Murder on Clare Island Page 13

  West was tired of Lampreys. He was tired, full stop. ‘Can you tell us where you were yesterday, Mr Higgins, late morning, early afternoon?’

  ‘I know exactly,’ the man said. ‘I saw Mr Breathnach heading out to the pool for a swim just after breakfast. I knew he’d be there about an hour so I got my equipment ready, waited for him to leave, and then headed over. I drain, clean and refill the pool every month. Yesterday was my day to do it. It takes a few hours, so that’s where I was when I heard Finbarr scream for help.’

  At last, a time line they could work with. ‘What time did you see Mr Breathnach leave the pool?’

  ‘Ten thirty. I remember thinking I would get all the work done before dark and have the pool refilled for his swim the next day. I made the mistake, once, of starting too late, the pool wasn’t refilled and he bawled me out about it. I didn’t need to be told twice.’

  West nodded. ‘So when Finbarr screamed you went to see what was happening.’

  ‘I did. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Those bloody fish chomping away. He should never have bought them, everyone told him so.’

  ‘You assumed it was an accident?’

  Jim Higgins shrugged. ‘Murder is somewhat outside the usual run-of-the-mill stuff that happens around here. I knew about Eoin’s daft habit and assumed he’d slipped. It’s the bane of my life, that moss stuff, but you’ve seen the trees that grow in there, they cast a fairly heavy shade. He wouldn’t let me spray it, you see, in case it harmed the fish so I had to remove it by hand.

  ‘To be honest,’ he continued, ‘there’s just too much to do around here to spend time scraping moss. If he’d kept his shoe on he wouldn’t have slipped. All that sticking his toe in the water nonsense.’

  ‘But he didn’t slip,’ West reminded him, ‘we’ve evidence he was pushed. Do you know anyone who might have had a grudge against him?’

  The man gave the idea some consideration. ‘A few, I suppose. He had a run in with a few of the contractors he hired to build this place. Some of them were tough nuts. He has ongoing rows with the council about the road. He extended the road when the house was built because the council wouldn’t do it, and now the council don’t see why they should maintain it. I heard him on the phone one day telling them it was his democratic right.’

  West didn’t consider the council to be a likely suspect so he brought the conversation back to a somewhat more likely candidate. ‘Someone mentioned the window company. Can you remember the name?’

  Higgins shook his head. ‘No, but I’ll have it on file. I can get it for you.’

  ‘I’d appreciate that,’ West said and then, as an afterthought asked, ‘how big is this place. It seems to sprawl across a huge area.’

  Higgins nodded. ‘You’d be right. The architect advised making it one storey, although Mr B wanted it to be two. Surprisingly enough, the architect won that battle.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘They’d waited until he was free to work on the place before they went ahead because they heard he was the best. Anyway, it was something to do with the wind erosion or whatever and he threatened to pull out unless he was listened to. So one-storied it was. But Mr B insisted he wanted the same number of bed-rooms, so it sprawls right across the plot.’

  ‘How many rooms are we talking about?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘Twelve bedrooms, all with their own bathrooms plus an apartment of sorts where me and the missus live.’

  West frowned. ‘Why on earth did he want twelve bedrooms? I gather he doesn’t spend much time here and Sylvia appears to spend most of her time in the studio.’

  Jim shrugged. ‘No idea. But, generally, Mr B didn’t do things without a good idea behind it.’

  No, West thought, he didn’t. He just wondered what that idea was. And was it enough to get him killed.

  19

  After the door closed on Jim Higgins, it opened again.

  ‘You are welcome to stay for dinner,’ Finbarr said, standing in the doorway. ‘Well, actually, I lie; you’d be very unwelcome guests sitting in the middle of us, wondering which of us did the evil deed. But my darling mother thinks we should be polite, and ever-so helpful, so the invitation is there.’

  ‘Thank you,’ West said, ‘but we’re finished for the moment. We’ll have more questions for you and your mother, and perhaps for the others. But tomorrow will do.’

  ‘More questions,’ Finbarr said raising an eyebrow. ‘Then will you do an Agatha Christie-type reveal? Call us all into a room, explain how it was done and expose the guilty party?’

  West smiled grimly. The man really was irritating. ‘Real life never tends to be quite so dramatic, I’m afraid. But,’ he added, ‘we’ll do our best.’

