Deadly Intent (3 page)

It was clear, in any case, that Dominic was ignorant of one salient fact. Oscar had already left Beara. He had checked out of Cnoc Meala that morning, telling Nessa that an unexpected business problem had come up, forcing him to return to his native County Tipperary. He assured her he was very sorry to leave early, and that he would stay in the area until lunchtime, to take a last walk along the coastal path. His grown-up son, Fergus, who had come down with a minor stomach bug the previous day, would stay on in Beara for the last two days of the holiday.

Nessa reflected that if the gardai required a statement from Oscar, they would have to contact him in Tipperary. And if they learned that he had arrived home while Maureen was still in full health, Dominic's claims would come to nothing.

‘Where did you get to? You shouldn't disappear without a word, I've told you loads of times …'

Sal spoke as if she were the parent issuing a reprimand. Nessa kept her lips tightly closed. Her daughter was barring her way at the door until she had her say. Darina sat at the table inside, clasping a teacup.

‘A policeman phoned from Bantry,' said Sal. ‘His name is Redmond something, and he's at the hospital now. He and his inspector want to come over to see you tomorrow. They're anxious to clarify the details of the incident, as he put it, and to enquire into all the circumstances of the case. You know the way gardai talk.'

‘OK, love, I'm sorry I missed his call. But did he mention how Maureen is now?' Nessa smiled, remembering Sal's earlier needling. ‘I presume you didn't forget to ask about her?'

‘You presume …? Ha, ha, don't be smart, of course I asked about her. He said Maureen is as comfortable as can be expected. Whatever that might actually mean.'

‘It's always the same bland line, isn't it?' said Darina, who was still pale, but seemed less strained than earlier. ‘I hate the way hospitals tell you nothing on the phone.'

Nessa decided that she would look in on her son Ronan, who had gone to bed late, and then get back to the garda in Bantry. But as she noted the garda's number, she remembered her daughter's homework. Sal had just started her final Leaving Certificate year at school, and had promised to stick to a strict programme of study. But unsurprisingly, she had not opened a schoolbook all evening.

‘Could I give you a lift home in about ten minutes, Darina?' Nessa glanced out at the garden. ‘I think it's about to rain.'

Sal gave their young neighbour a meaningful look. ‘Well, are you still on for Kenmare, Darina? I wouldn't mind joining you, and I'm sure you'd like company tonight—'

‘Hold your horses now, Sal,' said Nessa. ‘If you think you're going anywhere on a weekday night, you can forget it. I'm sorry, Darina, I hadn't realised that we'd upset your plans for the evening.'

‘It doesn't matter now,' said Darina. ‘I'd just mentioned earlier that I might go to a music session in a pub in Kenmare. But really, I don't feel like it.'

‘OK then, but tomorrow night is definitely on, Darina, isn't it?' Sal looked defiantly at her mother. ‘Friday night, see? We're both invited to a big party and you can't possibly, like, lock me up for the weekend, can you now?'

A knock on the kitchen door prevented Nessa's reply. It was opened cautiously and Fergus Malden stood looking at them. Unlike his father, he was shy and rather quiet.

‘Excuse me,' he said uncertainly. ‘If things are too busy … But my stomach is still upset and I thought, maybe …?'

‘Come in,' said Nessa. ‘I'm sorry you're not feeling any better.' Earlier in the day, she had accompanied him to the nearest town, Castletownbere, to go to a chemist. It was one of the reasons her day had been so busy.

‘I can wait until the kitchen is quiet.' He seemed about to close the door again. ‘I was going to heat up some milk but if I'm in your way …'

‘It's no problem, Fergus, please come in and I'll do it for you.' Nessa opened the fridge. ‘You know you're welcome to whatever you'd like.'

‘I wonder if I could ask you …?' Darina removed her jacket from the back of her chair and spoke quickly. ‘I'm Darina O'Sullivan, we met over at my studio on Tuesday and I spoke to your father again this morning, down in the village. He told me he might call in to the Barn before he left Beara, but as he didn't make it …' She bit her lip as she continued, ‘I hope you won't mind my asking, because I'd hate to be pushy—'

‘You'll have to up your sales pitch, Darina,' said Sal with a laugh. ‘What you're really trying to say is that you'd love Fergus's dad to commission a painting or a portrait from you. The great Oscar Malden as rendered by Darina O'Sullivan, isn't that your idea? But now you're afraid you've missed your chance?'

