Helter Skelter
Page 1
Helter Skelter
Des Sheridan
Part 2 of the Triskell Story
Helter Skelter
Published Des Sheridan October 2013
Copyright Des Sheridan
ISBN: 978-1-78301-225-1
The right of Des Sheridan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This book is copyrighted under the Berne Convention.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. You must not circulate this book in any format.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, or events, is entirely coincidental.
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Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at http://about.me/dessheridan
Editor: Jill Clough
Cover design and illustration: Andy Fielding www.andyfielding.co.uk
Preface
The Triskell Story is a single continuous narrative. To maximise your enjoyment of the story, and understanding of the plotlines and characters, the reader is strongly encouraged to read the three parts in sequential order. To purchase Part 1 House of the Dead follow the link to my website http://about.me/dessheridan
For Conor and Rory
indefatigable companions on this long journey
Contents
Map of Ireland
Tides in Time
I: The Detective Inspector
Chapter 1 Sligo, Ireland, 26 September 2014
Chapter 2 Bay of Biscay, 1660
Chapter 3 Sligo, Ireland, 26 September 2014
Chapter 4 Limerick, Ireland, 28 September 2014
Chapter 5 Sligo, Ireland, 27 September 2014
Chapter 6 Bay of Biscay, 1660
Chapter 7 Sligo, Ireland, 28 September 2014
Chapter 8 Limerick, Ireland, 29 September 2014
Chapter 9 Sligo, Ireland, 28 September 2014
Chapter 10 Bay of Biscay, 1660
Chapter 11 Sligo, Ireland, 28 September 2014
Chapter 12 Leitrim, Ireland, 1 October 2014
Chapter 13 Sligo, Ireland, 29 September 2014
Chapter 14 Bay of Biscay, 1660
Chapter 15 Sligo, Ireland, 29 September 2014
Chapter 16 Leitrim, Ireland, 2 October 2014
Chapter 17 Bilbao, Spain, 1660
Chapter 18 Sligo, Ireland, 30 September 2014
Chapter 19 Santiago de Compostela, Spain, 1849
Chapter 20 Sligo, Ireland, 3 October 2014
II: The Competitive Priest
Map of England
Chapter 21 Maynooth, Ireland, 3 October 2014
Chapter 22 Fermanagh, Ireland, September 1657
Chapter 23 Brussels, Belgium, 4 October 2014
Chapter 24 Maynooth, Ireland, 3 October 2014
Chapter 25 Fermanagh, Ireland, February 1658
Chapter 26 Bunder Alps, Switzerland, 6 October 2014
Chapter 27 Maynooth, Ireland, 3 October 2014
Chapter 28 Fermanagh, Ireland, June 1658
Chapter 29 Bunder Alps, Switzerland, 6 October 2014
Chapter 30 Maynooth, Ireland, 3 October 2014
Chapter 31 Tyrone, Ireland, September 1658
Chapter 32 Maynooth, Ireland, 4 October 2014
Chapter 33 St Moritz, Switzerland, 8 October 2014
Chapter 34 Maynooth, Ireland, 6 October 2014
Chapter 35 St Moritz, Switzerland, 9 October 2014
Chapter 36 Glossop, England, October 1658
Chapter 37 St Moritz, 10 October 2014
Chapter 38 Maynooth, Ireland, 11 October 2014
III: The Spaniard and the Historian
Map of Spain and France
Chapter 39 Santiago de Compostela, Spain, 10 October 2014
Chapter 40 Atlantic Ocean, December 1650
Chapter 41 Santiago de Compostela, Spain, 11 October 2014
Chapter 42 Dorking, UK, 13 October 2014
Chapter 43 Ponferrada, Spain, 12 October 2014
Chapter 44 Atlantic Ocean, December 1650
Chapter 45 Ponferrada, Spain, 12 October 2014
Chapter 46 Dorking, UK, 13 October 2014
Chapter 47 Ponferrada, Spain, 12 October 2014
Chapter 48 Mont Saint-Michel, France, 2 July 1789
Chapter 49 Ponferrada, Spain, 12 October 2014
Chapter 50 Dorking, England, 13 October 2014
Chapter 51 Santiago de Compostela, Spain, 13 October 2014
Chapter 52 Sedan, France, 2 September 1870
Chapter 53 Santiago de Compostela, Spain, 13 October 2014
Chapter 54 Dorking, England, 13 October 2014
Chapter 55 Noia, Spain, 13 October 2014
Chapter 56 Sedan, France, 2 September 1870
Chapter 57 Dorking, England, 13 October 2014
Chapter 58 Noia, Spain, 13 October 2014
Chapter 59 Dorking, UK, 13 October 2014
Chapter 60 Noia, Spain, 13 October 2014
Chapter 61 Arz, Brittany, 18 June 1940
Chapter 62 Arundel, UK, 13 October 2014
Chapter 63 Santiago de Compostela, Spain, 15 October 2014
Chapter 64 Arundel, UK, 13 October 2014
Chapter 65 Santiago de Compostela, Spain, 15 October 2014
Chapter 66 Dorking, England, 14 October 2014
Chapter 67 Santiago de Compostela, Spain, 15 October 2014
Four Days in October
IV: No Turning Back
Chapter 68 Pyrenees, France, 17 October 2014
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72 France, 18 October 2014
Chapter 73
V: The Guardian
Chapter 74 Rennes, France, 19 October 2014
Chapter 75 Forêt de Fougères, France, 19 October 2014
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78 Normandy, France, 19 October 2014
VI: Mont Saint-Michel
Chapter 79 Mont Saint-Michel, France, 20 October 2014
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Tides in Time
I: The Detective Inspector
Chapter 1
Sligo, Ireland, 26 September 2014
For Robert the most striking feature about Detective Inspector Teresa Flanagan was her pupils. They were very blue and at times each one seemed to dance about nervously in the white sea of its iris, as though not sure it wanted to, or indeed could, believe what it was seeing or what its owner’s ears were hearing.