  Finbarr stood back to allow them pass. ‘Bye now,’ he said with a little giggle. ‘Oops,’ he said, and put a hand over his mouth.

  West cast a glance over him as he passed but said nothing. There was no sign of the housekeeper so they took their coats from the stand and left, closing the front door behind them with a collective sigh of relief.

  The light was fading but it was bright enough for West to stand a moment and look back at the building and then, with a shake of his head, he joined the others who had climbed into the car away from the cold sea wind.

  ‘It must be really miserable here in the depths of winter,’ Kelly said, shivering a little.

  ‘It gets pretty cold,’ Hall admitted. ‘But I don’t think they leave the house much in the winter. At least, Sylvia doesn’t. Finbarr spends some time with friends in Galway and Dublin and I’ve seen him in Westport, the odd time.’

  He started the car and headed out the road, turning left when they reached the turn-off for the guesthouse.

  West was silent during the short journey, his head buzzing with all he’d heard. He needed to look through his notes, and try to make sense of it all. He missed Andrews. He realised suddenly how much he had come to depend on the other man. They’d have sat and chewed over the information for hours. He had Hall, of course, he’d have to work with what he had.

  ‘You said Finbarr was only in school with you for a few months before being moved. There wasn’t any indication he was in trouble of any sort, was there?’

  Hall shook his head. ‘I don’t remember hearing anything.’

  ‘Did you both attend the same primary school?’

  Hall drew up outside the guesthouse, turned off the engine and turned in the seat to face West. ‘No, he went to a school several miles away. I don’t know why,’ he frowned, and then shrugged, ‘it wasn’t private or anything. His gran used to drive him there, and then pick him up in the afternoon. He was only in my school for three or four months, at the most.’ Hall looked at West’s face, ‘Have you thought of something?’

  Instead of answering, West asked, ‘Did you notice his eyes when we were leaving?’

  ‘His eyes?’ Hall said, surprised. ‘No, to be honest, I didn’t really give him much attention. What did I miss?’

  ‘His pupils were pin-pointed and he was giggling inanely. My guess is he’d taken something.’ West shrugged. ‘It may be prescription meds of course, but I just wondered was there a history of drug abuse. It may be the reason he was sent to boarding school.’

  ‘You think he might have been on drugs back then?’ Hall asked, shocked. ‘He was just a kid.’

  ‘Ten years ago. It wouldn’t have been unheard of. You’ve never heard rumours of drug-use?’

  Hall shook his head and then leaned forward to peer out the window as a strong wind buffeted the car. ‘It’s going to be a rough crossing,’ he said, ‘I better get going. I’ll have that wooden stake sent to the Forensic lab in the morning. I’ll have to go into Westport to have it sent through official channels so I won’t get back here until early afternoon sometime.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ West said. ‘Higgins gave you the name of that window company, didn’t he?

  Hall nodded. ‘Yes, they’re located just a few miles from Westport.’

  It was a long-shot, West k
new, but it had to be covered. ‘Why don’t you call while you’re in the area? See if anyone there holds a grudge? I’ll talk to Andrews when I go inside, get him working on those names. He’s not going to be able to do anything until tomorrow anyway. Ring me when you’re on your way.’

  Another gust of wind hit, shaking the car dramatically. West turned in the seat to speak to Kelly, wedged uncomfortably in the back seat. ‘Be careful getting out,’ he warned.

  They made a rush for the front door, the rain-laced wind pushing them along. ‘Gosh, that’s a wild one,’ Kelly said, shaking rain off in the hallway.

  A laugh drew their attention. Daisy stood in the doorway of the lounge smiling at them. ‘That’s just a little squall,’ she informed them, ‘wild is when you can barely open the door, and when you do it takes two of you to stop it being ripped off its hinges. It makes every day a challenge.’

  ‘We east-coasters have it easy,’ West smiled.

  Daisy didn’t move away. ‘I hear you’re helping Garda Hall to investigate Eoin Breathnach’s death.’

  West took a deep breath. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘He was murdered, I hear.’

  West’s brow furrowed. ‘How did you hear that?’