‘Of course, whatever I can …' As Fergus spoke, Nessa noticed how grey he looked. For her own sake as well as his, she hoped fervently that he would recover by Saturday. She could hardly wait to put her feet up.

‘Well, that's it, I actually did a drawing for him today, just a little thing on a card, but I'd like to put a few finishing touches to it.' Darina hesitated at the sink, cup in hand. ‘I didn't have time this evening, but tomorrow …'

‘That's OK. I'll give it to him and I'm sure …'

Fergus had a habit of tailing off his sentences, and Sal joined in again. ‘You could bring it over in the evening,' she said to Darina, ‘when you come to collect me for the party.' She winked conspiratorially at their neighbour, and in spite of her worries about homework, Nessa was glad to see them becoming friends. There were very few young people in the immediate area, and as a result, Sal often pestered her parents to be allowed to gad about further afield. As for Darina, Nessa suspected that her life was rather solitary – she had lived alone since her mother, barely into her forties, had died of cancer a few years earlier.

Nessa poured warmed milk into a cup. She felt exhausted, and did not argue when Darina turned down a second offer of a lift home. As their neighbour was leaving, Sal gave her a big hug.

‘Thanks
so
truly much,' she said with a giggle. Their plans for the following night were clearly well-advanced. ‘Or what do they say in Spanish?
Muchas gracias, mi amiga
!'

Fergus retreated and Nessa went upstairs to her son's bedroom. At twelve years old, Ronan had a very active imagination and had plied her earlier with questions about Maureen and the ambulance. Now he was asleep with a book on his chest, so she turned out his light and tried to phone the garda in Bantry, a large town over forty miles away. She had forgotten whether his first name or surname was Redmond, and when his answerphone came on, Nessa just left a message to say that she could meet himself and his inspector at Cnoc Meala the following afternoon.

Sal was busily working her phone in the kitchen. ‘The others have gone down to Derryowen for a drink,' she said. ‘The French couple, that is, and the two sisters – Zoe and whatshername, the quieter one. No doubt they're discussing this evening's excitement over their pints.'

‘Not the kind of excitement we advertise, unfortunately.' Nessa poured wine for herself. She could arrange for her guests to get a lift back from O'Donovan's pub in Derryowen, if they decided against the long walk up the hill.

‘By the way, have you heard the rumour?' Sal paused in her fingerwork. ‘The latest on Maureen's love life?'

Nessa took a slow sip of her drink. She was in no mood for new dramas, and just wanted to escape to her room with a comforting glass and a book. A good night's sleep would renew her habitual curiosity about her fellow human beings.

‘She was seen upstairs last night,' Sal continued. ‘Maureen, that is, while Dominic and a few others played cards in the living room. And the big rumour is – wait for it – that she got lucky in her love quest.'

‘You'd better spell it out for me, love. Is this about Maureen and Oscar, or is there another entanglement I haven't heard about?'

‘It's about Maureen going into Oscar's bedroom. One of the two sisters – not Zoe but the other one, Stella, isn't it? – went upstairs at about half ten, to look for a book she'd mislaid or something. Oscar's room is opposite theirs and who does Stella see going in to him but Maureen? How about that now?'

‘Maureen might have been inviting him to join her husband's card game,' said Nessa drily.

Sal smirked in response. ‘Yeah, right. But the thing is, she wasn't in a hurry about it, because according to Stella's account, Maureen was still in Oscar's room when Stella came downstairs at least, oh, ten or fifteen minutes later.'

T
he beguiling Beara peninsula, as the guidebooks had it. Craggy purple mountains and soft green farmland, not to mention the usual touristy stuff about boats bobbing on the waves. And, of course, hospitable people who loved to welcome strangers.

Redmond Joyce was not enticed by the image, no matter what others told him. All he could see of Beara was a low sky and persistent grey drizzle on his windscreen. He was on his way from Bantry, outside the peninsula, to Castletownbere, its main town, and from there to Derryowen. He was always amazed that people chose to spend their holidays in such places – bare and lumpy mountains, roads twisting across an empty landscape, nothing in sight but bleak loneliness.