He guessed that the detective must be in her late thirties although her clothes made her look older. Her two-piece suit was beige, patterned with a brown leaf that made it dowdy. There was something very sensible about the hemline of the skirt which was emphatically located just below the knees. She wore stockings and a pair of high-heeled beige shoes, wh
ich added height, as she was not a tall woman.
For Robert the eyes and mouth were worth watching. The detective’s eyes were sharp and observant and her mouth sometimes seemed poised to break into a smile. The result was a half-smile where one side of her mouth curved upwards only for the other side to sag at the same time. It came and went rapidly as though suppressed by the owner, the lips closing at the last minute. Flanagan’s voice was quiet but assertive, with a soft sing-song lilt that Robert recognised as local. In a curt manner she invited Robert to tell her what had happened the afternoon before.
Although Robert had reported the incident to the police at Rosnaree as soon as he and Tara had reached home, the Gardaí had at once made clear their unhappiness. They would have preferred an earlier report and for Tara and Robert to have stayed at the cottage, near the scene of the crime, awaiting their arrival. Robert had politely but firmly explained that had not been possible: his prime duty was to get his client to a safe place given the state of her distress and their wet state. He had made sure that his and Tara’s clothes were placed aside for examination by the police, but the fact that they had had both taken showers had got the policemen’s backs up further. Robert’s view was that it was tough. It was obvious that they had stumbled across the body and were not the perpetrators.
‘It may be obvious to you, Mr Grainger, but it would have helped us if we could have reached that conclusion on an evidential basis,’ was Flanagan’s terse comment. Her tone suggested gross impropriety on his part. The fact that Brian made sure that his solicitor was in attendance with Robert at the interview seemed to further irritate her, the blue pupils expanding when she realised who the third party was. She thumped her bundle of papers too emphatically on the table, saying flatly, ‘I see,’ and sat down.
Wearily, she explained that, apart from placing two unfortunate local Gardai to guard the crime scene overnight, the police had decided not to attempt to enter the caves in the dark. She looked Robert in the eye.
‘And for them, I can tell you, it proved a very long and very wet night indeed.’
Robert said nothing as he was not about to accept blame for the weather as well. She leaned forward abruptly and took off her shoes.
‘Apologies. My feet are fecking murder. Bad footwear choice for traipsing about. I’m afraid. I was in a rush and not thinking.’
The hesitant half smile came and went in a flash before she continued.
‘Anyway the forensic team is ready to go in as we speak. Or rather as you speak, Mr Grainger. That’s why your testimony is important. I want to use it to guide my men as they enter the crime scene.’
Robert again sensed a reprimand beneath the surface.
‘So, if you don’t mind, please talk me through it again. I realise that Ms Ruane is not able to talk yet, so we are relying on you.’
At least Tara does not have to endure this for the moment, Robert thought. The local doctor had sedated her the night before to help her sleep. So he went through his account of the case a second time. He thought that would be it but Flanagan moved straight on to other matters.
‘Now, can you tell me about Ms Ruane’s relationship with the deceased please?’
‘Not really, I assume they were friends.’
‘Why do you assume that? Others clearly report that he was her boyfriend.’
‘Well, I expect that is because they have been around here longer than a couple of days. I can’t say one way or the other.’
Flanagan rose abruptly out of her chair and removed her suit jacket. She was wearing a white cotton shirt underneath and as she stretched her arms, it tightened over her figure and he realised that she was in fact quite slim. He reckoned she must keep fit in some way regularly.
‘What about yourself? You seem to have got close to Ms Ruane very quickly. I gather you spent the day together yesterday. Why was that?’
‘Look, we met out jogging by coincidence. Tara offered to show me around on the way back. I wanted to get to know the area, so I accepted.’
‘But it wasn’t the way back was it? It was a much longer route. I have run those hills myself, Mr Grainger.’
The half-smile flashed again briefly, except this time more like a leer. Ouch, thought Robert, starting to feel rattled but he took a deep breath and answered the question rationally. And the rest of them, for the questioning went on a while longer. There were no cobwebs on this woman, he concluded.
