Murder on Clare Island Read online

  West returned the kiss, lingering, lips moving to open hers, tongues entwining. He moved his hands inside the shawl, found the hem of her dress and moved under, feeling the smoothness of her naked legs, rising to feel the corner of lace, brushing it aside and moving fingers to the damp warmth he found underneath, feeling his own body respond.

  Groaning, he pulled roughly at the lace and felt it give. His free hand moved to unzip his trousers and within seconds he was inside her pulling her legs up around his waist balancing her against the railing, aware of it against her back, knowing it was probably uncomfortable, unable to stop. He came quickly, a burst of lust and tension, a release of all the months waiting that the earlier more tender lovemaking hadn’t managed to assuage.

  Breathing heavily, he lowered her legs gently. ‘You ok,’ he managed, kissing her softly.

  Kelly, remembering the gentle lovemaking of earlier, was slightly stunned by this version of West. How many layers were there to this man?

  West caressed her cheek. ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

  Did he? She was definitely going to have a bruise on her back, but apart from that, and the ruin of a very expensive pair of French knickers, he hadn’t hurt her. ‘Surprised me, maybe,’ she answered.

  West drew back, trying to see her face in the starlight. All he could see were shadows. ‘Good surprised or bad surprised?’ he asked.

  Kelly didn’t answer straight away. She was thinking of her late-husband, Simon, a man who had become the man he thought she’d wanted, their short marriage based on deceit. Had their lovemaking just been a reflection of what he thought she always wanted? There had never been anything like this...this unbridled passion.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered, finally. ‘You puzzle me, Mike. Just when I think I have you sussed, you throw me a curve-ball.’

  His laugh echoed into the night. Within seconds they heard a screech, as if in echo of his laugh. ‘What’s that,’ Kelly said, turning in his arms once more to stare out to sea.

  ‘An owl,’ West said, pressing against her, feeling her warmth against his belly. ‘I hope you never have me completely sussed, Kelly,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘I hope I will always surprise you.’

  And before she knew what was happening, she was bent over the railing and he was inside her again, but this time gently and as he moved achingly slow, he caressed her breasts under the shawl, pinching her nipples gently. Oh God, she thought, feeling a heat spread upward, and she let go, and flew with it, and her call was answered by the owl who screeched again.

  13

  West woke early as he always did, turning on his side to watch the sleeping woman beside him, a satisfied smile on his face.

  They’d left the curtains open and light flooded the room. He shuffled to a sitting position, bunching the pillows behind his head and stared out the window. Now he understood the room’s name, the view over Achill Island was breathtaking. In the quiet of the morning, he enjoyed both the sight before him and the one beside him, and for the first time, in a long, long time, he felt like a man who had everything.

  Hubris, he thought shaking his head and pushing back the duvet. Standing he moved to the window. From there he could see down to the sea, across to Achill and over to the mainland. It was simply stunning. What a find this place was, it couldn’t have been more perfect if he’d designed it himself.

  Kelly still slept so he headed to the bathroom, stood a long time under the powerful jets of the shower, switching it to cold for the last minute and getting out feeling energised. Wrapping a towel around his midriff, he opened the door quietly to see Kelly standing at the window, the bed-sheet draped around her, looking he thought, like a Roman goddess.

  She turned to smile at him. ‘Some view, isn’t it?’

  ‘It sure is,’ West said, not taking his eyes from her, watching as she blushed and put a hand up to fix her tousled hair. He moved to her side and ran his hand over it, smoothing down tendrils that curled gorgon-like from her head and then bent to kiss her gently. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I’m starving, so if you’re going to have a shower, you’d better be quick.’

  Kelly swept the sheet up in regal fashion. ‘If some people, who shall remain nameless, hadn’t taken forever in the shower, I wouldn’t have to hurry,’ she said, and with a grin she grabbed clothes she had laid out and vanished into the bathroom.

  Breakfast was served at the refectory table in the kitchen by a pleasantly chatty Daisy. It was delicious, both of them choosing the Achill smoke salmon and artisan cheeses. With home-made bread and exceptionally good coffee, they were set up for the day. As they ate, they flicked through the information folder Daisy gave them.