It looked better in sunshine, of course. But even so, it would not attract him. To him, one mountain was the same as the next, and staring at a jumble of stones and water was not his idea of a good time. As for the people, he would run a mile from their kind and hospitable attempts to make conversation. What he wanted on holidays was to escape to one of the world's great cities – Berlin, Singapore, New York, Rio de Janeiro – where he could feel the ceaseless throb of activity on all sides. Noisy crowds, a clamourous din and, best of all, not a soul who knew him.

But his visit to Beara was not a holiday outing, it was part of his job as a garda. He had been posted to Bantry station six months earlier, after a few stints in small towns in the midlands. In his own mind, he was marking time while he awaited a move to a city station. His dream job was to be a detective in one of the troubled suburbs of Dublin or Limerick, abuzz with action and danger.

‘I'd like to deal with this business in Derryowen as quickly as possible.' His companion, Detective Inspector Trevor O'Kelleher, was shuffling through a pile of notes as he spoke.

‘I made the arrangement as you requested, inspector, and Nessa McDermott is expecting us at three o'clock. But if you wish to amend the timetable—'

‘Jesus, I don't wish to amend anything, as you put it. All I mean is that I'd like to leave time to sniff around the quay in Castletown later.' The inspector spoke quietly, but Redmond noted the impatience in his voice. He found it hard to hit the right tone with his senior officer.

He also felt too much of an outsider to use the local abbreviation of the fishing port's name. ‘What's happening in Castletownbere?' he asked after a moment.

‘There's trouble brewing with that Russian ship at the quay,' O'Kelleher replied. ‘It's been there for weeks, so it's obviously been abandoned by its owners.'

‘I remember hearing something on the local news a few days ago. But surely the owners have legal obligations?'

‘Well, if they do, you can bet they're trying to dodge them. They must be some shower of blaggards, to leave a crew of men stranded without as much as a loaf of bread to feed themselves.' O'Kelleher turned a few pages of his notes. ‘Anyway, our man Conor Fitzmaurice has covered a lot of the ground for us in Derryowen so I don't think we'll be detained there too long.'

Redmond nodded politely. In his view, there was little substance to the incident reported from Beara the previous night. But he was always keen to accompany Detective Inspector O'Kelleher on his rounds, in the hope of displaying his own abilities. Bantry station was the garda district headquarters and as a senior officer, O'Kelleher kept regular contact with a number of smaller stations in west Cork.

There was also a built-in bonus to the day's outing. Redmond was curious to get his own impressions of Nessa McDermott. He knew of her reputation as an investigative journalist, supposedly relentless in her pursuit of the unpopular or unsavoury facts. Indeed, according to a quick online search Redmond had done the night before, it had caused some surprise in media circles when she had left it all behind for the good life. But O'Kelleher seemed to be wary of her, judging by his comments in Bantry that morning. ‘Our lads in Castletown are checking out this business on the hillside,' he said. ‘But I wouldn't mind having a look for myself. After all, who knows what trouble we may have on our hands, when our friend in Cnoc Meala is involved.'

‘So tell me, Redmond, what did you think of Maureen Scurlock?'

Redmond delayed his answer for a moment, his eyes on the traffic in the centre of Castletownbere. He was also reluctant to admit that he could not make up his mind about the patient he had interviewed in Bantry hospital that morning.

‘She says she has no clear memory of what happened,' he said, once he had negotiated the narrow turning beside the port town's supermarket. ‘But even the details she claims to remember seem unreliable.'

‘Did she admit, by any happy chance, that she and Oscar Malden had arranged to meet up in the hills?'

‘She said they were on friendly terms, but she was adamant that she didn't see him again after he'd left the hotel premises.'

‘She swore to whatever she'd like her husband to hear, most likely. And what about the doctors, could you get anything useful out of them?'

‘I regret to say I couldn't.' Redmond put the car in second gear as they climbed a steep hill. He could see the town's chimneys and the harbourside ships in his rear-view mirror. ‘I spoke to just one doctor, and according to him, Mrs Scurlock's injuries were consistent with an accidental fall. But he said he was also unable to exclude the possibility of an assault.'