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

by Valerie Keogh

  ‘We don’t have anything yet,’ West said. ‘Fiona Wilson, the scenes of crimes officer was here yesterday, she took a lot of samples. Until we get something back from her, we have nothing.’

  ‘That’s not quite true,’ Seamus said mysteriously and then left a dramatic pause. ‘While I was talking to Bob, I mentioned some of the other characters I was looking into. One name got his attention. Julius Blacque.’

  ‘Julius Blacque,’ West repeated, surprised.

  ‘You know how it goes,’ Seamus said, ‘a couple of punters were caught under the influence and were offered a deal if they coughed up the name of their supplier. His name, or rather the name of his gallery, had been given a number of times but when the drug squad investigated they found nothing. Blacque told them he couldn’t be responsible for the people who’ve attended his gallery showings.’

  ‘Well he can’t really, it doesn’t sound very substantial, Seamus.’ Andrews said, unimpressed.

  A chuckle came down the line, reverberating off the wooden table. ‘Ah, but then you don’t know the rest. I had a look into Blacque’s finances. His gallery is successful but he is broke. Very broke. I called to his gallery last night and spoke to the assistant there. She doesn’t like him much. It seems the very debonair Julius has a big cocaine problem, and that’s where all his money goes. She also said there’d been some very shifty people calling on him, every month or so, for the last year.’

  ‘Ok, West said, ‘that’s certainly something to think about.’ He cut the connection and pocketed the mobile, frowning. ‘Well, thoughts on that?’

  ‘Maybe not Finbarr then,’ Hall said slowly.

  ‘Maybe not, but if we’re going on the assumption that the drug smuggler and the murderer are one and the same, what’s his motive for killing Breathnach?’

  ‘He impacted on Sylvia’s productivity. Less paintings, less money,’ Jarvis suggested.

  ‘I don’t think that’s it,’ Kelly said, shaking her head. ‘She has several finished paintings in her studio, and was very cagey about whether she was giving them to him to sell for her.’

  ‘Maybe she’s heard about his drug problems. You said she was trying to be protective of Finbarr, perhaps Blacque supplied him with drugs, she found out and wasn’t happy?’ Andrews said.

  ‘Maybe Breathnach found out and he threatened to tell the gardai?’ Jarvis suggested. ‘Losing his main client would be bad enough, maybe losing her and being arrested for drug trafficking would’ve been the last straw.’

  There was silence for a moment as they all considered this option.

  West groaned. ‘It’s all supposition. A collection of what, if’s and maybes. We need that magic ingredient, cold hard proof. Or at least a solid confession. So let’s go and see what our Mr Blacque has to say for himself, eh?’

  On the way, as Garda Hall drove, West told him about Sylvia’s past. ‘You’d never heard any rumours?’ he asked him.

  Hall shook his head. ‘There was some speculation about who Finbarr’s father was, but she never said and eventually the guessing stopped.’ He frowned. ‘It happened before Easter, you said?’

  Kelly leaning forward, answered. ‘She said she was day-dreaming about the upcoming Easter parties. I checked. Easter that year was early. March.’

  West glanced at the younger garda. ‘Does that mean something?’

  ‘No, it’s just good to have a time-frame, don’t you think?’ When West nodded, he continued with a smile, ‘Finbarr looks so like her that the last gossip I heard said he’d probably been cloned.’

  They were in luck; the gates to Toormore House were open. They drove up and parked outside the front door and moved quickly to its shelter. Hall hadn’t exaggerated; the weather had turned bitter. Their knock was answered within a few seconds. Edel, raised her eyes when she saw who it was, but refrained from uttering any sarcastic remarks and stood back to allow them in.

  ‘We’d like a word with Mr Blacque,’ West said without elaborating.

  With a shrug that said it was no concern of hers, she opened the door to the lounge they’d used before, and left.

  It was fifteen minutes before the door opened and Julius Blacque appeared. He was dressed in clothes more fitting to his gallery than a weekend in a country house. The dark suit was obviously expensive, the crisp, white shirt double-cuffed, and sporting square emerald cuff-links that nobody for a moment thought were fake. Adding flamboyancy to ostentation, he wore a wildly patterned tie in vivid shades of green. A spiv, West thought, the vulgar term springing into his mind, forcing him to look away for a second.