  ‘I’d like to see Grainne O’Malley’s castle,’ Kelly decided. ‘Apart from that I don’t mind what we do.’

  West, taking the folder, looked at some of the walking trails. ‘This walk,’ he said, tapping the page, ‘goes right past it. It’s the Fawnglass Loop, only three kilometres long. It says it can take from an hour to an hour and a half. What do you think?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Kelly said, finishing the last of her coffee.

  ‘Whenever you’re ready,’ Daisy, said, taking their plates away, ‘Tadgh can drop you wherever you wish to go. When you’re ready to return, just ring. Oh, and dress warmly. It’s sunny but there’s a distinct nip in the air today.’

  They’d come equipped, walking shoes and jackets and they were soon ready for the drive back to The Quay from where they’d start their walk.

  ‘Just give me a ring when you want to come back,’ Tadgh told them. He eyed their jackets. ‘You sure you’ll be warm enough. Those jackets might be ok for Dublin but the wind here can be biting.’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ West said with a questioning glance at Kelly who nodded. ‘If it gets too cold, we’ll adjourn to the pub to warm up.’

  Tadgh grinned. ‘Sounds like a plan.’ And with a wave he left them.

  The morning ferry had left, and the harbour was quiet. They walked to the end of the pier, admired the view and returned. There was no need to linger, the whitewashed cottages were of little architectural interest, and the one pub, even if they had fancied a drink this early, was shut.

  The castle, or to be more accurate, the tower, was only a short walk and they headed off, hand in hand. It didn’t take long to explore the sixteenth-century, three-storied structure, the wooden floors and stairs to the first floor being long gone. ‘She was supposed to have sailed to confront Queen Elizabeth,’ Kelly told West, ‘demanding that her sons and brother be released. She was quite a woman. Perhaps we could go to the Abbey tomorrow,’ she suggested as they took a final look around. ‘She’s supposed to be buried there.’

  Leaving the tower behind they set off to follow the Fawnglass Loop, West armed with a map Daisy had loaned them. ‘We follow the road for a kilometre and then turn right down the second bohereen we pass,’ he said, folding the map and taking a look around.

  The bohereen took them uphill, a strenuous enough walk that had Kelly puffing slightly and West grinning as he strode out. Now and then, they stopped to admire the view and watch the birds that flew high above, trying, with little success, to identify them. ‘That’s definitely a kestrel,’ West said pointing, ‘see the way it looks as though it’s barely moving? He’s got his eye on something.’ He laughed as they walked on. ‘It’s about the only bird I can name apart from the common-or-garden variety.’

  ‘There’s supposed to be peregrine falcons on the north coast of the island,’ Kelly said, ‘we might see some from the guest-house.’

  The map was easy to follow, as were the directions attached, and they switched from bohereen to green-roadway to bohereen, finally ending at a surfaced roadway that ran alongside a small beach. Just over an hour later, they found themselves back at The Quay. The pub was still shut, and West wondered what time it opened. He quite fancied a Guinness and, although they’d been warm enough when they were walking, he realised it was becoming quite cold. Perhaps Tadgh ha
d been right about their jackets.

  Checking his watch, surprised to find it was only mid-day, he turned to ask Kelly if she fancied the walk up to the Abbey when something caught his eye. A small motorboat had pulled up alongside the pier, and a uniformed garda was clambering off.

  ‘D’you mind?’ he asked Kelly, nodding toward the garda. ‘I’m curious as to what it’s like working here.’

  ‘As long as you don’t get any ideas,’ she smiled back.

  Grinning at the idea, he left her and headed to meet the garda, raising a hand in greeting as he approached, getting a narrow-eyed curious glance in return. ‘Hi,’ he said, ‘my name is West, Mike West. I’m a detective sergeant, from Foxrock, Dublin. I just thought I’d say hello.’

  The uniformed garda waited a beat before extending his hand. ‘The Bareton Industries drug case a few months ago, I read all about it,’ he said, catching West by surprise. The officer grinned. ‘I have a lot of time on my hands, read all the reports that come in. The name’s Hall, Eamonn Hall. You here on a case?’

