St Ernan's Blues: An Inspector Starrett Mystery

by Paul Charles

  ‘I’ll tell you what, Nuala, drive up close to the house so they can’t see us from the front window,’ Starrett said, slipping way down into his seat, remembering the blonde, long-legged reflection who had dashed across the sitting room mirror the last time he was in the house. ‘Then, you go to the front door and I’ll slip around the back.’

  On the back porch, the detective enjoyed a collision with the star of the scene he ever so briefly caught in the mirror. The girl with the very long blonde hair was so preoccupied about getting out of the house while simultaneously buckling up the belt on her blood red, military-style jacket, that she quite literally collided with the person of Inspector Starrett. The inspector came off the worse the wear as her industrial styled, black leather boots connected full on with his shin. Yet he didn’t exactly mind because the vision of female perfection who helped him up from the ground near nullified the sharp pain growing in his shin.

  In that moment, his mind jumped from the X-rated scene by his knee to the one of Dr Samantha Aljoe carefully removing, if his memory wasn’t playing tricks on him, an equally long blonde hair from the body of father Matthew McKaye and placing it delicately in one of her translucent evidence bags.

  ‘Eimear’s sister, I presume?’ he offered, as he made sure the woman had recovered her land-legs before letting go of her.

  ‘Eimear’s sister,’ she confirmed, her smile disappearing as quickly as it would have from Rooney’s face if he’d been awarded a penalty only to then go and miss it.

  ‘Ah perfect,’ Starrett said, producing his warrant card, ‘I’m Inspector Starrett and you’re the very person I was hoping to have a natter with.’

  ‘Off to visit friends,’ she said. ‘Meet later?’

  ‘Ah no,’ he said, re-opening Eimear’s back door. ‘We won’t detain you for too long.’

  The woman looked like she was going to defy him and walk away but then obviously thought better of it, so she meekly walked through the door he’d been holding open for her, looked at her watch, took out her mobile and started to text away on it, ten to the dozen.

  ‘Ah, I see you’ve met our Mary!’ Eimear said, when Starrett and the leggy blonde walked through to the kitchen. ‘I was just saying to the ban garda here, I said, “Ban Garda, you only just missed my sister.”’

  ‘Yes,’ Starrett agreed. ‘We had a meeting of sorts, I think me shin came off the worse. Eimear, Mary is in a bit of a hurry – by any chance, is there a wee room where Ban Garda Nuala Gibson and myself could have a quick chat with her so we don’t put too much of a dent into her Saturday afternoon?’

  Mary was meanwhile rolling her eyes and her thumb was flicking up and down on her telephone screen.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Eimear declared proudly, ‘I was just saying to Jessica recently, I said, “Jessica, we’re not getting much use out of our sitting-room, are we?. I suppose we’re going to have to wait until you and Julia are bringing boys ho–”’

  ‘Yes Mum,’ Jessica said, ‘I’m sure the guards don’t need to hear that. Aunty Mary is in a hurry.’

  ‘I’m not your Aunty!’ Aunty Mary snapped.

  ‘Mum,’ Jessica called out, ‘is she disowning you or me or both of us?’

  ‘Jessica, you know our Mary doesn’t like to be called Aunty. She feels it ages her.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Jessica said.

  ‘Whatever,’ Mary echoed, but not quite carrying it off.

  ‘Mary, take them through to the sitting room,’ Eimear ordered as if she was commanding a troublesome child. ‘I’ll bring you through some tea and coffee shortly.’

  ‘Eimear!’ Mary hissed, rolling her eyes.

  Mary Mooney looked like she’d personally modelled for Johannes Vermeer’s masterpiece, The Girl with the Pearl Earring. She’d applied her makeup so perfectly that it appeared as though it just might have been painted on her face by the Dutch Master himself – there wasn’t a single spot of make-up free skin about her face. And, if anything, her lips were so perfect, with their razor-sharp lines and their vibrant red lipstick, they looked like they quite possibly could have been tattooed on.

  She was clearly conscious of just how much lipstick she’d applied because every few minutes she would open her mouth slightly and run her tongue across her teeth from left to right, wiping off any offending smudges. Only the way she did it, as far as Starrett was concerned, was pretty X-rated itself.

