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

by Valerie Keogh

West nodded wishing the other man would just spit it out.

  ‘It was contaminated. They can’t process it at all.’

  West closed his eyes and let out a long hissing breath. ‘I saw Hall put the damn thing into a proper evidence bag. He sealed it. What the hell went wrong?’

  ‘According to the laboratory admin who checked in the evidence, the bag was torn. It was with a number of other evidence bags which were intact so the stake could have been contaminated by particles from the outside of them. They’ve had to register it contaminated and therefore will not be processing it as any evidence could be disputed.’ Andrews took a long drink from his pint. ‘That’s what they said, anyway.’

  Kelly joined them, sat and picked up her coffee with a smile of thanks. ‘You don’t look too happy, what’s Peter been saying to you?’

  He told her.

  Kelly, her top lip white with cream from her coffee, shrugged. ‘You have no idea who killed him anyway, so there’s nobody to compare evidence with, is there?’

  West and Andrews both raised eyes to heaven. ‘Firstly,’ West explained, ‘it doesn’t look good when we mess up crucial evidence. Secondly, we may have no idea, just yet, but we will. Maybe not today, or even this year. The important thing about DNA evidence is it can be compared years from now. Not being able to prove the stake was the murder weapon is a big blow.’

  Kelly wisely kept an answering remark to herself and concentrated on enjoying her coffee. The fire had warmed her; the whiskey was finishing the job. As the alcohol hit her, she relaxed and let her mind wander, ignoring the two gardai who were talking shop. She was going back over what Sylvia had told her; she’d certainly view her work in a different light from now on, looking for the darkness in them. Then she thought of the painting with the lighthouse. Sometimes she’d managed to hide what had happened to her. Kelly remembered something else she’d told her. A lull in the conversation between the two men seemed the perfect place to pop it. ‘Sylvia said something else to me,’ she said, ‘she said that she and Breathnach never slept together, that he considered her way too old for his taste. She was only thirteen when she was raped. So he had a thing for young girls. Maybe she wasn’t the only one?’

  Both men looked at her, and then at one another. Maybe she wasn’t? Now that Blacque was out of the picture, they had to look elsewhere for a motive. West ran a hand over his face tiredly. ‘It’s something we’ll have to look into.’

  Andrews picked up his phone again. ‘I’ll give Seamus a ring; see if he can correlate reported rapes of underage girls with dates Breathnach was known to be in their area. If we can get a list of names, we’ll see if any of them rings a bell. Of course, there will be those, like Sylvia that went unreported.’

  After telling Seamus what they wanted, Andrews’ face turned sombre as he listened to what the other man said.

  ‘Hang on a sec, Seamus, let me tell Mike.’ He held the phone in his hand, picked up his pint and drained it. ‘Seamus has a contact in the foreign office. It appears that for the last few years, Breathnach’s been unable to visit his hotel in Cambodia. He was thrown out, and asked not to return. He escaped prison by paying a very substantial bribe to the right person. His crime. Sex with underage girls.’

  ‘He’s a paedophile?’ Kelly said, shaking her head in disbelief. She shouldn’t be surprised after what Sylvia had said and wondered if she knew. If she did, and had done nothing about it, didn’t that make her an accessory of some sort?

  Andrews told Seamus to work on correlating reported rapes of underage girls with Breathnach’s presence in Ireland. It was a vague, probably thankless job but it had to be done.

  ‘So what,’ Kelly asked, looking puzzled, ‘you’re thinking that he raped another girl and she or a relative decided to get revenge? Why wait until now?’

  West ran a hand through his hair. He was sick of this case. Morrison would not be impressed. This was, after all their third attempt to find a motive for Breathnach’s murder. It was beginning to feel a lot like throwing a dart at a dartboard of motives and seeing which one stuck. And there was something niggling him, he just couldn’t for the life of him work out what it was.

  He had a quick word with Bob Phelan who was pleased they had Blacque in custody but agreed with West that bringing a case against him for importing drugs was probably a no-go.

  ‘All he has to say is that he would never have gone through with it,’ Phelan said, ‘and the judge would agree it was unlikely, even if we knew it wasn’t. On the plus side, they won’t risk using Clare Island for a while; your adventure down the rabbit hole has brought too much attention to it. Keep in touch,’ he said and hung up.

