One Coffin Too Many
Page 52
“ It was torched, Frank. By me! “
Devoy almost choked on his drink.
“ Are you telling me you set fire to the Marshall mansion? Are you fucking mad or something? “
The other patrons turned their heads at Devoy’s outburst.
“ Keep your voice down, Frank and stop swearing. The management will call the police. “
“ Call the police! Call the police! We’re the fucking police in case you’ve forgotten for Christ’s sake. “
A man suddenly appeared at their table.
“ I’m the manager, “ he announced. “ Is something the matter, sir? “
“ I’d say there is. I’ve just received news that there’s an arsonist at large in this town. “
“ An arsonist? “ repeated the manager.
“ Yes an arsonist, sir. The people who like to burn down houses. “
Helen Roche kicked Devoy on the shins.
“ Perhaps we should call the police, “ said the manager.
“ The matter is in hand, “ replied Devoy taking his police ID out of his wallet and flashing it at the man. “ Besides, seafood restaurants are never a target, rest assured. The arsonist is allergic to fish, would you believe. “
“ If you say so, sir, “ replied the manager backing away.
“ I had to torch the place, Frank. “ said Helen in a whisper. “ I’d no choice. I couldn’t find the incriminating evidence so I torched everything that was in any way connected to it. The alternative was too much to contemplate. From what I saw and it wasn’t very much given the fact that I was racing against the clock, there was too much at stake. What’s the lives and reputation of otherwise respectable women in comparison to the burning down of a centre of depravity and evil? Don’t judge me, Frank. I did what had to be done. I burnt out the cancer. Things will get back to normal. The other wise bored ladies of this burg will have to find some other way to while away their hours during the winter months. You and Detective Gleeson will never have to worry about a night on the beach again. There’s nothing to connect anybody with anybody else. The town is free again. The weight has been lifted. “
“ So that accounts for the strange work of art that the firemen came across in the basement. “
“ Oh, I thought all those CDs and DVDs and Videos would make an interesting sculpture when melted down. Did they take a photo of it? “
“ Probably, “ replied Devoy, disgusted.
“ So is that it, then, Frank? “
“ Yes, I suppose so but I wasn’t aware that Mrs. Marshall had a cocaine habit. They found it down the front of her dress and on the table. “
“ Well, what do expect, Frank from a degenerate. “
Devoy grimaced.
“ But how did you manage to get in, to insinuate yourself into the bosom of that woman Beatrice. It must have been difficult. “
“ Difficult? Not at all. I just acted naturally and she fell for it. I do a lot of undercover work. “
“ But…?
“ But what Frank? She’s bi-sexual, is Beatrice Marshall. Waste not, want not is her motto. Everything goes. I’m not,though. I’m a fully-fledged lesbian. When I told you days ago about losing my friend I was referring to a woman – a French woman in fact. She was my lover. I hesitated and I lost her. He downed her like a dog. I swore I’d never hesitate again when I came up against evil. And I didn’t. So there. “
“ I’d never have thought, Helen. “
“ Why should the likes of Beatrice Marshall and all her friends give lesbians a bad name. We’re like anybody else. There’s good one and there’s bad ones.
Devoy kept shaking his head.
“ Poor old Frank. Deprived of another pretty lady. “
“ Ah,well, maybe I can try my hand with the waitress. “
“ I told you Frank you’re wasting your time. We’ve a thing going since I came here – the waitress and me. Best go home and sleep it off. Who knows? Maybe Detective Gleeson needs some cheering up? Why not give her a call? “
“ So that’s it, then, Helen. I suppose that this is goodbye. “
“ You got that right, Frank. You’ll probably never see me again. “
Devoy reached across the table and shook Helen’s hand. He then reached for his wallet.
“ Oh, that won’t be necessary, Frank. The evening’s on Harry. Everything’s paid for. “
Devoy gave her a piercing look.
“ You mean to say that this is some kind of reward? “
“ You could say that, Frank. “
“ So he was in on it all the time – you and the fire? “
“ Now Frank, you’re jumping to conclusions. Please don’t bother Harry Sullivan with your speculations. You see, I didn’t come here just by accident. No paper shuffler in personnel up in Dublin decided to send me here. Harry asked for me. “
“ I see. “
“ Harry and I go back a long ways. He served under my father. Harry and I are both damaged goods. He and his wife and the child that never was and me, well I told you my story. “
“ I never imagined Harry managed. He struck me as a confirmed bachelor. “
“ Harry’s always looking for his wife, Frank. That’s why he goes fishing. “
“ I see. “
“ Harry lost his wife a long time ago when he was out sailing. One minute she was there, the next she was gone. Swept overboard. She was carrying their child when it happened. They never found her body. “
“ Oh, Jesus, no. “
“ Yeah, poor Harry. The Gods were on holiday that day if you believe in that sort of thing. I don’t. “
“ Poor devil. “
“ When he says he’s going out fishing he’s really looking for them. Harry wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s just waiting for that certain wave that will take him away. Do you understand, Frank? “
Devoy nodded.
“ I think I do. I sometimes feel like that myself. “
“ Don’t bother him, Frank. Everything’s wrapped up anyway. All that remains is to say goodbye. Goodbye. It was nice knowing you. “
Devoy watched her walk out of the restaurant and then she gone through the double doors. He took out his phone and called Angela.
EPILOGUE
A year and a half later Devoy, savouring a few days’ leave from work, sat down to a carefully planned breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast along with a pot of his favourite blend of coffeeand the daily newspaper. He was just about to attack the eggs when the doorbell rang. He looked at his watch wondering who it could be at this hour. Disgusted, he went to the front door and opened it expecting some sort of emergency. But no uniformed policeman was standing there. Instead it was the postwoman. She had a large envelope in her hand. It looked like a calendar.
“ Good morning, Mr. Devoy, “ she said handing him the envelope.
Devoy took it from her.
“ This was too large to get into the letter box so I thought I’d deliver it by hand. “
Devoy examined the envelope.
“ It’s foreign, “ said the postwoman. “ From Italy. Look at the stamp. Colourful isn’t it? “
Devoy nodded and agreed with her. He thanked her and headed back to his breakfast.
He sat down and took up his knife and fork again. Then his inquisitiveness got the better of him.
He put down the knife and fork and reached for the envelope. The cardboard back intrigued him. He tore it open carefully and looked inside. It wasn’t a calendar. There were photographs. He slid them out onto the table and examined them. The first one was photo of a billiard table. To the left of it was a window and at the bottom of the window he could just barely make out a blue sea. What was intriguing was the shadow of a woman cast across the green baize of the table. Puzzled, he reached for the second photograph and his jaw dropped. A naked infant was sitting in the middle of the table looking up at the camera. The child was smiling. It was a boy. He looked in the envelope again searching for a clue until he spotted
the writing on the back of the second photograph. It merely said:
I told you I had something belonged to you, Frank. Here he is. Love Margo.
Thursday, 2nd November 2017
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Brendan O'Grady was born in Dublin and is a former teacher. He is now retired and lives in Brittany, France with his wife.
One Coffin Too Many is his first book to be published on the Internet. He is currently working on a follow-up.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I wish to thank Adrian Sebastian O'Grady and André Stervinou for their help in formatting the book. Special thanks to the Garda Síochána (the Irish Police Force) for providing valuable information contributing to making this book a more realistic read. I would like to thank my loving wife, Annick O'Grady for giving me the room to write.