Finbarr shook his head sadly. ‘I thought about doing the same, you know, when I found out. But then I saw how much Sylvia tortured him, and figured she was doing a pretty good job of making him pay.’ He thought a moment. ‘Why did he try to kill her? She never did him any harm.’
West looked to Kelly and gave a slight nod. He knew she felt guilty for telling Hall when Sylvia’s rape occurred. He’d let her tell her own tale.
‘Your mother told me that the rape happened on her way home from school just before they broke for Easter.’ Kelly sighed. ‘When I told Eamonn about it, he queried the date. I said Easter and that it had been in March that year. The problem is, Finbarr, his sister was raped in May. Hall knew that if your mother had reported Breathnach, his sister would never have gone through that terrible ordeal and would still be alive.’
Roger Tilsdale reached across and put a reassuring hand on Finbarr’s arm. ‘She was just a child, they both were.’
‘There’s no blame attached, Mr Tilsdale,’ West agreed. ‘They were both victims of an evil man.’
‘So what will happen to Eamonn?’
‘He’ll go through the legal system. He’s admitted the murder and the attempted murder. We’ll take him to Westport, he’ll be processed there.’
The door opened. Edel, her face pale, said, ‘There are two reporters outside. They’ve already heard about Sylvia, they want to know if someone will come and talk to them. They’re not taking no for an answer from me.’
Tilsdale stood. ‘Leave them to me, I’ll get rid of them’ he said, patting Finbarr on the hand and leaving the room with Edel.
‘He’s been very kind,’ Finbarr said, ‘much more than I’ve been to him.’ He looked over at West. ‘So what happens now?’
‘We’re taking Hall to Westport to be charged.’ He took in Finbarr’s glum expression and for the first time, felt a twinge of sympathy. ‘If you like,’ he suggested, ‘I can have a car meet you at Roonagh Pier to take you to the hospital.’
Finbarr nodded. ‘That would be good, thank you.’
Roger Tilsdale came back muttering about journalists. He was told the state of play and, nodding, said he’d go with Finbarr. ‘Those damn journalists already know where she is, they said they were heading that way.’
‘We can cross on our boat,’ Finbarr said, ‘they’ll be stuck waiting for the ferry.’
‘I’ll make sure they’re delayed a bit more,’ Andrews said firmly. He’d give Westport a ring when they had a phone signal, get them to stop the two journalists. Max and Tony needed to learn a lesson, he thought.
Jim Higgins came with them to the marina, keeping a firm grip on Hall who was quiet and subdued. Nobody spoke to the man and Tilsdale kept Finbarr at a careful distance.
The steps down to the marina were, as Finbarr had explained, steep and tortuous opening at the bottom to a short pier. The boat berthed there was small but big enough for the six people sailing across. Bidding a farewell to Jim, Finbarr cast off and within minutes they were heading for Roonagh Pier. They were half-way there before they got a phone signal. Andrews organised the transport and West filled a stunned Morrison in on the identity of their murderer.
‘How long will it take them to get to Roonagh from Westport,’ West asked Finbarr after he’d hung up.
‘About forty minutes,’ he answered. ‘It’s a pretty windy road.’
Disembarking on the mainland, they had to wait thirty minutes in uncomfortable silence before three garda and one unmarked car arrived.
The gardai all knew Hall, of course, and their faces were stony as they looked at him, still in his uniform, disgracing it. Without a word, two of them man-handled him into the back of one of the vehicles.
Finbarr and Tilsdale were directed to the unmarked car.
‘They’ll look after you,’ West said as they got in. ‘Somebody will visit your mother, when she’s feeling up to it, to get her statement.’ He shut the door and the car sped off.
‘What do you want to do, sir?’ One of the Westport gardai asked respectfully.
‘Can any of you handle the boat?’ West asked, pointing to the Breathnach boat.
The four gardai looked at each other as if he were asking a trick question. Realising he wasn’t, the garda answered with a grin, ‘We all can, sir. It’s necessary in these parts.’
That decided it. He and Kelly could spend another night at the Clare Island Lighthouse. He looked at Andrews who nodded, and smiled. ‘Off you go,’ he said, ‘I can handle Westport and get that confession written up before he thinks better of it.’
West gripped his arm. ‘I’ll join you tomorrow.’
Kelly gave Andrews a peck on the cheek. ‘I’ll babysit for you anytime,’ she promised. An hour later, they were back for their last night at the guesthouse. ‘I might be able to swing another couple of nights,’ he said to Kelly as they stood in their room watching the stars come out.