  The other area Mary had concentrated on was her fingernails. Each nail was varnished in a different vivid colour and then on top of that colour, she’d painted ten different patterns, ranging from a star to an attempt at a rainbow.

  She sat down on the sofa, seemingly unconcerned that her tartan, pleated micro-skirt rode up to expose the little of what remained unexposed of her tanned, bare legs. It wasn’t so much that Mary Mooney had long legs, it was just that she was showing a lot of them. Maggie Keane would frequently tell her daughters that girls only wore short skirts to distract boys from looking at their inferior lower legs. Mind you, Starrett wasn’t sure that there would be an imperfect feature on Mary Mooney’s body. He noted that she didn’t seem to like to smile like other women he could think of, though. And, despite all that supposed temptation, the inspector found it easy to avert his eyes from Mary Mooney’s lower limbs because, having already, very nearly, seen everything she had, including what she’d eaten for breakfast, he came to the conclusion that he much preferred the look of mystery. He could tell the initial effect of her beauty was quickly wearing off on him, if only because his shin was starting to throb again, like someone had just tried to saw through it with a rusted hacksaw.

  ‘We’d like to talk to you about Father Matthew, if you don’t mind,’ Starrett started, finally taking control of his faculties.

  ‘I do mind. A lot. Won’t do me much good though.’

  ‘Your sister said you and Father Matt got on very well.’

  ‘How well?’ she asked, very nearly pronouncing the question mark.

  ‘Mary,’ Starrett said, changing gear, and pausing.

  He thought he realised the subtext of her two-word reply, i.e. how much of what I did, did she tell you? In other words, there was possible information here to be learned.

  ‘Mary,’ he started again.

  ‘You’re sounding like a nursery rhyme,’ she quipped.

  Starrett was going to finish her line with ‘quite contrary’ but decided not to risk rattling her.

  ‘I understand you and Father Matt were quite close.’

  ‘For a priest he was okay.’

  ‘Did you only meet him around here?’

  Mary Mooney looked at both of them slowly, as though she was trying to decide how much to tell them. He wondered if Gibson wasn’t there, would this young lady be more open to his questioning?

  ‘At first,’ she admitted, ‘Eimear liked him. Decent sort. Looked good. Looked great, in fact. Well fit. Became friends. We’d talk about everything. Asked him if he missed sex. He said “of course”. Said it was like not being able to quenching a great thirst. I shifted him.’

  ‘But he was a priest?’ Gibson complained.

  ‘Meet a thirsty man in the desert you just gotta give him a drink,’ she replied through a smirk, ‘don’t you.’

  ‘Where did youse go?’ Starrett asked, happy that it appeared, at least, that Gibson’s involuntary comment hadn’t derailed Mary’s candidness.

  ‘Round my house, when Callum, my husband, was out.’

  ‘How often?’ Starrett asked.

  She took up her mobile again and scrolled through it, pausing every now and again.

  ‘Seventeen times,’ she admitted.

  ‘Always at your house?’

  ‘Few times here when Gerry and Eimear were out at the flicks and Julia and Jessica were being moody teenagers in their room.’

  ‘Were you, you know, not scared of being caught?’

  ‘He was a priest, no one suspected.’

  ‘Did Eimear know?’

  ‘Didn’t she te
ll you?’ Mary replied in disbelief.

  ‘Who else knew?’ Starrett continued quickly, so she wouldn’t get preoccupied by the fact he’d duped her.

  ‘Not many.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t seem to care,’ Gibson chipped in again. ‘Weren’t you scared that your husband would come back and discover you?’

  ‘He’s always out. He’s what you guards would call a “boy racer”. But never let him know I said that. They just hate to be called that. He’s only concerned about his car. Now if his car cheated, well, then he really would be pissed. Really pissed. Can cars cheat?’

  ‘Were youse in a relationship at the time of his death?’ Starrett asked.

  She laughed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘We weren’t in a relationship. Sure, I’m married. We were just shagging.’

  ‘Okay were you…’ Starrett struggled to use that word in mixed company. ‘Were youse enjoying a sexual relationship at the time of his death?’