  Julius Blacque nodded all round, took a sip from the glass he was holding, and sat. He put the glass on the small table beside the chair and dropped his hands in his lap, all evidence that he was relaxed and totally in control. ‘You wished to see me, I believe,’ he said.’ And if he hadn’t managed to convey sufficient boredom by tone of voice, a yawn, barely stifled, was added for effect.

  West wasn’t fooled. It was a good act, but Blacque’s eyes were too sharp and his hands had gone, involuntarily, from relaxed and open to white-knuckle gripped. ‘We had an officer taking samples from the area in and around the passageway yesterday, Mr Blacque,’ he said, and saw the man’s lips tighten. ‘We’ve had some preliminary results.’

  Only Kelly blinked at this blatant lie. A quick glance at the others told her it was as big an act as the one Blacque was attempting. Bigger. It was succeeding. Before her eyes, she saw Blacque change, the posturing replaced with a hunted look.

  He gave a reptilian lick to his lower lip, and then grunted a half-laugh. ‘And?’ he said, attempting carelessness.

  ‘I think you know what we’ve found, Mr Blacque. It was easy to get a match, you know. One of my team visited your gallery. You have a nice set-up there, and your assistant was most helpful.’

  Blacque’s lower lip trembled. ‘It got out of hand,’ he said. ‘All I wanted to do was clear some of my debts.’

  West stopped him with a raised hand. ‘I think before we go any further, we should read you your rights. Garda Hall, as this is your area, will you do the honours?’

  They all sat quietly as Hall read the dissolving Blacque his rights. His pomposity deflated, he was a stringless-puppet, looking, now, foolish rather than flamboyant.

  Kelly’s quick sympathy in the face of the man’s demolition ended when she realised it had been Blacque who had locked them in the passageway, Blacque who had almost killed them. She hoped they’d lock him away for a long time.

  ‘So what now,’ Blacque asked.

  ‘You’ll be taken to Westport. You can contact your solicitor there and he’ll be able to advise you.’

  Blacque nodded and then started to speak. ‘In the world I mix in there’s always drugs of some sort or another, you know. I joined in to be one of the crowd; to make the contacts I needed. The art world is fickle, you can be agent-of-the-month one moment and then, like bell-bottomed trousers, you’re out of fashion. So I’d take the odd pill.’ He pursed his lips. ‘The odd pill,’ he repeated softly. ‘Of course you gentlemen will know better than most that it’s often the way with drugs. You think you can control it until suddenly it controls you.

  ‘Once I started on the cocaine, things went quickly downhill. My judgement was seriously affected.’ He sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face. ‘At a gallery showing early last year, I made the stupid mistake of offering Finbarr a couple of pills. Sylvia found out and threatened to report me. I begged her not to and she relented, but since then she’s given me none of her work to sell.’

  ‘That’s why you’re broke?’

  Blacque showed no surprise that they knew his financial position. He nodded. ‘That’s why I’m here. Well one of the reasons,’ he tried a weak smile that died a quick death.

  ‘So when did the dealing start?’ West asked.

  ‘Dealing,’ Blacque repeated as if he’d just become aware of how serious an accusation it was. He shook his head. ‘I was always generous
with my pills; at gallery openings, they’d be available, free of course, for friends and acquaintances. Pills are cheap, after all.’ He lifted a shaking hand to his face and rubbed his eyes. ‘But cocaine isn’t and by this stage, I needed it. My supplier was understanding when I told him cash-flow was a bit difficult, and he gave me some on tab.’

  West and Andrews exchanged a knowing glance. The story was an old one, they knew what was coming.

  Blacque caught the look and frowned. ‘Yes, I know,’ he said, ‘I was reeled in like a fish. Within a few weeks, I was in debt for thousands, and they had me. They knew of this place and my connection to Sylvia, of course. They wanted to drop drugs at the marina for me to pick up and take to the mainland when I returned home.’

  ‘But you had a better idea,’ Andrews suggested.

