Cruel Winter: A County Cork Mystery

by Sheila Connolly

  “Fair enough. But somebody planned Sharon’s murder. They knew she’d be alone. They knew she’d help if they appealed to her the right way. They brought the knife with them and then hid it so well, it’s never been found. They made sure there was no evidence.”

  “And yer claimin’ that Ellen or Denis Layton could’ve pulled this off?” Bart asked.

  “Hey, you know I don’t know either one of them. I don’t know what kind of physical shape they were in or if either one of them could have stabbed Sharon more than once. Maybe it took the two of them working together. Maybe they planned to move Sharon’s body but found they didn’t have the strength to do it.”

  “Denis coulda dragged a heifer—he was a dairyman. Sharon woulda been easy fer him to shift,” Joe said. “Mebbe Ellen too, back when I knew her.”

  “Okay. Maybe Ellen was the brains and Denis was the muscle. Or maybe it was always the plan to leave Sharon where she was found. Or they were making it up as they went. I can’t say. But for now, are you willing to believe it’s possible?”

  “Say we do believe yeh—and I’m not saying we do—what is it you hope to do wit’ this idea of yours?” Seamus asked.

  It was a reasonable question, and suddenly Maura felt deflated. She hadn’t thought that far, and she didn’t know how police procedures worked in Ireland. Maybe in the back of her mind, she’d thought she’d just hand the solution to Sean and let him worry about the details. Or maybe she hadn’t thought at all. “I . . . don’t know. I’m not from here, remember? Does a murder case remain open forever until it’s solved? Is there a special group that looks at cold cases? There’s got to be a process for telling the gardaí, isn’t there? Bart, can you tell me what has to happen?”

  Bart gave her a long look. “Yer sayin’ you think what you and this lot have worked out in the dead of night is strong enough to take to the gardaí and ask to reopen the case?”

  “Are you telling us it’s not?” Maura countered.

  “You know who yeh can ask, Maura,” Mick said neutrally.

  “You mean Sean Murphy?” Bart said. “He was in nappies when all this happened. I’d have a better shot at makin’ someone listen to me. If I thought yeh had a case.”

  “Sean’s a garda now, and he’s smart,” Mick said. “And he’s closer to the place than you are now, Bart. Convince him, Maura, and he’ll take it to his boss. Maybe he’s the best man fer it, since he has no horse in this race.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He wasn’t involved in the past, no more than you were, so he can see it new, like.”

  Now Maura was torn between the two men. “Bart? You think we’re way off base? I mean, I don’t want to do an end run around you or push you to do something you don’t want to. And I don’t want to put Sean in an awkward position either. It’s just that I know Sean. And his boss.” She wasn’t about to explain how and why to Bart.

  “I’m not sayin’ yer wrong, Maura,” Bart told her. “Just that I’d look like a right fool if I took it back to my station and pretended we’d solved the whole thing overnight.”

  “But you were part of the investigation!”

  Bart sighed. “I was, but I was at the bottom of the heap. I never saw anything that someone else didn’t hand me to copy or file.”

  “Would Sean be risking his job if he poked this too hard and someone who did cover something up got mad? Either that or he’d look like he’s sucking up, trying to make himself look good by solving this.” Maura really wasn’t sure which side of the argument she was on, and she knew she wasn’t making much sense. Yes, she had a connection to Sean, but he was pretty junior at the Skibbereen station. Although Bart seemed to know who he was. Why? What would Sean do if she handed him their proposed solution to the case? Laugh at her or take it to the next level? She’d had some interactions with his boss, Detective Inspector Patrick Hurley, and she thought he was a fair and honest man—and he’d believed her in the past when he had little reason to. Had he been involved in the original murder investigation? Did he have any kind of stake in solving this? Or covering it up?

  She looked up to find most of the people in the room staring at her. How long had she been thinking? “Any ideas?” she asked.

  “Give it a rest, and think on it some more,” Mick said gently. “The gardaí will be busy enough sorting out the snow and all, makin’ sure people are all right and safe. There’ll be car crashes on the roads, no doubt. And the power’s not even back yet. Give yerself a day or two. Nothing’s gonna change.”