  The rabbit hole. It was the second time the passageway had been described as such. He guessed he’d hear it many a time more before something else happened to entertain people.

  There was nothing else to do so they decided to head back to the guesthouse. West gave Tadgh a ring. ‘He’ll be here in fifteen minutes,’ he said hanging up. ‘I’ll just give Morrison a ring while we’re waiting, get it over with.

  Inspector Morrison felt very much as West had predicted but, in light of West’s recent experience, felt unable to say much. ‘It seems a bit tenuous, Sergeant West,’ he said finally.

  ‘It’s just another line of enquiry, sir,’ West said, and then decided to be blunt, ‘it could, go absolutely nowhere. But we have to follow them; you know what it’s like.’

  Morrison did. ‘Keep me posted,’ he said and hung up.

  ‘Let’s wait outside,’ West said, pocketing his phone.

  Tadgh was earlier than expected and pulled up just as they stepped out. Just as well, Kelly decided, feeling the cold bite. Back in the guesthouse, she left West and Andrews sitting in front of the fire and headed to her room for a shower.

  In the lounge, the men sat and puzzled over where to go next. West’s mobile chirped. It was Jarvis, ringing to say Blacque had been processed. ‘It’s too late to get back now,’ he told them, ‘I’ll check into somewhere here in Westport for the night, and be back in the morning.’

  Hanging up, West grinned at Andrews. ‘I half expected Morrison to demand you both return.’

  Andrews yawned. ‘I think he’s pally with his Galway counterpart. It’s quiet back in Foxrock anyway, we’ll not be missed.’

  West said nothing. He knew Andrews was lying; it was never that quiet. But he appreciated his company and his assistance, the case was turning into a right bugger. ‘That building work in Westport must have lasted a few months,’ he said. ‘Maybe Sylvia wasn’t the only victim there.’

  ‘There may have been more, but if they haven’t been reported, there’s no hope of finding out who they were.’

  West took out his phone again. ‘Jarvis. Tomorrow, I want you to go to the local station, see if you can find any information on reported rapes, twenty-five years ago when Breathnach was in the area. We’re wondering if Sylvia wasn’t the only one. If there are no reports, see if you can speak to one of the older officers, see if there’s any gossip from that time. Ok?’

  Hanging up, he redialled Hall’s number. ‘Eamonn, everything went ok, I gather. We’ve had a bit of a hiccup with the stake we sent to forensics, the evidence bag was open, contaminated. Will you have a word with your colleagues there in Westport; tell them it was a mess. I don’t want to go in all heavy footed, but I can’t just let it slide.’

  ‘No problem,’ Hall said, ‘I’ll have a word with the garda who took it to Dublin, ask him for an explanation.’

  ‘Fine,’ West said, putting it out of his head. ‘I’ve asked Jarvis to do a bit of digging there, we’re wondering if Sylvia maybe wasn’t the only victim.’

  ‘I could have done that,’ Hall said, slightly affronted.

  ‘No, sometimes people are freer with strangers,’ West said firmly. ‘We’ll see you back here tomorrow, we want to go and speak to Sylvia again.’

  Both men finished their pints. ‘I’m going to have a quick shower before dinner,’ Wes
t said standing. ‘See you at seven?’

  He opened the bedroom door just as Kelly came from the bathroom wrapped in a robe, her hair in wet tangles around her shoulders. ‘I was hoping I would be in time to join you,’ he said, putting his hands around her waist and pulling her toward him for a kiss.

  ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t have had the pint then,’ Kelly said, tasting the beer on his lips and giving him a grin. ‘Too late now.’

  West pulled her tighter. ‘It’s never too late,’ he said, untying her robe and moving his warm hands over her damp breasts, squeezing gently. When she moaned, he pushed her onto the bed, pulling back only to strip quickly before joining her, moving the robe away to run his hands and mouth over her, making her moan even louder. ‘God, you are so beautiful,’ he whispered, and slowly entered her feeling her orgasm before losing himself in his own, collapsing on her.

  They lay for a few minutes in silence, neither of them moving. ‘Am I hurting you,’ West asked, levering himself up to look down on her.