  Blacque shrugged. ‘Sylvia invited me to see her studio when she first moved here. One of the builders was still here, finishing off bits and pieces, I happened to get chatting to him and he mentioned a passageway he’d discovered when exploring. He reported it to his boss who’d already had run-ins with the Heritage people and archaeologists about building the house, and he didn’t want any more difficulties. He told him to put a hatch on it and forget about it.

  ‘It sounded fascinating, so I took a torch and went down to see for myself.’

  Several raised eyebrows greeted this remark. It was difficult to imagine the pristine, suited Blacque descending the passageway.

  Blacque appeared not to notice. ‘It was amazing, but I closed the hatch and forgot about it until a few months ago.’

  ‘When your friends wanted you to do some drug-running for them?’

  He nodded. ‘I brought the rope and pulley system over with me and took it down the first day. It would have all been fine except Breathnach died. With you lot swarming over the place I didn’t think it was the best time to be carrying drugs. I went back to The Quay the next day and contacted the supplier. Luckily, he agreed to defer the delivery until the situation was resolved.’

  West stared at him. ‘But then Kelly and I stumbled on the passageway and you were afraid your little game was up?’

  Blacque looked down, clenching his hands in his lap. ‘If I don’t do what they say, I’m finished. My bank is ready to foreclose on my loans and Sylvia has refused to allow me to continue as her agent. I had no choice.’

  ‘There’s always a choice, Mr Blacque,’ West said, ‘you just made the wrong one.’ There was silence for a moment and then, with a shake of his head, West asked, ‘Why did you kill Eoin Breathnach?’ It was the last piece of the jigsaw, once it was slotted into place, it would be over.

  Blacque reared back in surprise. ‘Now listen here,’ he said, raising his hand and jabbing his index finger in West’s direction. ‘I didn’t kill him. You’re not pinning that on me.’

  30

  ‘Do you believe him?’ Jarvis asked, when Blacque was gone.

  Hall, taking the man into custody, had gone with him to pack his bag. He and Jarvis would then bring him to the station in Westport where he would be charged with attempted murder. The attempted drug-running charge would be more difficult to make stick, West planned to hand that over to the drug-squad. Bob Phelan might be able to mount a sting of sorts. The drug-squad had their ways. He’d leave it to them as long as they didn’t attempt to negotiate away the attempted murder charge – that wasn’t an option.

  He looked at Jarvis who was patiently waiting for an answer. ‘Yes, I do. The drug running was an easy means to an end for him; he thought it would solve his money worries. A once-off and then everything would go back to normal. He’s a fool; they’d never have let him off the hook.’ He sighed. ‘But locking us in the passageway was a spur of the moment thing, Breathnach’s murder was planned. Personal. Nothing to do with money.’

  ‘So we’re no closer to solving the original crime than we were at the start?’ Kelly said, bemused.

  West smiled. ‘It does look like that, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Won’t you get into trouble for lying to Mr Blacque?’ she asked, curious.

  The three gardai smiled. ‘What lies did I tell?’ West asked.

  Puzzled, Kelly hesitated. What lies had he told? ‘You told him you’d found forensic evidence around the passageway, and matched it to evidence you’d taken from his gallery.’

  West smiled. ‘I told him we’d found forensic evidence, but I never claimed it was his. I told him his assistant had been very helpful, but I never said we’d taken any samples from there. He made the assumption. But,’ he said, ‘I’ll ask Sylvia if we can take that glass,’ he nodded to the glass Blacque had carried in with him, ‘we’ll get DNA from that.’

  Kelly grinned. ‘Gosh, you’re a sneaky lot.’

  West shook his head. ‘A career criminal wouldn’t have fallen for it but Blacque is just a foolish man, a victim of his own stupidity.’

  They arranged that Jarvis would accompany Hall and Blacque to the station in Westport, dropping Andrews, who wanted to make a few phone calls at The Quay on the way.

  ‘How’re you going to get back?’ Andrews asked, standing.

  ‘It’s stopped raining, we’ll walk,’ West said.

  ‘Well, don’t go down any more rabbit holes,’ he said with a smile and left.

