Murder on Clare Island: A Garda West Novel (A Garda West Crime Novel Book 3)

by Valerie Keogh

  ‘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.’

  ‘But he still would have needed someone to run it, wouldn’t he?’ Kelly asked.

  Daisy nodded. ‘It isn’t as easy as people think. It’s a tough job. I wouldn’t do anything else but then, we’re lucky. This place is something special.’

  West caught Kelly’s eye. It was indeed special.

  ‘Not quite the romantic break you’d hoped for though, is it?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘Not quite,’ West agreed with a smile.

  Daisy smiled, finished her whiskey, and stood. ‘If you want to go back up to the viewing platform at any time, by the way, help yourself. We don’t have anyone booked to use it until Friday. I’ll leave the key on the hall table.’

  Was there a knowing look in her eye? Kelly hoped the sudden flush of colour that swept up her neck and cheeks would be put down to the whiskey. From the corner of her eye, she watched West nurse his whiskey, lost in thought. She hoped his mind wasn’t on the viewing platform and the hope of a repeat performance. She really didn’t think that would work again, not with the thought of barking seals and screeching owls in her head.

  Had she but known it, she would have been annoyed rather than pleased. West’s mind wasn’t on the prospect of another amorous adventure. In fact it wasn’t on Kelly at all. Instead, he was filing away the information Daisy had contributed, trying to see where it fit, or if it did. Why was Tilsdale being so secretive? He’d have to find out. Nasty things often hid behind secrets.

  Sylvia had moved to Toormore for the isolation. Against all odds, Breathnach had obtained permission to build the house, no doubt using Sylvia’s fame and her connections to put pressure on the planning authority but he’d never have got permission to build a hotel. West doubted Sylvia knew of Breathnach’s plans, but with twelve en-suite bedrooms, he guessed they’d been there from the beginning. All he needed to do was wait a couple of years, and apply for consent to convert into a hotel. West had qualified as a lawyer before joining the gardai; he knew the law, all Breathnach had to do was cite precedence – they’d converted the old lighthouse into a hotel, hadn’t they? And that would have been that.

  He’d deceived Sylvia? West wondered if he’d deceived her in other ways.

  He lifted his preoccupied face and met Kelly’s questioning look. ‘I think we’ll head back to Toormore House in the morning,’ he said, blinking in surprise when Kelly started to giggle, the giggle growing into infectious laughter that snared him, had him laughing along without any reason.

  20

  Next morning West asked for a lift to Toormore House. ‘Tadgh will take you whenever you’re ready,’ Daisy said with her usual smile.

  ‘After breakfast will be fine,’ he replied.

  She nodded and turned away, turning back as a thought crossed her mind. ‘The weather’s going to turn very cold today, would you like to borrow some warmer jackets? We have plenty to spare.’

  ‘I’m ok,’ West said. ‘We’re not going to be outside much today.’ He smiled at Kelly, ‘What about you?’

  ‘I think I’ll be fine,’ she said with a grateful smile.

  Daisy shrugged. ‘Well, if you need them later in the week, just ask.’

  After breakfast, they headed out to the waiting car. Tadgh nodded a greeting, and took off as soon as the doors were shut, rattling down the road at a speed that had Kelly closing her eyes. ‘I used to come out here before it was built,’ he said, taking the turn for Toormore House without slowing down.

  Kelly gulped and even West, who’d been in some hair-raising car chases in his day, gripped the sides of his seat.

  Tadgh, oblivious to their reactions carried on talking. ‘I’d take a tent and set it up on the leeward side of the ruins. Tourists rarely went that far so it was a great place to be alone. At night,’ he said, ‘it was amazing. There were only the millions of stars to give light and the crash of the waves for music.’

  Kelly risked leaning forward from the back seat. ‘It sounds magical.’

