“Is there news?” Clementine said when they’d finished and pushed back their plates. “Why are we here?”
“Shane said he saw you with a black marker and a deck of cards Friday evening,” Siobhán said. She really wanted to get them talking about Nathan Doyle, but now that they were together, she wanted to see if they would stick to their accusations about each other. Clementine glanced at Shane, who was tracing the tabletop with his index finger. She crossed her arms against her chest.
“It’s true,” he said.
Clementine pinned Shane with her eyes. “Did you see me blacking out a heart or a mouth?”
“No,” Shane said. He shifted in his seat.
Siobhán turned to Clementine. “Why did you have a black marker?”
“To sign autographs,” Clementine said. “People ask me to sign cards all the time.” That sounded plausible. Suddenly Siobhán wanted one, but it wouldn’t be professional to ask. Ciarán would love one too. “What Shane didn’t tell you was that we all do it. Every single one of the players who are in demand carry a Sharpie and a deck of cards. Himself and Eamon included.”
Siobhán stared at Shane. He shrugged. “True.” Something about signing autographs rang a bell in Siobhán. She just wasn’t sure why . . . “Why didn’t you tell me that all of you had markers?”
“Because he was pointing a dirty finger at me,” Clementine said.
Shane didn’t flinch. “Mine was in my pocket all night. I saw her using hers.”
“Because nobody wants the autograph of number three,” Clementine shot back.
Shane crossed his arms and stared at the table. “But you draw little pictures with your autographs,” he said. “Admit it.”
A smile broke out on Clementine’s face. “Mustaches mostly. Sometimes horns.”
Siobhán decided to skip the scenic route and went for the direct path. “Did you mark the cards found on Eamon Foley?”
“I’ve already answered that several times. No.”
“Let’s change the focus for a moment. I want to talk about Nathan Doyle.”
Shane raised an eyebrow, but didn’t speak.
Clementine blew out air. “That pasty bloke. Finally someone is asking the right questions.”
“You said he knows nothing about the game of poker. How did he get this job?”
“It was a bit odd, alright. He shows up and jumps to the front of the line.”
“Who made the decision?”
“It came from the top.”
“Does ’the top’ have a name?”
“If it’s important, I can get you a name,” Clementine said, tapping her chin, drawing Siobhán’s attention to her long red fingernails. They looked like shiny weapons. If she had been the one tugging on Eamon’s ropes, there would probably still be fibers underneath those talons. Would she submit to a voluntary examination?
“How long would it take to get me the name?”
Clementine sighed, scrolled through her phone, as if it was a giant bother, and then finally turned the screen. Anthony Hill. “Give him a ring. He knows everything.”
Siobhán jotted down the name and number. “Thank you.”
“I thought the tournament had been called off?” Shane said. “Is it rescheduled?”
“No. But whenever it is rescheduled, it won’t be held in Kilbane.”
“Do you think Nathan Doyle has something to do with Eamon’s death?”
“No.” Possibly. “We’re following up on everyone.” Did Nathan Doyle plant himself on the team, all the while plotting to murder Eamon? If so, what on earth was his motive? Because he was having an affair with Rose? The father of her baby? How would the two even have met? Siobhán said good-bye to the players, her fingers pressing the numbers for Anthony Hill the second she was out of the pub.
* * *
Siobhán was walking near the medieval walls, taking in the fresh air and soft green hills, when Anthony Hill picked up the phone. She introduced herself and got straight to business.
“It’s funny you mention it,” he said. “I had a strange feeling about that one m’self. He was only appointed because of a tragedy.”
“What tragedy?”
“The official before him was killed in a motor accident.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Aye. Poor lad took a curve too fast on a wet day. You know yourself.” Sadly, she did. Irishmen had a tendency to drive recklessly around curves.
“How did Nathan Doyle come into the picture?”
“He must have connections. Higher up the pole than me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’ve been in this business a long time. It was my right to hire and fire. I tried to reject him based on his lack of experience, but me boss said I had no choice.”
