices were approaching from uphill.

‘Should we retreat? Or crouch down here by the tree?'

‘No, we can't stay here,' said Ronan. ‘We'll be surrounded if the garda car comes from behind. Let's get over the wall!'

Before Nessa had time to argue, he darted across the road and hauled himself up onto a drystone wall, nimble as a goat. She followed him as he jumped down into the long wet grass on the other side, glad they both had solid footwear on. She thought first that they would have to kneel low on the ground to avoid being seen, but then she understood what Ronan's idea was. There was a standing stone only a few metres from the wall, an impressive monolith as tall as herself, which her son had skipped behind. Nessa joined him and when they peered out, they saw a man and a woman walking along the little road, carrying a camera and tripod.

Nessa understood immediately what they had been doing. A wooden bench had been installed a bit higher up, where walkers could sit and admire vistas of land and sea. Further up still, past the bench, the road became an untarred track, with a gateway and yellow fingerpost marking the start of Coomgarriff Walk, leading to a distinctive hill about twenty minutes walk inland. So the news crew had picked their spot well. Not only could they shoot panoramic views of Beara from the bench, but they could also show the place Oscar Malden had planned to walk on the day he was murdered. Before he left Derryowen Hotel on Thursday morning, he mentioned Coomgarriff to the young barman. But Nessa did not know if there was any evidence that he had actually accomplished his walk.

‘I'll run up to the bench,' said Ronan. He peered out again, getting ready to dash away. ‘I could find out—'

Nessa caught hold of him just in time. ‘Not now, love. For all we know, there's another news crew up there.'

‘I'll be really careful, I promise, especially if they look like enemies. But maybe somebody has hidden secret notes up at the bench, and I told you it's part of the mission to find them.'

She managed to persuade him to postpone that part of the game until another time. The crew might come back to nab a few scenic shots of Beara's archaeology, only to find herself and her son lurking in their hiding place. The whole region had hundreds of standing stones, megalithic tombs, boulder burials, and stone circles, and compared to well-known sites such as those at Ardgroom and Cashelkeelty, this solitary stone was not particularly notable; but nevertheless, it could make a nice evocative picture.

Nessa steered Ronan downhill towards a house at a corner, where the Coomgarriff hill road met the main coast road into Derryowen. They could call in to an old man called Ambrose who lived there. His main pastime was to stand at his gate watching the world go by, so he would know how many media people were nosing around, and how much ground had been covered by the gardai.

They made their way down the hill warily. As they reached the last bend before Ambrose's house, Ronan went ahead to check for enemies. Nessa crossed the roadway and watched from beside a rocky outcrop. She saw him stop suddenly, as if rooted to the spot. Then she heard a shout and saw two figures step out from Ambrose's gateway. One of them, a stocky bearded man, pointed a camera.

Nessa tried to signal to Ronan without drawing attention to herself. If she ran down to snatch her son from their gaze, she would be trapped too, and she did not want to provide the photographer with a dramatic image of mother and son fleeing uphill.

She scrambled onto the rocky hillock behind her just as Ronan took flight. She called out to him, and then found herself tumbling into a damp field for a second time. She cursed herself for not staying safely away from all public roads. Ronan soon landed beside her and they knelt in the undergrowth, almost crying out when they got stung by a swathe of nettles.

They could hear voices on the roadway.

‘Damn, I'm sure that was the Latif boy from Cnoc Meala. I tried to shoot him but I'll have to check the pics.'

‘I didn't see who called out to him.'

‘I think we should head over to the Latif property and suss it out. We've had enough of the old geezer at the gate, and with any luck, we'll catch the boy on his way back. We could do with something meaty …'

Nessa wished she could cover Ronan's ears as they stayed hidden in the field. She did not know how to explain to him why they had to run away. But she was sure of one thing – she would have to arrange for him to leave Beara and stay with friends elsewhere for a few days at least. She had seen the mix of excitement and genuine fear in his expression when he scrambled to join her in the undergrowth. Whether she and Sal could leave too was a different decision, and she even wondered about hiring a private security firm to protect Cnoc Meala from intruders. But it would be a relief to get Ronan out of harm's way. Then she could find time to think properly about the hurricane that had brought havoc to their lives since Thursday.