  West smiled at the note of hope in the younger man’s voice. ‘Just on holiday,’ he replied and then nodded to where Kelly still stood outside the pub, ‘me and my girlfriend. We were hoping to have a pint but the pub’s still shut.’

  Garda Hall checked his watch. ‘It’s usually open around twelve. They tend not to clock-watch in these parts. It’ll be open in a while, I’d guess. Especially,’ he smiled, ‘if they see customers lining up.’

  ‘Where are you based,’ West asked, curious as to how far this garda had to travel in the course of a day.

  ‘Westport,’ Hall replied, ‘but the outlying islands are my beat. Achill has its own resident garda but places like Clare Island, Inisbofin, Inisturk and Caher Island don’t, so we get around them on a regular basis or as needed.’

  ‘I thought Caher Island was uninhabited,’ West commented, settling back against the pier wall, curious to learn more.

  Hall smiled ruefully. ‘It is, but it’s surprising the amount of crimes that can occur.’ He too settled back against the pier, happy to shoot the breeze with another member of the force. ‘We get the odd criminal thinking to store stolen merchandise there,’ he explained. ‘And last year a gang from Galway left a guy on the island. It seems he owned money to the wrong people. Luckily, as I said, we call there at least once a week, so he was hungry and thirsty but still alive when we found him.’

  ‘They knew you were going to call?’ West surmised.

  Garda Hall shrugged. ‘They may have, they may not. He wouldn’t tell us who was involved but it’s not illegal to be there, just stupid, so we released him. He was reported missing by his family several weeks later. This time he wasn’t found. We questioned the Galway gang but they denied knowing anything about it.’

  ‘Sounds like you have your share of drama here, then,’ West said.

  ‘Not as much as you have in Dublin. Tell me the inside story about Bareton Industries.’

  Conscious of Kelly still waiting, and noticing that the pub had opened, West suggested that Hall join them for coffee.

  He nodded. ‘It’s not often I get to exchange work tales,’ he said. ‘You sure your lady-friend won’t mind?’

  ‘Kelly was involved in the Bareton Industries case,’ West explained. ‘I’ll let her tell her side of the story.’

  An hour later, they were still talking about it and other cases, swopping stories and experiences. Garda Hall seemed happy to sit and chat but then the pub door opened and a young, obviously distressed man rushed in. ‘I need to use the phone,’ he said to the bar-man. ‘There’s been an accident.’

  ‘Looks like my cue,’ Garda Hall said and stood. ‘It was a great pleasure to meet you both. Thank you for the coffee, and enjoy the rest of your stay here.’

  West watched him join the man at the bar, listened for a few seconds to furious mutterings without hearing what was being said, the urgency of hushed tones receding as they both left the pub. He turned back to Kelly who was watching him with a smile. ‘You didn’t mind him joining us, did you?’ he asked her.

  She shook her head. ‘No, it was fun, actually. He seems like a nice guy. It must be a lonely enough job.’

  ‘Yes,’ West agreed. ‘I don’t think I’d like his life. Now,’ he continued, ‘that fresh air has made me hungry. Would you like something to eat?’

  The pub did sandwiches; but it also did seafood chowder which both West and Kelly ordered. It came in a huge bowl with thick-cut brown bread on the side.

  ‘This smells lovely,’ Kelly said, dipping her spoon into the creamy mixture and stirring it, ‘there’s loads of fish in it too,’ she added before taking a spoonful and nodding appreciatively.

  A pint of Guinness washed down West’s chowder, while Kelly was persuaded to have a glass of white wine with hers. The landlord lit the fire and the warmth of it, the good food and the small amount of alcohol had them comfortably drowsy.

  ‘We’ll never be able to eat dinner tonight,’ Kelly said, putting down her spoon and relaxing back in her chair to finish the wine.

  West, draining his pint and putting the foam stained glass down with a grunt of pleasure, disagreed. ‘We’re going to walk to the Abbey,’ he said, ‘and anyway, it’s only two thirty, it’s a long time till dinner.’

  The walk to the Abbey wasn’t as far as they thought, and less than half an hour later they were looking at the supposed burial place of the pirate queen. The canopied tomb wasn’t particularly impressive and bore no inscription.