  Reaching up, she kissed him. ‘No, but we’d better get moving. I don’t want to see a knowing smile on Peter’s face if we’re late.’

  Smiling West got up, pulling her to her feet. ‘You need another shower,’ he said taking her with him into the bathroom.

  A quick shower and she left him to it, returning to the bedroom to dry her hair and dress. Seven on the dot, they walked into the lounge where Andrews was chatting to two new arrivals. Seeing West and Kelly arrive, he made his excuses and came and joined them.

  ‘Journalists,’ he said softly.

  West gritted his teeth, and nodded. They’d been lucky so far but it was only a matter of time. ‘They know who we are, I assume,’ he said.

  Andrews smiled. ‘Oh, I think we can safely bet on that, Mike.’

  The dining room held one large table, the guests sitting together, forced conviviality that West normally enjoyed. Tonight, they’d have to guard their tongues. Introducing themselves, they sat in the dining room and the first few minutes were lost in a discussion of the six course meal they were about to enjoy. West and Kelly spoke of the meals they’d already had, using superlatives that had the two journalists, Max and Tony smiling.

  ‘If it’s half as good as you’re saying,’ Max said, ‘we’re in for a treat.’

  Conversation remained light while they all ordered and once the food arrived it settled into a series of appreciative moans and groans.

  ‘This Carrot, Orange and Ginger soup is so good,’ Kelly said.

  West tucking into Pea and Mint soup, merely smiled before taking another bite of fresh crusty bread.

  Both West and Kelly had Mussels in White wine and garlic to follow, then a mango sorbet and for their main course once again they both chose Mayo Lamb cutlets.

  Andrews chose the Monkfish. ‘Very nice,’ he pronounced, ‘very nice indeed.’ He cast an eye over Kelly’s plate. ‘What’s that creamy stuff?’

  ‘Creamy chickpea puree,’ Kelly said, ‘would you like to try some? It’s absolutely delicious.’

  Andrews shook his head. ‘Sounds too vegetarian for my liking.’

  The conversation centered on food and wine, the two journalists telling tales of restaurants, good and bad, they’d been to with their job. ‘We don’t normally get to stay anywhere as gorgeous as here.’ Tony said.

  ‘Nor do we,’ West said blandly. ‘We’re heading to the Grand Canyon next year, have either of you been there?’ It was a good question; both men had been and were quite happy to tell them of their experiences, suggesting routes, hotels and places to avoid.

  It wasn’t until coffee was poured that Max sat back, cup in hand and asked, ‘It must have been quite a scary business being locked down that passage.’

  At least he hadn’t called it a rabbit-hole, West thought and nodded. ‘It was a bit,’ he admitted, catching Kelly’s eye across the table.

  Tony’s eyes flicked from one to the other. ‘I don’t suppose you’d fancy doing an interview, would you?’

  ‘The Garda press office handles all requests for interviews, surely you must know that,’ Andrews piped in.

  ‘How about you Kelly,’ the man said, undeterred, ‘you’re under no restrictions.’

  Kelly merely smiled and said nothing. Sometimes, she decided, playing dumb was the easiest thing to do. Even if it did go against the grain.

  ‘It’s an expensive place to be staying, isn’t it? Garda expenses must be good,’ Max said snidely.

  West had had enough. If it was going to descend into innuendo, he’d stop it now. ‘We were here on holiday, at our own expense. Garda Andrews is staying at my request and also at my expense. Unlike you, our stay here won’t be submitted as expenses. Now, if you will excuse us, we’re going to get some fresh air.’

  In the hallway outside, they bumped into Daisy, her face creased in worry lines. ‘I am so sorry,’ she said, reaching out a hand to pat West’s arm. ‘I didn’t know who they were until too late.’

  ‘We can handle it,’ West said, putting his hand over hers. ‘Please don’t upset yourself over it.’

  Daisy smiled gratefully and headed into the dining room. Putting on their coats, they heard her firm voice. ‘There’s been a mix-up, I’m afraid,’ she told the two journalists, ‘you’re welcome to stay tonight, but after that, the rooms are unavailable.’

  They heard the men remonstrating with her as they closed the door and faced the cold Atlantic breeze. ‘She’s well-able for the likes of them,’ Andrews said, turning up the collar of his coat.