  Maura didn’t want to give up, which surprised her. “Okay, this is where I think we are. The Laytons, husband and wife, are the best fit for our killer. You can tell me all you want that they’re nice people and couldn’t possibly have done this. But the logic is there.” She scanned the ragtag group. “So here’s the big question: do you think this is enough to take to Garda Sean Murphy? And if he says we’re all crazy, it ends there. Bart thinks no. Diane, what do you want?”

  Maura wanted to be sure that she wasn’t coming off as a know-it-all, thinking she could walk in and solve a murder that had happened twenty years ago, in the course of one night. And on top of that, it wasn’t her decision to make. She turned to face Diane. “Do you want me to take this to the gardaí, Diane? Or you can ask Bart to do it, if he’s willing. There’s nothing that says we have to, and it may stir up things for you that maybe you’d rather let alone. It can end here. Your choice.”

  Diane didn’t answer immediately, taking a moment to study Maura’s face. “Do you know, nobody ever took my side in this? Like I told you, my husband thought it was a grand joke, maybe because it kept people from looking too hard at him. I’ve made my peace with that—with him. I’ve gone on living my life, and I’ve no complaints. But I didn’t kill Sharon, which means someone else did, and that person is still free. That’s wrong. Is there anything to be gained by opening it all up again? Only justice. If you believe that matters.”

  “Is that a yes?” Maura asked.

  “I suppose it is. If the gardaí don’t want to touch it, you’ve done your part, Maura, and I’m grateful.”

  Maura turned back to the rest of the group, sitting or slouching around the room. “What about you guys? Do you think the story hangs together? Or were we just tired and bored and spinning tales last night? I’m not going to stick my neck out and then have all of you change your minds if someone comes to talk with you.”

  Glances were exchanged. Finally, Seamus spoke. “I think yeh’ve done a grand job of setting out the facts, Maura. And now that we look back at it, mebbe some angles were overlooked. Nobody’s fault, just the way things were then. Mebbe it’s worth takin’ another look.” He shifted his gaze to Bart. “You’re the garda here, and you know the story from both ends. What’s to be done?”

  Bart was shaking his head before Seamus had stopped speaking. “It’s not enough. Ye’ve given it yer best shot, all of yez, but most of what yeh’ve got is wild guesses and maybes. I’d be laughed out of the station.”

  Even though she’d expected that reaction, Maura felt a sharp stab of disappointment. She glanced at Diane, but Diane didn’t look either surprised or upset. So this really was the end of the story?

  Bart must have noticed her reaction, because he said kindly, “Take it to your friend Murphy, if you want, Maura, and see what he thinks. But he may tell you the same thing that I have, and that’ll put an end to things once again.”

  Time to let it go, Maura. “Thank you. What you say is fair. Like I’ve said before, I’m the outsider, and I’d never heard of any of this before. I’m not going to pretend that I can see what a lot of gardaí and other people missed, but I’ve got fresh eyes and a different view of procedures, and that might be worth something. Plus, times have changed. So I might as well talk to Sean, off the record, kind of, and if it doesn’t work out I’ll let it go. Thank you all for at least giving it a shot. And thank you, Diane, for letting us pick your life apart—again.”

  “Y
ou mean well, Maura,” Diane told her. “I hope you’re right in your conclusions, but I’ve lost nothing if it ends here. I want to thank the rest of you as well.”

  Maura looked out the front windows and saw a car passing on the road, then another, and black pavement could be seen under the snow. A few people were standing in front of their homes or shops and shaking their heads. Life was resuming in Leap.

  “If yeh’ve a shovel or a broom handy, we’ll see to clearing in front of the place,” Joe volunteered.

  “If you’ll clear the front so nobody breaks their neck getting in, I’d be grateful,” Maura said.

  Rose emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel. “I had flour and butter, so there’re scones in the oven,” she announced. “They’ll be ready when you are.”

  And just like that, the men in the room were suddenly in action after their long night cooped up in the pub.