Something odd was going on. She was determined to find out what. “Thanks a million.”
“Not a bother. ’Tis a pity what happened to the Octopus. Tell the missus she’s in our thoughts.”
“Will do.” She hung up and took another deep breath. Nathan Doyle had just moved to the top of her suspect list.
* * *
Macdara was standing in the doorway to his office when Siobhán walked in, the photo of Nathan Doyle stalking Rose and Eamon clutched in her hand. “Listen to this,” she said. “I Googled Nathan Doyle.”
“What?” Macdara’s face showed something akin to horror.
“He has no social media presence.”
“Neither do you.”
“Speaking of which . . . nice furniture pics on your Book Page, by the by.” Macdara frowned. “And Nathan Doyle knows nothing of the game of poker—”
“Hold on—”
“There’s more. I just spoke with Anthony Hill, who said he should have had the authority to hire Nathan Doyle—”
“Siobhán—”
“The man who was supposed to officiate the games had a motor accident just days after he was appointed, and someone higher up—”
“Listen to me—”
“He said he had no choice but to hire a man with zero knowledge of the game of poker—”
“Stop!”
What is his problem? “No! Would you shut up and listen to me?” She held up the photograph and thrust it at Macdara.
Macdara stepped forward, closing the door to his office halfway. “What’s that?”
“That,” Siobhán said, pointing to his head in the photo, “is Nathan Doyle lurking behind Eamon and Rose. Stalking them maybe.”
“Enough,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper.
“What is wrong with you? This is good news. Nathan Doyle may be our man.”
“He’s our man, alright.”
Is he agreeing with me? That’s unexpected. “Did you find something on him too?”
“I didn’t mean ’he’s our man’ as in he’s the murderer.” He put his hands on Siobhán’s shoulders. “Nathan Doyle is not our killer.”
Siobhán took a step back. “What is going on with you and that man?”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t begrudge you a little bromance, but—”
“A bromance?” He sounded a tad outraged.
“The pair of you have been getting on like a house on fire, and I think it’s clouding your judgment!” There, she said it.
The door to Macdara’s office swung open. There stood Nathan Doyle. His arms were folded against his chest. But instead of a beer belly, his stomach was flat, it was as if he had dropped a stone overnight. He looked startlingly handsome, a right silver fox. But the most mind-bending bit was that he was wearing a gun. And a badge. That’s what Macdara meant when he said, “He’s our man.” Nathan Doyle was a member of An Garda Síochána.
Chapter 24
Nathan Doyle grinned, then pointed at her. “You’re quite good for one so green.”
“I don’t understand.” Siobhán couldn’t stop staring at the gold badge. And the gun. The transformation had her gobsmacked. She should stop staring. She could not
stop staring.
“Siobhán O’Sullivan, meet Detective Sergeant Doyle, SSU. He’s here undercover.”
“SSU?” She knew what the initials meant: Special Surveillance Unit, an elite undercover group headquartered in Dublin. “Here? In Kilbane?”
Nathan stepped forward. “Why don’t we all sit down.” He gestured to Macdara’s office like it was his. Macdara didn’t hesitate; he entered and sat across from his own desk, allowing D.S. Doyle to take his chair. Siobhán perched on the chair next to Macdara. She felt as if she’d been blindsided.
Nathan Doyle steepled his hands. “I’m here to monitor Shane Ross.”
She didn’t know what she was expecting to hear, but that wasn’t it. “Why?”
“First I need to remind you that what I’m about to tell you is highly confidential.”
“Of course.”
“I wouldn’t be telling you at all, but if you keep on this track, you’re going to blow my cover.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Never apologize. You’re sharp. We need guards like you.”
“Thank you.”