‘Well thank you. That will do for now,’ she said eventually. As she rose out of the chair, she paused and added.
‘Oh yes, if you don’t mind Mr Grainger. There is something else. I want you and Miss Ruane and the rest of the family to stay at Rosnaree, for your own safety for the moment. Mind you,’ she added gesturing at the window, ‘I don’t suppose that will greatly inconvenience you, what with this weather.’
Outside the rain continued to fall relentlessly.
‘And, of course in the circumstances, I will need your passport, please.’
Robert looked at the solicitor who simply nodded.
‘Of course, Detective Inspector, I quite understand. I will get it for you directly,’ Robert replied.
He didn’t say that he knew he could get a ferry or flight out of the Republic using the photo ID on his driving licence anytime he wanted. Nor that he could get Mac to drop him over the border into Northern Ireland within forty minutes. He didn’t say anything because both he and the Inspector knew that Flanagan was simply indicating to him that he was a suspect in the murder.
Chapter 2
Bay of Biscay, 1660
The cargo ship moved comfortably through the heavy swell that rolled across the Bay of Biscay. Her pear-shaped, heavily-laden holds, were crammed high with boxes of salted fish from Donegal. They provided ballast while her long keel gave her pace. She was about twenty years old but well-designed, after the fashion of a Dutch flute, reaching eighty foot long and sporting three square rigged high masts. Like all vessels of her type she could be run with a small crew, in this case the captain, six crew members and a boy. And on this particular occasion one passenger, a man named Donovan Lally.
Donovan had a paid a small fortune to purchase his passage from Cobh after a long wait of eleven years since the fateful meeting at Ormond Castle. In that time he had remained in Munster awaiting the right opportunity to travel abroad. His mission was to take part of the Triskell and hide it safely in the great pilgrimage city of St James, Santiago de Compostela, in Spain. His former master, Archbishop Cornelius Walshe was long since in the Otherworld, having departed this world shortly after the trip to Labbacallee. He had died peaceably in his bed, his faithful retinue of servants praying by his side for his salvation.
Donovan had expected the fee he had parted with to buy him seclusion as well as passage to Spain, but in that respect he was to be disappointed. He was quartered in a tiny room alongside the captain’s cabin in the ship’s high stern, and his Iberian neighbour took this as a sanction to intrude upon Donovan as and when he pleased. Benito Rodriguez was a tall man who carried more weight than he should, with a garrulous manner which was accentuated when he had too much to drink. Unfortunately this seemed to be the case more often than not. Donovan, fielding the man’s unstoppable torrent of questions, realised that he was the insatiable type, who sensing a weakness, would ferret away to expose it. Donovan riposted with wit and good humour, yielding nothing by way of private information, and the Captain seemed satisfied enough with that.
It quickly became apparent that the Spaniard’s main problem was being so often in his cups. He regaled Donovan with tales of his youth; how his cleverness and willingness to seize opportunities had served him well and delivered him a decent living. But plying a trade as a merchant shipman the last decade had been another matter, he said. The Great Rebellion, the Anglo-Dutch war and then the war between England and Spain had followed each other in quick succession and all but destroyed trade between Iberia and the north of Europe. Donovan understood that the debts had p
iled up and Rodriguez had taken solace in alcohol. The Spaniard was particularly anxious that this trip be a success. His aim, he told Donovan, was to bring back a hold full of Merino wool, which he would sell to drapers in England. The Spanish fleece was light and strong and, mixed with English wool, would greatly improve the quality of broadcloth. Donovan surmised that if the man could only stay sober he might be all right. He was a pest but Donovan knew that all he had to do was count the days; within a week they would arrive safely in Spain.
The rest of the crew were civil and Donovan felt confident enough on the third day to venture out on deck for a change of scene and some fresh air. Although his quarters were pleasant enough the galley in general stank. It was not the custom of the crew to wash, for it was considered a waste of precious freshwater, and the stench of stale water from the keel area below somehow seeped up through the floorboards. Donovan found a spot sheltered from sea spray and, lighting up his pipe, settled back to watch proceedings. The flute had three masts, with the main and foremast setting topsails, but no topgallants. The topsails were extremely tall, soaring above the deck and could readily pick up a wind. The Captain wanted to make good time so the ship’s boy, Tom, a wiry and lithe little urchin, was tasked with adjusting the topsails. He shinned up into and across the rigging like a monkey and, watching him, Donovan realised that the ship could be run with relatively little effort by just trimming the topsails. He understood now how such a sizeable vessel could be operated by so small a crew.
As the ship cut fast through the waters occasional larger waves crashed against the vessel’s hull and a wall of foam would momentarily engulf the boy aloft on the rigging, his long curly fair hair splaying in the wind, as he continued undaunted to dart about between frets of rope. Tom seemed the personification of freedom and action and being at one with the world. Donovan envied him his youthful agility and absence of cares. If only I could be like him, he thought, an untroubled creature happy with his small role in God’s universe. In reaching this conclusion the Irishman couldn’t have been more off the mark as he would shortly find out.