  Twenty-Two

  True to her word, Rose had a plate of scones steaming on the bar when the men tromped in, stamping what was left of the snow from their shoes or boots, jostling each other like boys. The fresh air and exercise had clearly done them good. Rose had also managed to make another pot of coffee and scramble some of the eggs from Billy’s place.

  As the men charged toward the bar, grabbing up plates, Maura slid behind it. “Rose, you are amazing. Yesterday, you weren’t even sure that stove worked, and today you’ve produced a meal.”

  “We’ve the same type of stove at home. It’s easy. I could show you how it works.”

  Maura laughed. “You know I don’t cook. I’ll leave it for you. But thank you for working things out.”

  After most of the men had helped themselves, Maura took a serving and went over to where Diane was sitting. She looked a lot more relaxed than she had the day before.

  “You look better,” Maura said as she sat down. “Or maybe more peaceful.”

  Diane smiled. “Actually, I don’t know what I feel. You did a great job, Maura, but even so, the solution you’ve proposed seems kind of weak. I remember the Laytons, and I have trouble seeing them as killers. If some larger animal attacked their dog, maybe—they loved that animal. But to sit and plot a murder? It’s hard to imagine.”

  “I understand, Diane, really. But Sharon died. That’s a fact, like it or not.”

  “I know, I know. But over a piece of land? I can’t really buy that.”

  “Look, I haven’t been in Ireland long, but I have seen that people are really attached to their land, and so were most of their ancestors. I know that where I come from, there isn’t the same kind of emotional connection—you buy a place to live, or to impress other people, or as an investment, but you’re usually not heartbroken when you sell it. Not that I have any experience with all that—we always rented, and we moved several times.”

  “I guess I don’t feel that either, Maura. I know the old place mattered to my grandparents, and they were very proud when they could leave it to me. But it hasn’t been part of my life for a long time. I think it’s time to let it go.”

  “What are you going to do now?” Maura asked, forking up eggs. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

  “I’ll have to see what flights are available now.”

  “So you’re leaving the country like you planned?”

  Diane didn’t meet Maura’s eyes. “I appreciate what you’ve tried to do, Maura, but I don’t see that it changes anything. Yes, I’m going home.”

  “Why’d you wait so long to sell your property?” Maura demanded.

  “Sentiment? Selling it meant the real, final end of the whole thing, and I needed that. It’s all right, Maura—I’m not disappointed, and I’m glad you tried. But once the phones and the power are back, I think I’ll be going.”

  Maura battled mixed feelings. Maybe she was just thinking like an American, trying to fix things, but this wasn’t her problem to fix. So why did she still want to?

  No matter what Diane or the rest of them said, Maura was going to talk to Sean. Off the record. He might be young, but he was smart, and she trusted his judgment. If he said there was nothing to be done, she’d accept that.

  Maura turned to the others in the room, who had been busy pretending they weren’t listening to what Maura and Diane were saying. “Okay, gang, where are we?”

  “Fair to middlin’, I’d say,” Jimmy volunteered. “A few dishes and glasses to be washed. And the stuff we trucked down fer sleepin’ should go back to where it came from, upstairs. There’s no more food, of course.”

  “Of course, but when did we turn into a restaurant? The rest of the shops should be open sometime today, and people can look out for themselves. So do we open as usual, with or without power?”

  “We can do,” Mick said. “As long as the taps keep workin’ and we don’t run out of drink. We’re lucky we had a shipment last week, so we’re good.”

  Maura checked the time. “It’s, what—ten o’clock now? You can go home if you want, you know.”

  “There’s no assurance that the lanes are clear, Maura, whatever the state of the main road,” Mick reminded her. “Better we stay here fer a bit and see how it goes.”

  “Oh. Right. Tell me again that this kind of snow is rare around here?”

  “Indeed it is,” Jimmy said. “And there’ll be plenty of talk about it later in the day. By the time the lads are done, there’ll be a dozen feet of snow in the story, and the winds blowin’ up a gale.”