  ‘No, we stopped a month ago,’ she admitted, after a bit of sniggering.

  ‘Did you stop it or did he?’ Gibson asked.

  ‘He did.’

  ‘Was he torn by his religion?’

  ‘He found someone else–’

  ‘But–’ Gibson interrupted.

  ‘I know, I know…’ Mary in turn interrupted, ‘…but he was a priest.’

  ‘Do you know who he started seeing after you?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue.’

  ‘So how do you know for sure?’ Starrett asked.

  ‘He needed it. I tried to shift him after we stopped and he turned me down. He needed sex. Father Matt really needed sex. The only reason he’d turn me down,’ Mary claimed proudly, ‘would be due to the fact he was being shifted by someone else.’

  Starrett was glad Gibson was taking notes. He imagined they’d probably pick up more when they’d a chance to review the notes afterwards, and with Mary Mooney’s (mostly) text-length sentences, this was one set of interview notes it wouldn’t take them long to get through.

  ‘So, after you and Father Matt split up…’ Starrett started, wanting to move the interview on to other, hopefully equally revealing topics.

  ‘We weren’t having an affair, no need to break up,’ Mary hissed.

  ‘Okay, sorry, after you and Father Matt stopped having sexual intercourse, did you still see him at Eimear’s house?’

  ‘Yes, loads.’

  ‘Were you still friendly to each other?’

  ‘Not much in common, but still civil,’ Mary said.

  ‘Did youse fight? Argue?’

  ‘No, we weren’t married; we weren’t even a couple, so no need to argue.’

  ‘You don’t know who he saw after you?’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly, her tongue darting across her teeth again.

  ‘Do you know if he was seeing one girl or several girls?’ Starrett asked, ploughing away at his list of questions. He occasionally made up a list of questions under the title ‘Questions I should have asked but forgot to’. His last question, which had seen Mary shake her head to the negative, wouldn’t have been on such a list, but his next question quite possibly might have.

  ‘Did Father Matt ever discuss with you if anything was troubling him?’

  ‘The only thing that appeared to be troubling him, we got fixed within a few minutes of us meeting up,’ she replied.

  ‘And what was that?’ Starrett asked, drawing a strange look from Gibson.

  ‘That he needed shifting and I shifted him,’ Mary replied, confident enough not to be caught beating about the bush.

  ‘Right, right, I see, but I was thinking more of you know…if he was in financial trouble?’

  ‘For a priest he seemed well off – expensive clothes and underclothes, well groomed, he was very clean, nice smell,’ she replied, now looking like she was really trying to concentrate on his question. ‘He never tried to tap me for a few euro, the way my husband does.’

  ‘Does your husband not work?’

  ‘Yes he works, it’s just every cent he has goes into his only true love, his car, a Nissan Skyline GTR.’

  ‘What does he do for a living?’ Starrett asked, very impressed by Mary’s husband’s choice in wheels.

  ‘He’s installs computer systems in hotels,’ she said, in a lower voice.

  ‘What do you do?’ Gibson asked.

  ‘I’m a beautician.’

  Starrett banished all judgemental thoughts from his mind.

  ‘Did youse talk about your work?’ Starrett asked.

  ‘Really? Is that really your question?’ Mary replied disdainfully, ‘Callum and I rarely talk about anything.’

  ‘And Callum is?’ Gibson asked for the record.

  ‘My husband!’

  ‘No, sorry, it’s my fault, Mary,’ Starrett laughed, ‘I was asking you if you and Father Matt ever talked about your work?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you talk about his beliefs?’

  ‘He would have a whole lot of those deep and meaningful conversations with our Eimear.’

  ‘Were Eimear and Father Matt having a physical relationship?’ Starrett asked.

  Mary looked like she wasn’t as much upset that he would ask her such a question, as that he would think Father Matt could possibly be with her sister after having been, in her mind, with the better one.

  ‘That’s just not possible,’ were the words she used.

  ‘Why not? They seemed to get on well together, they seemed genuinely fond of each other?’ Starrett stated, remembering Eimear Robinson was the first person he’d met on this case who seemed sincerely upset about Father Matt’s demise.