  Daisy smiled. ‘Just because we’re isolated and half the island doesn’t have phones or mobile coverage, doesn’t mean news doesn’t get around. Tadgh was down at The Quay earlier, he met the post-man...oh yes,’ she said when she saw West’s surprised look, ‘we have a post-man. Granted, he only delivers once a week and in the winter, it can be a bit hit and miss whether he gets here or not, but we have him, and he’s as good as a town crier. He was out at the house, just after you arrived there, heard the news from Finbarr and brought it with him on his deliveries, dropping off post and gossip at the same time.’

  So now everyone knew, and if the killer was somewhere on the island, he was forewarned. If he was on the island. There was no point going down that tricky path, West knew, he’d continue the investigation the way he always did. Methodically and by the book.

  Back in their room, he checked the time. It was almost seven. He’d have to phone Andrews at home.

  ‘Peter, hi, it’s Mike.’

  ‘Mike. I wondered when you’d ring. Mother Morrison filled me in; he said you might be in touch. Honestly, trust you. You go to one of the most remote places in Ireland, and still find a dead body.’

  West smiled, relieved that Andrews already knew the facts of the case, if not the truth. ‘I didn’t actually find a dead body, Peter,’ he said. ‘You make it sound as though I go out looking for them.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ Andrews replied. ‘Well, go on, tell me all about it.’

  West gave him a quick run-down of events including the details of the Lamprey eels.

  ‘Eels,’ Andrews said his voice an equal mix of fascination and revulsion. ‘Well that’s a new one. So it’s definitely murder?’

  West grunted an affirmative. ‘There’s a fine cast of potential suspects too. I’ve done preliminary interviews and I think they’re all lying to some degree. Whether it has any bearing on the case, I don’t know. But I need you to do some digging for me; internet access here is a bit erratic.’ He read the list of names, listened when Andrews repeated them back.

  ‘Ok, I’ll see what I can find out. I’ll put a couple of the lads on it in the morning and get back to you as soon as we have anything.’ They chatted for a few minutes more before West hung up.

  He grinned over at Kelly. ‘Peter says hello. He doesn’t think much of our romantic break away.’

  Kelly laughed. ‘Well, it’s an unusual one, I’ll give you that.’

  West’s eyes went soft.

  Kelly held her hands up. ‘I know that look,’ she said, laughing. ‘Forget it, I’m starving.’

  West reached for her and kissed her, his tongue finding hers, sending shivers down her spine. Just when she thought maybe food could wait, he pushed her away. ‘Ok, dinner,’ he said.

  Kelly smiled and then looked down at the jeans and shirt she was wearing. ‘Is it ok to go like this, d’y’think?’

  West let his gaze linger on her curves. ‘You look delicious.’

  As it happened, they were the only ones in the dining room that evening, the other guests having left that morning. Relieved to be spared conversation about seals or owls, Kelly sat and relaxed. Dinner was, once again, amazing, and the accompanying conversation was light and relaxed. It wasn’t until coffee was served that Kelly brought the conversation back to the day’s events by asking, ‘It’s going to take longer than you hoped, isn’t it?’

  West let out a gusty sigh. ‘A tragic accident, Morrison said. Well, by all accounts, it appears to have been neither. Yes, I’m afraid it’s going to take a lot longer.’

  Kelly smiled. ‘So what’s the next step in the investigation?’

  He hesitated a moment, reluctant to turn their evening into an examination of the day’s goings-on. But Kelly looked interested, not bored or irritated, so he humoured her. ‘The victim appears to have been an extremely dislikeable chap. Roger Tilsdale seems to be the only person who had any time for him. But being disliked isn’t generally a motive for murder. We need to find one. We don’t have enough information, as yet, so we have to keep looking, and digging. Andrews may turn up something tomorrow.’

  ‘What does your gut tell you?’ Kelly asked, genuinely fascinated by the whole process. She’d been involved in two cases with West, but she’d been too closely involved to have enjoyed the process. This was different.

  West laughed. ‘My gut? Ok, you watch way too much television.’ The laugh died. ‘My instinct, on the other hand, tells me that nobody I spoke to today was telling me the truth.’ He waggled his head. ‘No, that’s not quite right. They weren’t lying, as such, but they were all hiding something. Whether or not it’s relevant, remains to be seen.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Kelly asked. ‘I read somewhere once that people look in one direction if they’re lying, is that true?’