  ‘Why can’t they open it and find out if it’s her or not?’ Kelly asked.

  West shrugged. ‘Who would they compare DNA against supposing there is any to be found? There’re no living descendants that I know of.’

  The walk back was leisurely, the view across to the mainland in the setting sun, stunning. They arrived back to The Quay, tired and content, and ready to return to the hotel. West took out his mobile and rang the guesthouse to be picked up.

  As they waited by the pier wall, a car came round the corner and parked outside the pub. Garda Hall stepped out and, even from where they stood, West could see the frown between the man’s eyes, the grim set of his mouth.

  He knew that look well; it was one he wore often enough when things had just taken a turn for the worse. ‘No doubt he’s calling for assistance,’ he murmured to himself, relieved to see the car from the guesthouse arriving.

  Kelly glanced at him worriedly. ‘You don’t need to help, do you?’

  West shook his head. ‘No,’ he said firmly, ‘if he can’t handle whatever has happened, there’ll be someone in Westport he can call. I’m under no obligation to assist.’

  Less than an hour later, however, he was persuaded otherwise.

  14

  Back in the guesthouse, West and Kelly planned to have a walk along the cliff-top but peering into the lounge they saw the blazing fire and comfortable seats and changed their minds. A smiling Daisy offered coffee which they accepted, leaving their coats on the coat stand in the hallway.

  They chatted, the conversation drifting into a comfortable, easy silence broken only by the crackle of the fire. And then West’s phone trilled. He frowned when he looked at it, recognising the number instantly. It was the station.

  Why had he put the damn phone in his shirt pocket? He didn’t have to answer it. Dammit, he was on holiday. He caught Kelly’s quizzical look.

  ‘Work,’ he explained.

  Kelly grimaced and then repeated just what he had thought. ‘Do you have to answer it? They know you’re on holiday.’

  West knew Andrews wouldn’t ring him for something trivial. With a grunt of exasperation, he answered, expecting to hear his voice. He was taken aback to hear Inspector Morrison’s rather clipped tone instead.

  ‘I know you’re officially on holiday, Sergeant West, but I’ve had a call from Inspector Duignan in Galway. It appears there’s a problem on Clare Island, one of the residents has been killed in what looks like a tragi
c accident. The local garda rang for assistance but unfortunately his immediate superior fell last night and broke his leg.’

  West gritted his teeth. Indicating silently that he was taking the call outside, he left the lounge and headed out into the front garden. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘the signal wasn’t great where I was. Now, you were saying?’

  Inspector Morrison continued. ‘The call for assistance went to Inspector Duignan in Galway. Inspector Duignan is an old friend of mine, Sergeant West.’ There was a pause as Morrison let that piece of information sink in, and then he continued, ‘During the conversation, Garda Hall mentioned he was with a detective from Dublin when he was called to the scene of the accident. He mentioned your name, of course, and Inspector Duignan thought it was very auspicious that an experienced detective was already on the scene. The accident involves the husband of Sylvia B. You may have heard of her,’ he waited a moment but West said nothing.

  Morrison cleared his throat and continued. ‘Sylvia B is a very eminent artist, Sergeant. One with friends in high places. Very high places,’ he repeated with exaggerated emphasis. ‘As you are perfectly placed to assist in this investigation, we’re asking if you would agree to do so, on a formal basis, you understand. If you agree, you will be temporarily seconded to the Westport division. I understand,’ he said, ‘you are there on holiday but I don’t envisage it will take up much of your time.’

  West held his hand over the phone and swore loudly. He wasn’t fooled; although offered as such, it wasn’t a matter of choice. ‘I’d be delighted to assist Garda Hall, Inspector,’ he managed to say calmly, the irritation only visible in his face, in the frown that appeared between his eyes, the tightening of his lips. ‘He struck me as being a very intelligent officer. Hopefully the case will be as cut and dry as you predict.’

  Putting his phone away, he stood a moment looking out across the sea. He bit his lip at the unfairness of it, an unaccustomed bout of self-pity that he shook off before returning to the room where Kelly still sat, her hands wrapped around her cup, her hair slightly dishevelled.