  ‘Our Eimear lives her life for Julia and Jessica,’ Mary began. ‘She wouldn’t do anything, and I really mean anything, to directly or indirectly jeopardise their wellbeing.’

  Starrett was surprised by her answer in that she’d gone beyond the confines of a text message for the first time since they’d started the interview. She seemed aware of this herself and even appeared quite proud of her mini achievement.

  ‘It just wouldn’t have been possible,’ she reiterated, maybe because Starrett looked like he wasn’t sure whether Eimear and the priest hadn’t shared a moment.

  ‘Okay, if it wasn’t Eimear–’

  ‘It wasn’t our Eimear,’ Mary said, flatly, flashing her speedy tongue across her teeth.

  ‘Okay, it wasn't Eimear,’ he agreed, for the sake of the interview. ‘Do you think he might have discussed this other woman with Eimear?’

  Mary Mooney looked like she was considering this possibility for the first time. ‘He might have done,’ she agreed.

  ‘Priests often seem to be attracted to older women,’ Starrett mused.

  ‘Older woman, def not,’ she declared on his behalf. ‘Father Matt wouldn’t be interested in anything other than a young thing. He said that’s why he’d never be able to be a priest, having to deal with the older women.’

  ‘So what did youse talk about when youse were alone?’ Starrett asked, picking up her thread.

  Mary Mooney looked shocked by the inspector’s question. Starrett and Gibson were, in turn, shocked by her gesture and reply. She raised both hands up to either side of her head and she moved them down her body slowly, about six inches away from contact. She paused and then said, ‘Talk? Do you really think so?’

  Starrett had to accept the fact that Mary Mooney knew absolutely nothing whatsoever about Father Matthew McKaye, apart from the fact that, apparently, he liked to be shifted.

  He had one final question for the one who was still basking in the glory of her recent flaunt.

  ‘Mary, what were you doing on Wednesday afternoon, between 3:30 and 5:30?’

  ‘Lucky for me I was still at work in the salon in town until about 7.’

  Chapter Forty

  Starrett and Gibson rose from their seats in Eimear Robinson’s lounge after Mary Mooney
had more elaborately completed the same task, only she encored her performance by giving a quick twirl, which allowed her pleated tartan skirt, short and all as it was, to umbrella out, exposing even more skin.

  She then walked over to Starrett, shook his hand and kissed the air on either side of his face, offered her first smile of the proceedings and whispered, ‘Eimear has my number, call me.’

  Starrett had been so intent in interviewing Mary Mooney that neither he nor Nuala Gibson had advised Gerry Robinson that they wanted to interview him next. When they returned to the living area in the kitchen, Julia informed them that Gerry had gone out for a walk with Jessica, who wanted to clear her head to avoid another migraine. Eimear was nowhere to be seen, but Starrett could hear noises coming from upstairs, which he assumed were from her domestic chores. He didn’t want to hang around in case Gerry and his daughter were out for ages so he asked Julia to tell him they’d be back around six o’clock for the interview.

  Donegal Town was gridlocked with vehicles circling and circling the Diamond, scouting for precious parking spaces. Pedestrians circled the Diamond in the opposite direction, all seeming very amused by the drivers’ inability to find parking spaces. He wondered aloud to Gibson if the pedestrians looked kind of out of sorts because that they would all have to travel over to Letterkenny for their entertainment and recreation (as Donegal Town did not have it’s own cinema or swimming pool) and were worried that when they returned they too would end up circling the Diamond in search of a parking space.

  Just like a couple who had long since known each other’s lines and routines, Gibson chose to just ignore Starrett.

  Starrett wondered in silence if any of the people currently circling the Diamond were descendants of the original 42 people who were involuntarily transported from Donegal Town to the United States of America in the period from April 1737 to August 1743. Then he wondered if any of the 40 men and 2 women who had been banished to the States for either being a vagabond or a thief, had “made good” or if any of their descendants had “made good”.

  ‘So who do you think our Father Matt was having an affair with after he and Mary Mooney broke up?’ Gibson asked, interrupting Starrett’s distractions to the grid lock nightmare.