  Tadgh nodded. ‘It was. Very special.’ He sighed. ‘I went to university in Belfast, and then did a diploma in tourism in Dublin. Altogether, I was away for almost five years, only getting home for the odd weekend. When I came back permanently, the house had been built. You can still set up a tent among the ruins, of course, but the house lies between the ruins and the cliff-top, spoiling the view.’ Shaking his head, and swerving to avoid a rabbit that sat heedlessly in the middle of the road, he added, ‘They should never have got planning permission, of course. But that’s money for you.’

  When they reached the house, the gates were shut. Tadgh tooted but there was no answer so with a grunt of exasperation, he climbed out and went to find someone to open them.

  ‘Money or Sylvia B’s contacts?’ Kelly asked.

  West turned to look at her. Raising an eyebrow, he said, ‘So cynical,’ before turning back to look at the house. It had been well-designed, and was an attractive house but even low-lying as it was, it was an interloper in this place where in the distance, the early morning sun glinted on the remnants of stone walls still wet from the previous day’s rain. ‘I’d guess it was money to the right people, so a bit of both,’ he said as Tadgh approached from the other side of the gate waving a key.

  Moments later, he climbed into the driver’s seat, handed West the key and drove the short distance to the front of the house. ‘Just give the key to Edel, please,’ he said, ‘Jim said to leave the gate open. You want me to pick you up later?’

  ‘We should be ok, thanks,’ West replied. ‘We’re expecting Garda Hall to join us eventually. I’ve left a message with Daisy telling him where we are.’ Agreeing to contact him should the need arise, they got out and headed to the front door. They waited until the car moved away and silence was restored before ringing the doorbell.

  It was opened a moment later by the housekeeper, who stared at them with an assumed lack of recognition. ‘Yes?’ she said, and stood with her hand on the door as if any moment she was likely to shut it in their faces.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Higgins,’ West said, holding out the key.

  Edel Higgins looked at the proffered hand and sniffed. ‘That’s Jim’s department,’ she said.

  West smiled. ‘Well that’s all right, I wanted to have another word with him anyway.’

  The housekeeper’s mouth tightened.

  ‘But for the moment, I’d like to speak to Mrs Breathnach, please.’

  With obvious reluctance, Edel stepped back, taking the door with her like a shield she was afraid to relinquish.

  Deciding to forestall any further interaction with the less than hospitable housekeeper, West headed for the room they had occupied the day before. Kelly threw the woman a weak smile that was not returned before following him. ‘What is wrong with her?’ she said, quietly as they heard her footsteps fade away.

  ‘Some people just don’t like dealing with the gardai,’ West said with a shrug. ‘Sometimes, it’s because they’ve had a bad experience. Sometimes, it’s because they’re hiding something and we’re pretty good at finding out people’s secrets.’

  Kelly frowned. ‘I can think of something else.’

  West cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘She’s just a bad-tempered old bat.’

  West was still smiling when the door opened. Sylvia stood a moment in the doorway before moving forward, her multi-coloured silk dress floating around her as she walk
ed. ‘Good morning,’ she said, reaching to shake both their hands. ‘Please, sit down.’

  She waited until both sat before sitting herself, arms outstretched, looking just like a butterfly. Her dress definitely couldn’t be described as funeral attire, in fact, West decided, there wasn’t the slightest air of mourning about the woman.

  But people reacted differently to death. He knew that only too well, the memory of Brendan’s death never far from his mind. ‘We’re sorry to trouble you again, Mrs Breathnach,’ he said gently, deciding to give the woman the benefit of the doubt, ‘but, in a murder inquiry, I’m afraid, there are always more questions to answer.’

  Sylvia nodded her understanding, the gesture almost regal and imparting a decorum on her that defied the frivolousness of her dress. And then she grinned, and the effect was lost. ‘He’d have loved all the attention, you know. He always thought it was his due.’

  West decided the grin allowed him to proceed without caution. ‘Why did you marry him, Mrs Breathnach? If you don’t mind me saying so, you didn’t appear particularly suited.’

  The grin widened. ‘Well, you see, Sergeant West, that’s where you’re wrong. We were eminently suited. His money and my fame got along very well indeed.’

  ‘By all accounts, he was a difficult man,’ West said. ‘He can’t have been easy to live with.’