“Operation Diamond Dash,” Nathan said. Siobhán repeated it silently, diamonds gathering and swirling in her mind’s eye. An image of Shane pacing in front of Celtic Gems rose to mind. Nathan and Macdara bent over, looking at a tray of diamonds. That’s why they were there. Shane lied to me. There was no proposal. He used her to steal the most expensive ring in the store. She’d have to deal with her humiliation later. “A number of high-end jewelry stores have been robbed in Dublin the past year. We believe Shane Ross is the leader of the pack.”
“Are you sure?”
Nathan Doyle nodded. “I’ve spent a year on his tail.”
“My God.”
“When we learned that he’d lobbied to join this tournament at the last minute, we knew we had to send eyes and ears after him.”
“So . . . the other official . . . the motor accident?”
Nathan shook his head. “There was no motor accident. I wanted a way to get closer to the players. The other official is on holiday in Spain. Ibiza. Have you been?”
“No.”
“You should. ’Tis lovely.”
“Why would you take that position when you don’t know beans about the game of poker?”
Macdara kicked her under the table. He had a habit of doing that. She kicked him back. Nathan, to her surprise, threw his head back and laughed.
“I tried. Studied as much as I could at the last minute. Was caught out by Clementine Hart early on. Luckily, her suspicions went the route of thinking I was somehow given the cushy job by a friend high up in the tournament.”
“Why the disguise? The fat suit?”
He shrugged. “I thought I’d look more authentic. Have you ever seen those officials?”
Siobhán smiled. “Only on telly.”
Nathan grinned in return. “I nailed it, if I do say so m’self.”
She still couldn’t wrap her head around it. “Shane Ross. A jewel thief.” She crossed her arms. “Are you saying he came here just to rob Celtic Gems?” That didn’t make any sense. She’d caught him pacing in front of the shop in broad daylight. That didn’t sound like the move of a talented thief. That sounded like a foolish way of getting caught.
On the other hand, he may have felt brazen. He had no reason to believe anyone in Kilbane suspected him of being a jewel thief.
“To be fair, he’s also a good poker player,” Nathan said. “Too bad he didn’t just stick to legal gambling.”
“How is it that the other players didn’t know?” Or did they? “Did Eamon find out? Or Clementine?”
“That’s the angle we’ve been trying to follow,” Macdara said. “If Eamon found out that Shane Ross was dealing diamonds, he may have been stupid enough to confront him, ask for a piece of the action.”
“Forcing Shane to kill him?”
“It’s a working theory.”
“You’ve ruled out suicide then?”
Nathan shook his head. “We haven’t been able to rule it out. We may be dealing with a situation where Eamon Foley was set up.”
“How?”
“Someone created the perfect storm, manipulating Eamon into taking his own life.”
“If that’s the case, is it then considered murder?”
“If we can prove it beyond a doubt. It’s circumstantial. But we very much believe we’re dealing with foul play.”
“What reason do you have to believe Shane Ross is a diamond thief?”
“Our task force has picked up his name from several of our sources. We tapped his bank records. After each robbery Shane made substantial purchases. A town house in D4. A Mercedes. Several trips to high-end resorts in Spain.”
“Ibiza?” Siobhán took a wild guess.
Nathan winked. “Didn’t I say she catches on quick?”
“His poker winnings can’t explain his trips or purchases?”
“Not when you coordinate the purchases with the robberies. They match.”
“Not very smart of him.”
“He’s arrogant. He thrives on the risk.”
That certainly fits the profile of our killer. “Why not arrest him? Why let him come to our little town and threaten us?” She was suddenly angry. Kilbane didn’t deserve this.
“He’s never been violent,” Nathan said. “In the nearly ten robberies not a soul was hurt. They all took place in the dead of night. If I had any reason to believe he was violent or a threat, I never would have arranged for the tournament to take place here.”
“You arranged for the tournament to take place here?”
“Kilbane isn’t the usual choice for such a prominent poker tournament,” Macdara said. “I knew something was funny about that.”