  Maura noticed the young guys from the wedding party were now upright and scarfing down whatever food was left. They didn’t look hungover—but they were guys, and they were young. Maura almost laughed—they were no more than a couple of years younger than she was, but next to them she felt old. “Joe?” she called out. “Will you get these guys home when the roads are open? Or wherever they’re going?”

  “No worries. And I’ve got help to get Bart’s car out of the ditch.”

  With two more items settled, Maura made her way over to where Gillian sat and dropped into a chair. “How’re you holding up?”

  “A bit stiff after a night in your chair, but otherwise all right.”

  “Will you be going back to the manor house?”

  Gillian looked uncertain. “I’m waiting to hear from Harry first, I suppose. No messages yet. And I don’t know if anyone will have cleared the drive to the house. It’s a long one, as you know, and there’s only Tom O’Brien to see to it. But I guess it’s more than that. As I said, Eveline has been happy about the baby, but the O’Briens think I’m an evil slut taking advantage of Harry. I don’t feel like being cooped up with them in the house. May I just hang out here with you while I wait for Harry?”

  “Of course you can,” Maura said promptly. “But we’re going to need to find more food at some point.” She turned to Billy, dozing in the adjoining chair. “Billy, I’m sorry we cleared out your pantry. I’ll make sure to replace whatever we ate.” Maura didn’t know the facts, but she guessed that Billy got by on a rather meager income, plus the free housing she gave him—not that she begrudged him that. He was definitely an asset to the pub, and he might be reluctant to take charity for playing the ongoing role of Wise Old Irish Codger.

  He opened one eye and smiled at her. “I’m sure yeh’ll make things right, my dear.”

  Maura looked up to Sean Murphy knocking at the front door, and she hurried to let him in. “Sean! How’s the snow cleanup going? Would you like some coffee?”

  “I can’t stay, Maura—I’m only doin’ the rounds to make sure everyone is all right and to see what will be needin’ fixin’. How’d you pass the night?”

  “We had a slumber party,” Maura told him. When he looked blank, she said, “A sleepover? Anyway, the staff was all here and a bunch of other people who got stranded, so we just settled in for the night. We even put together some soup for people.”

  “Grand. So yeh’ve had no problems, then?”

  Maura smiled. “For once, the fact that Old Mick never changed mu
ch helped us. He even left some kerosene lamps in the cellar, and we had plenty of fuel for the fire. We were fine.”

  “Then I’ll be on my way to check on people who might not have fared so well.”

  “Let me walk you out,” Maura said quickly, then followed him out the front door. “Listen, there’s something I need to talk to you about. Not right now, obviously, because I know you’re busy. But soon. Can you let me know when you’ve got some free time?”

  “Is this police business, Maura?” he asked.

  “In fact, it is. It’ll keep, but it’s important or I wouldn’t be asking.”

  “Then I’ll get back to yeh when I can, but I can’t say when that might be. It’s good that your lot came through the night so well, but there may be others who didn’t.”

  “I understand. You go take care of your business. And thanks for checking on us, Sean.”

  She watched him trudge through what remained of the snow to his car and head back toward Skibbereen, skidding only slightly as he pulled away from the curb. Across the street, Anne Sheahan was sweeping off the front steps of the hotel. “Is everythin’ all right?” Anne called out.

  “We’re fine here. You?”

  “No worries. Yeh might have heard us singin’ in the back, once we opened up the bar to all.”

  “Sorry I missed it. Listen, how’re you fixed for food?”

  “We’re managin’. Yer out, I’m guessin’?”

  “Pretty much. But we’ll pay for whatever we eat.”

  “Come over when you’ve time, and you can see what’s left. We’ll settle up later. See you!” Anne took one last swipe at the snow and disappeared inside.

  After she’d shut the door behind her, Maura told the group, “Anne says she’ll feed us if we’re desperate.” Once again, she looked around the pub, trying to figure out how to keep herself busy since she couldn’t go home and get some much-needed sleep and take a shower. She was interrupted by a knock on the door and turned to see Harry, looking haggard, and Maura guessed quickly that that was due to more than the weather. She opened it quickly. “Come in, please. Are the roads okay?”