She stood up when the voices nearby died away. Her jeans were soaked below the knees, as were Ronan's. She whispered to him that they could get out of the field at a gate further along, onto a minor road that ran parallel to the coast road. Darina's house and studio were only five minutes along that byroad, and their best chance was to ask her for a lift home, out of sight in the back of her van. Otherwise, they would have to pick their way across fields and thickets, like fugitives wrongly accused of a crime they had not committed.

‘Oh, I'm sorry, you startled me!' Darina's face appeared out of the gloom of the henhouse at the back of her place. Nessa had put her head around the door when there was no response at the house or the barn she used as a studio.

‘No, it's my fault, Darina, I'm so jumpy myself that I forgot you might be the same. Have you been hassled by the media crowd yet?'

Darina shood away a hen pecking at Nessa's feet. ‘Not here at the house, no, but I was down in the village earlier and I was stopped by somebody who wanted to know whether I knew you, and had ever met Oscar, and what I had to say about it all.'

Nessa looked around to check on Ronan, who had been very quiet on the way to Darina's. He was pulling flowers from the long fuchsia hedge that separated the studio and henhouse, and trying to suck the sweet juice from the purple-red bells.

‘To be honest, I said I didn't really know you,' said Darina. ‘I was afraid I'd be pestered with questions, you see, and it seemed the best way.'

‘I think you were absolutely right to say as little as possible.'

‘It all seems unreal, doesn't it? Have you been to Derryowen today and seen those monster trucks with satellite equipment on top? The place looks like a film set or something.'

‘So it's true that there's a big media presence?'

‘The place is swarming, Nessa, and I've heard that some of our neighbours are even refusing to open their doors. I'd just never imagined this sort of thing in Beara.' Darina glanced over at Ronan, who was losing interest in the fuchsia. She handed him a hosepipe and told him to continue what she had been doing, spraying water into the henhouse to clean it. ‘I was talking to my cousin Marcus yesterday evening and he said he saw gawkers just driving up and down, satisfying their curiosity—'

‘Marcus O'Sullivan, did you say? He's your cousin? The same lad Sal is so keen on?'

‘Did you not realise, Nessa?' Darina chewed on her lips as she regarded her. ‘But of course that was the reason … The party we went to the other night, Sal wanted me to get us both invited, that's how it came about, you see. I mean, I wouldn't have bothered on my own account, because I'm not into his crowd.'

Nessa felt a splash of water on her feet as Ronan whirled the hosepipe towards the hens scratching on the open ground. She tried to steady her own thoughts as she steered him away. She could see that Darina was wired up about the media invasion of the area, and she did not want to pressurise her to tell tales on Sal.

‘You were very good to go to the party as a favour to Sal,' she said gently. ‘I hope she appreciates it.'

‘Oh, I'm sure, yes …' Darina looked uncomfortable, pulling on a lock of hair that fell onto her face. ‘Sal is mad about him, Nessa, but I don't know …'

‘I hope she hasn't been underhand, Darina, or given you any reason to be angry?'

‘Oh no, I'm not angry at her, it's nothing like that.' Darina paused again and glanced over at Ronan, who was still slopping water in all directions. She led him down the path firmly and told him he could fill an empty wheelie bin which she pulled out from beside the hedge. When she returned, she had clearly decided to say her piece.

‘I'm fond of Marcus, Nessa, or at least, I used to be fond of him when we were younger. But ever since he came home from Spain, I don't know …' She spoke rapidly, her eyes avoiding Nessa's. ‘I think Marcus just suits himself, do you know what I mean? And the thing that gets me is, I saw him with another woman recently, that's what I'm trying to tell you. I was going for a swim and his car was parked by the sea, and there he was, draped over a woman is the only way I can describe it.'