  Sylvia laughed. ‘He wasn’t but then, neither am I. Are you thinking I might have killed him? Perhaps,’ she admitted, ‘I would have, if I’d had to live with him all the time, but we rarely spent time together, you know. Ask anyone.’

  ‘You have fame, and your own money,’ Kelly asked, genuinely curious, ‘why did you need his?’

  Sylvia’s smiled faded. ‘There’s a line from a movie that suits. Fame costs. The more famous I became, the more I needed to spend to get away from my adoring fans. Even retiring to our home in Westport didn’t help; I just couldn’t get the privacy I needed. So this,’ she waved her arms dramatically, ‘was the answer. Have you any idea how expensive it was to get planning permission? Or to build a house when everything, and I mean every little thing, had to be brought in by sea?’

  ‘A lot,’ Kelly guessed, unable to even estimate how much money it would cost.

  ‘Millions,’ Sylvia admitted. ‘Way more than Eoin expected when he finally agreed to come here.’

  ‘It was your idea,’ West asked, surprised. Having learned of the man’s aspirations, he assumed the opposite was true.

  ‘We stayed in the Clare Island Lighthouse a few years ago,’ Sylvia explained. ‘Eoin stayed in front of the fire reading papers while I explored the island on foot, walking miles every day, searching for inspiration. I found it here, and painted my first sea-scape.’ She ran a hand over her close-cropped hair and smiled at the memory before shaking it away and continuing, ‘It was incredibly successful but I found more than inspiration here, I found the isolation I craved. I wanted to stay here.’ Her smile faded and her face became hard. ‘So I made it happen.’

  So I made it happen.

  Was she being stupid or arrogant, West wondered, thinking that perhaps he’d been wrong, that perhaps, she and Breathnach were very well suited indeed.

  ‘Was turning Toormore House into a hotel also your idea?’ he asked bluntly, watching her reaction closely.

  If he expected drama, he was disappointed. ‘There was no question of that happening,’ she said calmly.

  ‘Eoin was looking into the idea, though, were you aware of that?’ West persisted.

  She smiled. ‘He could look into it all he liked, but it was never going to happen.’

  ‘And were you aware he approached the manager of the Clare Island Lighthouse and asked her if she’d run it?’

  Sylvia shook her head.

  ‘Roger Tilsdale,’ West hammered in the final nail, ‘that’s what he does. He converts stately homes, and the like, into boutique hotels. But you still maintain you knew nothing about these plans?’

  ‘Sergeant West, believe me,’ Sylvia said firmly. ‘Eoin could plan until the cows came home, and often did, but there was no way he was ever going to turn Toormore House into a hotel.’

  ‘So you keep saying. But what was to stop him.’ West asked bluntly.

  She shook her head and shrugged.

  ‘Is the house in your name?’ Kelly asked.

  Sylvia regarded her for a few moments without answering. ‘As it happens, it’s not, but that doesn’t make any difference to what I said.’

  ‘So who owns Toormore House now?’

  Sylvia shrugged elegantly. ‘The will has yet to be read. You will remember, Eoin only died the day before yesterday.’

  Kelly saw something in the woman’s face, a certain knowledge. ‘But you know what it says, don’t you?’ she ventured.

  The silence stretched uncomfortably long. West, impressed by Kelly’s astute questions hoped she wouldn’t spoil it by jumping in with another. He needn’t have worried; Kelly sat tight, watching the play of emotions on the woman’s face.

  Finally, with a sigh that said she admitted defeat, she said, ‘He’s left his estate, apart from a few minor bequests, to me and Finbarr. This house, as you’ve guessed, will be mine.’

  ‘Does Finbarr know?’

  Sylvia shook her head. ‘Definitely not. He and Eoin didn’t get on, as you may have guessed so I doubt if he has any expectations.’

  West would have thought the same. The will was generous to the young man, and he wondered why.

  Sylvia obviously felt the situation needed explaining because she continued, ‘Eoin liked the idea of having a son, that’s why he adopted Finbarr. He wanted to have a son to carry on his name.’