  West drank some of his coffee. ‘No, that’s true. Or it can be. But it’s not foolproof. It’s more to do with their body language, the slight hesitation before they speak, the twisting of fingers, or when you see white knuckles because they’re gripping the chair so hard. Or just a reluctance to tell us something.’

  ‘Like Roger and his ‘accommodation business’,’ Kelly said, making inverted commas in the air.

  West nodded. ‘And Sylvia’s white knuckle grip on the arm of her chair when we were speaking to Finbarr.’

  Kelly’s eyes widened. ‘You think she thinks he did it?’

  ‘He consistently attempts to cloud the waters,’ West said, ‘but whether that’s just his way, or the drugs he’s on, or whether he did indeed kill his father, I don’t know. Not yet.’

  ‘Mr Blacque seems to think he’ll inherit a lot of money.’

  West’s eyes narrowed. ‘Breathnach was under no obligation. Finbarr is twenty-five, not a child. They didn’t appear to have any kind of father/son relationship so why would Breathnach leave him money. Unless, of course, Blacque knows more about the will than he’s letting on.’ He chewed his lip, the more he thought about it the more tangled it was becoming.

  Daisy opened the door. ‘How about a whiskey?’ she asked. ‘I have a lovely smoky single malt. A sixteen year old Lagavulin. Tempted?’

  Both nodded. The woman smiled, exited and returned moments later with the bottle in her hand. She took two glasses from a cabinet and placed one in front of each. ‘I buy Irish products mostly and Irish whiskey too but this is something special. It’s from the Isle of Islay and according to the distillers it is a complex mix of seashore and moor. It seemed to me the perfect choice for here.’ She opened the bottle and filled the two glasses. ‘Have a taste.’

  West lifted the glass and took a sip. ‘Wow,’ he said, truly surprised, ‘smoky is right.’

  Kelly sipped hers. ‘Goodness,’ she said, ‘it’s delicious.’

  ‘Why do
n’t you join us,’ West said, taking another sip.

  Daisy smiled, fetched another glass and sat. She half filled her glass and took a miniscule sip. ‘I don’t really drink,’ she said, ‘but I do like a bit of this now and then.’

  ‘It’s quiet tonight,’ West said, wondering how successful they were.

  ‘Sunday night often is. People come for Friday and Saturday night, and then head home on Sunday. It gives us a bit of a breather, allows us to catch up.’

  ‘Are you full most weekends?’

  ‘Most,’ she said. ‘We do close for Christmas, but that’s all. We’ve been so lucky; people want to stay somewhere that’s a bit different, a bit unique. And these days, when people are so inundated with technology they want somewhere that doesn’t have too much of it. We don’t have television, for that reason.

  ‘It might be harder for us when they open Toormore House. But perhaps that won’t happen now that Eoin Breathnach has died.’

  West looked at her sharply. ‘He was going to open it as a hotel?’

  Daisy looked puzzled. ‘I thought you knew that. You were there yesterday, didn’t someone say?’

  Remembering Higgins’ remark about Breathnach never doing anything without a good reason, West wondered if he’d known about the hotel idea. The man didn’t appear to be dissembling but maybe he had his own reasons for not offering the information. Or maybe Breathnach had kept his plans quiet. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I saw that man, Tilsdale, arriving when I was down at The Quay last week. I’ve seen his photograph in the trade magazines. That’s what he does. He buys old houses and converts them into luxury or boutique hotels.’

  ‘He said he was a friend of the deceased,’ West said, taking another sip of the Lagavulin. ‘He didn’t mention anything about converting it into a hotel. Are you just jumping to conclusions?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she admitted. ‘But, you see, Eoin Breathnach approached me about three months ago and asked me if I’d be interested in running Toormore House in conjunction with the Clare Island Lighthouse. I told him I wasn’t. I like it here; the owners give me a free hand and don’t interfere in how I run the place.’ Daisy’s normally pleasant face became troubled. ‘He didn’t take too kindly to being rejected, you know. He told me that he’d other irons in the fire, and that I’d better look out.’ She stopped a moment and then said quietly, ‘His voice was mean, spiteful. So when I saw Roger Tilsdale at The Quay, I knew why he was here.’