‘That was before the party, I presume?'

‘Yes, but the same kind of thing happened another time recently – and I'm not even sure it was the same woman each time. So I wouldn't like to bet that he'll devote himself one hundred per cent to Sal, that's what worries me. But please, Nessa, don't tell her that I said so.'

F
ergus Malden was nervous, his eyes flitting from Redmond to Inspector O'Kelleher. As several witnesses had already agreed, Oscar Malden had passed little of his self-belief on to Fergus – if anything, Oscar's surfeit of confidence might have overwhelmed his son.

The gardai were on their fourth interview with him. Superintendent Devane had spoken to him the first time, soon after Oscar's body was found, and O'Kelleher had gone over the same painful material twice on Sunday, along with another senior colleague. This was Redmond's first opportunity to see him close up. It was hard on Fergus to be scrutinised so often, of course, but he must have known Oscar better than almost anyone else, and in addition, a heavy shadow of suspicion inevitably fell on the next of kin of a murder victim. The gardai had to check whether he varied his story from one interview to the next, as well as digging for new details.

O'Kelleher spoke in his quiet, unhurried way. ‘How would you describe your father as a person, then?'

Fergus examined his hands, another of his nervous habits, before he put together his answer.

‘I suppose he was …' His eyes shifted around the room. ‘My father was … He was friendly and cheerful, just as the newspapers have been saying. He was a strong person, as I'm sure you know, and he believed he could …' Fergus looked at his hands again and eventually settled on an answer. ‘He always believed he could achieve whatever he set out to do, that's what I mean.'

‘That was certainly his reputation in business.' O'Kelleher's voice sounded softer than ever. ‘But on a personal level, is it possible that he antagonised other people in his zeal to get what he wanted?'

‘Antagonised? Well, no, that's not the word … No, it's not true that he antagonised me, but if you're asking …' Fergus stopped and looked over at the small camera recording each interview. ‘But certainly in business matters, he wasn't afraid to antagonise people, if he felt he needed to.'

‘A few of the guests at Cnoc Meala told us they sensed some tension between you and your father.' This was Redmond's first attempt at a question. ‘If so, what was the cause of that tension?'

‘I'm not sure … That is, I couldn't say there was anything like that, except maybe …'

‘Except what?'

‘I don't mean anything big, just that …' As Redmond watched Fergus, he hoped he hadn't interjected his supplementary question too quickly. It was important to allow witnesses enough time to add to their initial response, without leading them on. Redmond was very conscious of the inspector listening to him.

‘I'm sure you understand,' Fergus continued with more assurance, ‘that it's not always easy to talk to your parent when you're grown up. That's all I meant.'

‘Well, perhaps that was the reason you needed to escape from your father's company on occasions? Fellow guests have also said you went out for a solitary walk on a few of the evenings at Cnoc Meala, is that so?'

‘Yes, but … I didn't go out that much, and anyway I wasn't trying to escape, as you put it. I just like to be on my own now and then, that's all.'

‘Did you meet up with anyone else while you were out on these walks? Another guest from the house, for example?'

‘I'm sure I talked to whoever I met on my way, but …' Fergus started fidgeting again, picking at the cuffs of his shirtsleeves. ‘I can't remember exactly … I met a few people when I went out, but I'd no arrangement to meet anyone, if that's what you mean.'

‘And suppose it's true that Oscar was attracted to a woman he met on holiday here?' Redmond tried hard to hold onto Fergus's eyes. It was difficult to listen fully to his answers while thinking of the most productive follow-up questions. ‘I wonder did you feel obliged to stay out of his way for that reason?'

‘What do you mean, obliged …?'

‘Did your father make it clear that he wanted some private space too?'

‘No, that wouldn't be … My father and I didn't really talk about things like that.'

‘I think it's fair to say that he had a certain reputation, all the same? A reputation for attracting women, that is to say? It's been reported over the years that he had a series of relationships since his separation from your mother?'