“We thought it would be easier to monitor him here. Catch him going after a low-hanging fruit.”
“Celtic Gems.”
Nathan nodded. “We were watching it closely. Watching him.”
“Then why didn’t you arrest him when he broke in and took that ring?”
“It’s part of the plan,” Macdara said.
“Your plan was to let him steal a diamond?”
“It’s his signature,” Nathan said. “All the stores were robbed twice. The first time was just to test the security, scope out the number of jewel cases, get the layout of the store. Take one item. Something dear enough to be noticed, but sow deep confusion. The managers scratch their heads, wondering why someone would break in for one diamond ring. It made them mental. Then, when the owners were scrambling—not only to report the small theft to the guards, but to convince their insurance company a robber only broke in for one item—the theft ring strikes again. This time they completely wipe them out. A double punch.”
“And he’s already struck Celtic Gems once,” Siobhán said.
“He’s going to strike again,” Macdara said. “Try to clear out the entire store, including the safe in the back room.”
“Are his accomplices with him? Here in Kilbane?”
Nathan sighed. “The crowds have made it difficult for us to positively identify any of the ring. We only have a few definitive profiles, but we’re working on it.”
“When do you think he’ll strike?”
“My guess,” Nathan said. “When we’re all very, very distracted.”
“Eamon Foley’s wake,” Siobhán said.
Nathan nodded. “Eamon Foley’s wake.”
Siobhán mulled it over. “There’s a problem.”
Macdara grinned. “Just one?”
Siobhán made a sarcastic laughing face and then turned back to Nathan. “How can we have a wake without the widow?”
Nathan nodded. “That’s why our top priority is to find the widow.”
“How are we going to do that?”
Nathan stood and stretched. “We can discuss that and a lot more. But first, I’m starving. Let’s continue this over a bite to eat.”
Chapter 25
They t
ook their lunch break at O’Rourke’s. Declan cleared off the table on the back patio, and after serving them shepherd’s pie, along with bacon and cabbage, he let them have their privacy.
“What’s the plan?” Siobhán asked when she could stand it no longer.
Nathan took out a small recorder, set it on the table, and pushed RECORD. “First we need to know everything about the encounter you had with Shane Ross at Celtic Gems.”
Siobhán thought back to the encounter, feeling like a fool. He’d made up that business about nearly having a fiancée for whom he wanted to buy an engagement ring. Did he even have a girlfriend? That was a fact they could check out. “He told me he planned on proposing to his girlfriend. He wanted my opinion on which was the best ring.”
Nathan nodded. “He was probably clocking all the cameras and the security alarm.”
“And the ring you picked was the one he stole?” Macdara said.
“The exact one,” Siobhán said.
“The most expensive one,” Nathan added.
Siobhán felt her cheeks heat up. “I wasn’t looking at price tags.”
“You just have expensive taste.” Nathan winked, then nudged Macdara. “Did you hear that? You should be taking notes, horse.” He pounded Macdara on the back.
The tips of Macdara’s ears flamed. Siobhán had to change the subject. She thought of the conclusion she’d drawn and then her cheeks started up as well. The pair of them stuck out like glow sticks at an evening concert, and Nathan clocked it all with a lascivious grin.
“I won’t say a word,” Nathan said with a nod and wink to each. “I’ve been known to break a few rules m’self. Although I would urge caution.”
Siobhán moved to change the subject. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that Shane would be so bold as to steal the very ring I pointed out? I mean, he had to know he’d be the first one we’d suspect.”
“Exactly,” Nathan said, pointing at her as if she’d just cracked the case. “Shane Ross is a thrill seeker. He thrives on it. And, quite frankly, he’s probably underestimating the guards here.”
He means me. He’s underestimating me. Siobhán turned it over and over in her mind. “If all this is true, then the method of murder doesn’t make sense.”
Macdara glanced at Nathan. Like a son seeking approval from a father. “How so?”
Murder in an Irish Pub Page 19