‘You’ve promised to join Peter in Westport tomorrow. With Eamonn being from these parts, he’s going to need your support. We’ll have other holidays, don’t worry.’
Other holidays. ‘So this hasn’t ruined everything for us?’
Kelly smiled. ‘Put it this way, if we’ve come out at the end of this week still interested in seeing one another, how amazing will it be when we actually do have a relaxing holiday?
West couldn’t think of any response to that, so he kissed her.
33
Mike pulled up into the car park outside her apartment. ‘I’ll be back for you in an hour,’ he said, ‘I just need to check in at the station, make sure everything is ok.’ He’d been away longer than he’d planned, certainly longer than the station had expected. He knew Peter could handle whatever came up but he’d call in, show his face and then leave them to it. Kelly needed to collect some fresh clothes, it was the perfect opportunity.
Kelly waved as he drove away, made her way inside her apartment, and dropped her suitcase onto her bed. Checking her watch, she decided she had plenty of time for a cup of tea, herbal, since she had no milk. She sipped the hot aromatic drink looking out over the sea. She’d spent so little time here, but she didn’t regret buying it. Not for a second. It was a necessary step – and it had worked. Now, well now she’d move back in with Mike but it would be different.
Anyway, she thought looking around the spacious, beautifully furnished apartment, this would rent easily. It had been a good investment. And she needed the income; the road of the writer was not paved in gold.
Finishing the tea, she washed the cup, left it to drain and went to deal with her suitcase. She took another holdall from the cupboard and tossed all her dirty laundry into it, she’d take it back to Mike’s, do it there. Going through wardrobe and drawers, she filled the suitcase with a selection of clothes to last for a few days.
It took longer than she’d expected, some items of clothing bringing memories with them, some good, some not-so. Being brutal, she threw the not-so clothes into a black plastic bag. Charity, she decided. Life was just too short and too valuable. And one thing she had learned from events on Clare Island, she was never going to compromise again.
Checking her watch, she was surprised to see the time. West was thirty minutes late. Obviously, things weren’t as straightforward at the station as he’d expected. Making herself another cup of tea, she switched on the television and channel-hopped until she found an episode of Frazier. She settled back with an anticipatory grin on her face.
They were playing episodes back to back. Kelly grinned and chuckled through the first and second but by the time the third came on, her watch now telling her that West was an hour and a half late, she’d stopped smiling.
When the phone rang an hour later, she answered, the sharp word sitting on the end of her tongue falling away unused when she heard his voice saying her name. She knew something was terribly wrong.
‘Mike, what is it?’
‘Kelly,’ he said again, and this time she could hear the thickness in the wo
rd.
Gripping the phone tightly, her head spinning with all the things it could be, she tried again, ‘Mike, tell me?’
A deep sigh, and then his sombre voice. ‘Denise Blundell,’ he said, ‘she stabbed Ken again. This afternoon. He’s dead, Kelly.’
Kelly had muted the television when the phone rang, she stared at the screen, the same people, same situations, but, without sound, not funny anymore.
She listened to West as he explained that it might be better if she stayed in the apartment for the moment. ‘I made the wrong decision,’ he told her, ‘there may be consequences.’
He hung up before Kelly could think of anything to say, before she could remind him that there were always consequences. Hadn’t the last week proven that?
She sat for a moment, watching the silent flickering screen, thinking of Breathnach and what he’d done. Then, as her thoughts often did, they drifted to her late-husband, Simon. ‘Consequences,’ she said aloud and reaching for the remote, switched off the television.
She stood, grabbed a warm coat and her bags.
West had to come home sometime. When he did, she’d be waiting.
More Acknowledgements
Grateful thanks to my wonderful editor, Natasha Orme, for her help and advice in pulling this novel into shape.
Thanks also to my writing buddies who offer unconditional support, in particular, the writers, Jenny O’Brien, June Moonbridge, Leslie Bratspis and Susan Godenzi.
And, lastly, a huge thanks to all those who read and review. Lara Zielinski, you’re the best.
Murder on Clare Island is the third in the Garda West series and the fourth, Murder in Foxrock, is now available.
That One May Smile, and Close Ranks, are also available on Amazon.
If you enjoyed this novel, please think about leaving a comment on Amazon or Goodreads.
You can also contact me on my Facebook page:
https://www.facebook.com/valeriekeoghnovels
Or on Twitter @ValerieKeogh1.
Other novels by Valerie Keogh
Exit Five from Charing Cross
The Hudson & Connolly series: Deadly Sleep; The Devil has Power; Such Bitter Business; Wicked Secret.
Murder on Clare Island Page 25