  West would have liked to ask why they didn’t have children of their own but that was straying too far over the line marked invasive curiosity, so he didn’t.

  But Kelly’s curiosity pushed her to ask, ‘Did he never want children of his own?’

  Sylvia’s face hardened. For a moment, they didn’t think she was going to answer but then, through tight lips, she said, ‘Finbarr’s was a difficult birth. There were complications. The doctors told me they had no choice, they had to do a hysterectomy.’

  There was nothing to be said. Kelly, embarrassed at having asked, wanted to say she was sorry but knew the words would be meaningless and unwelcome. So nobody said anything for several minutes. Kelly’s gaze flicked to West’s face. How could he bear it, she wondered, the constant intrusion into other people’s private lives. Then she remembered, he hadn’t asked the embarrassing question, she had, and she cringed with mortification. What must he think of her?

  Sylvia stood. ‘If that’s all the questions you have, I’d like to get back to my studio. Perhaps you’ll see yourselves out.’

  ‘We’d like to speak to Finbarr again,’ West said quickly.

  Sylvia turned, a sudden anxious look on her face. ‘He doesn’t know about me, about the hysterectomy, I mean,’ she said.

  ‘That’s not something we need to discuss. Ever,’ West said firmly.

  Sylvia stood a moment, her eyes fixed on his and, as if what she saw reassured her, she nodded, and opened the door. ‘I’ll have Edel send him to you,’ she said without turning around.

  21

  They waited about fifteen minutes before the door opened again. Whether the delay was caused by Edel’s inability to find Finbarr, or her reluctance to help, West wasn’t sure. Her attitude was beginning to irritate. He wondered what she hoped to gain by it.

  Putting the housekeeper’s attitude aside for the moment, he took a hard look at the young man who slouched in the door. It was hard to believe he and Garda Hall were the same age; Hall showed maturity, a level of authority, whereas Finbarr Breathnach was the epitome of the spoilt, wastrel that he possibly was.

  Possibly. West tried to put aside any preconceptions, an open mind was a better sponge than a closed one.

  Finbarr dropped into the same seat his mother had vacated not long before. Long legs, clad in ti
ghtly fitting black jeans stretched out before him, a black shirt hung loosely each side of his too-thin frame. His lips, girlishly red, were stretched in an unamused grin as he looked first at West and then, appreciatively, at Kelly. ‘What’ve you done with my pal, Eamonn, then?’ he said.

  ‘Garda Hall is following up some leads; he’ll be joining us later. We’ve a few questions we’d like to ask you.’

  Finbarr yawned. ‘Ok, fire ahead. I’ll try to be entertaining with my answers.’

  ‘Why did you take Breathnach’s name when he and your mother married?’

  If Finbarr was surprised by the question, he hid it well. Yawning again, he waved a hand in apology before answering. ‘Sylvia insisted,’ he said.

  Sylvia, not Eoin. She’d lied.

  ‘Do you know who your biological father is?’

  Finbarr held the smile in place but his eyes grew hard. ‘I assume you have your reasons for delving into such things, it might be interesting to know what they are.’ He waited a moment, and then when West remained silent, he sighed heavily. ‘It was some boy. I don’t think his name was ever mentioned. Certainly, she never told me. Perhaps, if I didn’t look so much like her, I might have been curious but as it stands, I’m almost a clone of her, aren’t I?’

  It was pretty much what West, and Kelly, had thought when they saw them both together. Whoever had sired Finbarr had left little to show for it.

  West nodded in acknowledgement of the man’s comment before moving on. ‘Were you aware of Eoin’s plans for converting Toormore House into a hotel?’

  ‘Yes,’ Finbarr said to his surprise.

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘My father rarely did anything without an ulterior motive,’ he said, echoing what Jim Higgins had already told them. ‘When he invited the Tilsdales here I knew there was something going on so...and you’ll be impressed with this,’ he added, with a glint in his eye, ‘I did some investigative work.’