  It was too cold to walk far from the house. Instead, West remembering that the Lantern was still unoccupied, he went back, got the key and lead Kelly and Andrews up to the viewing platform, a glint in his eye when he noticed Kelly’s blush.

  Peter Andrews was suitably impressed. They walked around the platform, admiring the distant lights on Achill and the clusters of lights on the mainland. Out at sea, the darkness was dense, and for a second Kelly was reminded of Sylvia’s triptych before she looked up and sighed with pleasure. The sky was cloudless, its darkness pierced by a million tiny pinpricks of light. ‘Magical,’ she whispered.

  West put an arm around her shoulder. Yes, he thought, it was certainly that.

  31

  When they met for breakfast at nine the next morning it was to find that the two journalists had left.

  ‘I told them breakfast was served between seven and eight,’ Daisy told them as they sat around the kitchen table. ‘They had it at seven-thirty. They’ve already gone so they won’t be annoying you this morning.’

  ‘That was so kind of you,’ Kelly said, touched by the woman’s consideration.

  Daisy smiled. ‘You came here for a relaxing holiday. It hasn’t really turned out that way but there’s no way we’re going to add to your problems. We’re well rid of them.’

  ‘They won’t cause you problems, will they?’

  ‘Bless you, no, they won’t. If they write a poor review it will be offset by the hundreds of good ones we get. But, do you know, I don’t think they’ll bother.’

  With that she headed back to her range and proceeded to deliver up three huge cooked breakfasts.

  ‘What time did Hall say he’d get here?’ Andrews asked, pouring himself another coffee.

  ‘He didn’t,’ West said, holding his cup out. ‘He’ll probably be over shortly. He lives in Roonagh Pier, so it’s just a twenty-minute boat ride. Then a ten-minute drive.’ They’d finished their breakfast, and were ready to leave but there was no sign of Hall. Jarvis rang to say he was heading to talk to a Sergeant Brady in Westport and that he’d get the late ferry to the island.’

  ‘Have you heard from Hall,’ West asked him.

  ‘No, I haven’t seen him since we left Blacque at the station yesterday,’ Jarvis said. ‘He was heading back to Roonagh afterward. To be honest, I didn’t find him the chattiest of blokes. I don’t think he said one word on the journey.’

  ‘Ok.’ West said, ‘keep in touch.’
Shutting his mobile, he frowned. The same niggle that had annoyed him yesterday was back. He was missing something but he was damned if he knew what it was.

  He tried Hall’s number. ‘Straight to voice-mail,’ he said, putting his mobile down.

  ‘Why don’t you leave him a message and ask him to berth at Toormore’s marina? We could ask Tadgh to drive us to Toormore House, and he could meet us there.’ Kelly suggested.

  To her surprise, West frowned and said nothing for a few seconds. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them they were bleak. ‘That’s what’s been niggling me,’ he said. He looked at Andrews. ‘Hall and I discussed the possibility of it being someone from the mainland. I asked him how long it would take to walk from The Quay to Toormore House.’

  ‘He said it would take an hour,’ Kelly said, remembering the conversation.

  West nodded grimly. ‘But he never told us it was possible to berth a small boat only ten minutes away, did he? And he must know about it? I bet he uses it if he needs to visit the house or anyone on that part of the island.’

  Andrews looked puzzled. ‘So what’re you saying, Mike?’

  West ran an impatient hand through his hair. ‘Why didn’t he mention it, Peter? He’s an efficient garda; he’d know it was important. Even if he hadn’t thought to tell us then, he’s had plenty of opportunity since.

  ‘Add it to the mess-up over the possible murder weapon being contaminated and it makes me wonder about him.’ Rubbing his face with both hands, he said, ‘I suppose what I’m saying is, we’d better take a good look at Eamonn Hall.’

  ‘We don’t know that he was to blame for the evidence mess-up, Mike, after all, he didn’t take it to Dublin, he just handed it over. The marina,’ Andrews chewed his lip, ‘well, that’s a different matter. That was a serious piece of information to leave out of the mix.’

  He met West’s eyes. Only something important would have made him conceal such a crucial piece of information; he was hiding something.

  ‘I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm to ask a few questions,’ Andrews said. ‘But we’d better be very, very careful here.’