  Kelly was still sitting silently. West moved and sat beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders. ‘You doing ok?’ he asked, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

  ‘He didn’t even say he was sorry,’ she said. She turned to look up at West. ‘He wanted to get his life back on track so much that he was willing to end both of ours. What kind of a man is he?’

  West, who had met many of the same sort, just shook his head. ‘The self-obsessed selfish sort. But he’ll be locked away and will lose everything he cares about, the gallery, his self-esteem, his reputation. Everything.’

  Kelly thought of Blacque in prison. He’d be less flamboyant there, she guessed. ‘Let’s go,’ she said standing. ‘Would you mind if we walked to the passageway. I’d like to see it,’ she smiled, ‘call it closure, if you must.’

  West laughed. ‘We can call it whatever you like. Let’s get out of here anyway.’

  The day had brightened. It was cold but they’d borrowed warmer coats from the guesthouse. They strode out briskly following the garden wall until they found an exit to the surrounding land. The passageway entrance was a mere ten minutes walk away and they covered the distance in silence.

  The hatch had been closed, a padlock ensuring it stayed that way. ‘Hall had a local carpenter put it on,’ West said. ‘It won’t be used for drug smuggling now.’

  Kelly shivered and turned away. ‘Closed,’ she said with a smile and then, hand in hand, they took the path back to the road. They’d just joined it when they saw Finbarr Breathnach coming from the house. He was the last person either wanted to see, but it would have been churlish, if not impossible, to have ignored him.

  ‘Well, well,’ he greeted them with a huge smile, ‘I heard the scandal. Imagine, the great Julius Blacque arrested for attempted murder. How the would-be-mighty have fallen.’

  ‘You didn’t like him,’ West guessed, falling into step beside him.

  ‘Lord, no,’ Finbarr said. ‘I’m not sure anyone did, really. Sylvia tried; he’d helped her enormously when she was just starting. She would have stayed with him too, if he hadn’t...’ He broke off and shrugged.

  ‘Tried to give you drugs,’ West finished for him.

  Finbarr grunted. ‘Is there nothing you don’t know?’

  West looked at him. ‘We still don’t know who killed Eoin. But we won’t stop trying, you know.’

  ‘So I should hope,’ Finbarr said, and then waved a hand down a track. ‘This is where we part company, I’m afraid.’

  West peered down the track but it curved out of sight. ‘What’s down there then?’ he asked, unable to resist.

  Finbarr laughed out loud. ‘Are you trying to prove there are some things you don’t know? T
his is the way to our marina.’ He looked at the garda, with a puzzled expression. ‘Seriously, you didn’t know?’

  West shook his head.

  Finbarr shrugged. ‘It’s just five minute’s walk. We call it a marina but it’s just a jetty where we can tie our boat up. The maximum it can berth is two, and the steps down to it are very steep.’ With that, he gave a casual wave and headed down the track, vanishing round the bend as West and Kelly stood and watched.

  ‘I wondered what Julius meant when he said marina,’ Kelly said, ‘I thought he meant The Quay.’

  West nodded. So had he. He frowned. There was something...he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He shrugged. It would come to him eventually.

  They continued on the road to The Quay, arm in arm, chatting about nothing in particular. The Grand Canyon came into the conversation again. ‘Let’s look in to going next year,’ West said, giving her arm a squeeze. ‘At least there, I won’t get involved in a police investigation.’

  They met Andrews in the Pub, a pint in one hand, mobile in the other. A fire crackling in the grate, drew the new arrivals, both of them holding out their hands moved zombie-like toward it. ‘I’ll get you a drink,’ West said, ‘what would you like?’

  Kelly shivered. ‘I think an Irish coffee would go down a treat,’ she said.

  ‘Good idea,’ West said. He ordered one for each of them and another pint for Andrews and carried the lot over to the table while Kelly stood warming herself by the fire.

  Andrews hung up and frowned. Seeing the fresh pint, he nodded his thanks and finished the first, pushing the foam-stained glass away and picking up the new one. ‘You’re not going to like what I’ve got to tell you,’ he said.

  West groaned. ‘Get it over with,’ he advised Andrews, ‘then I can enjoy my Irish coffee in peace.’

  Andrews took a deep breath. ‘That was the forensic lab. The stake we sent; the possible murder weapon?’