An Early Wake

by Sheila Connolly

  “Oh, one last thing: can you please take Aidan out the side door, please?” Maura asked. “Seems like it sends the wrong message to have you take a body out the front door.” In any case, if all went well, poor Aidan would be removed while Mass was going on and most people wouldn’t notice.

  “I think we can manage that.”

  Once the sergeant departed, Sean, Mick, and Maura were left alone in the pub, which suddenly seemed a bit darker and shabbier than it had earlier. “Interesting morning,” Maura said, her voiced edged with sarcasm. “Anybody need more coffee?”

  “Please,” Mick said.

  “None for me,” Sean said.

  Maura set about making more coffee, then turned back to Sean. “So you really don’t know how he died?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Doesn’t matter—the outcome’s the same,” Sean told her, giving nothing away. “Tell me, Maura, who else besides you two has a key to the place?”

  “Jimmy Sweeney, and his daughter, Rose. Maybe Billy Sheahan—heck, for all I know the key to his door fits all the doors in the place. It’s an old building. I can’t say who else Old Mick might have given a key, for one reason or another. Does it matter?”

  “It might. The dead man had a key in his pocket that opens yer back door.”

  Chapter 14

  Sean’s statement left Maura speechless. She knew that security in the building was a joke, but she’d never had any reason to use the back doors—she’d only learned about them when Mick had pointed them out before the event. She wouldn’t even recognize a key for them if she had one. Had Old Mick had others? She should check the drawers both in the pub and back at her house to see if there were any more kicking around. But that was kind of shutting the barn door after the horse was long gone.

  In any case, if Aidan had had a key for some mysterious reason and had let himself in, either for some illegal purpose or just to crash for a few hours, that still didn’t shed any light on how he’d died.

  She checked her watch: past eleven. Almost Leap’s “rush hour,” if the people attending Mass constituted traffic. Maura knew it was the only time that the big parking lot in front of the church was anywhere near filled, and even then, not every week. She would normally open at twelve thirty, the legal time, and after the night’s festivities, she expected something of a flood when Mass was over today. How long would it take for news of Aidan Crowley’s death to spread and draw still more in?

  Maura realized they’d all been silent for a couple of minutes, apparently lost in their own thoughts. But time was passing. “So, Sean, we’ll open as usual?”

  “Yes, as Sergeant Regan said. As soon as the deceased is gone.”

  “Mick, is there anything we need to do to get ready? Thanks for leaving the place in good shape.” Well, except for a body. “I would have hated facing cleanup this morning.”

  Mick didn’t comment. He said, “I’ve got to check the kegs—I think I’ll need to swap one out, and better sooner than later.” He vanished behind the bar to the stairs that led to the basement, where the kegs were kept.

  “Fine,” she called out as he went.

  Maura saw an unmarked van pull up in front of Sullivan’s, and Sean perked up. “That’ll be the coroner. Thanks for the coffee, Maura. I’ll let you know what we find out.”

  “Thanks, Sean,” Maura said to his retreating back as he rushed out the door to join the sergeant. She stayed where she was on the bar stool. She hoped—oh, how she hoped—that the man had died a natural death. But she also should be prepared for bad news on that front, and she’d better sort out what she remembered from the night before while it was still fresh, although she wasn’t sure if the gardaí would want any more information than she’d already given them. But she was troubled by the man’s death, and by the lack of information on how he’d died. If it was a medical condition—the best option—the case would be closed almost before it started. But could it have been something like a drug overdose, something that wouldn’t be obvious? She really wasn’t sure about the role drugs played in this quiet corner of West Cork. Drugs she’d seen plenty of back in Boston, but she hadn’t noticed any signs of them in the pub last night, even in the bathrooms—or any other time, for that matter. No sweet scent of weed, no discarded vials or baggies or syringes—she’d seen lots of those in her time working in bars. Of course, she’d heard that there were new party drugs popping up all the time, and their signs might not be obvious. Would Rose know? Or Jimmy? What about Tim? Still, Aidan hadn’t looked like the type to use party drugs. If anything, maybe he’d taken something just to give him a boost for the session last night, and it had been too much for him. Maybe she was willfully blind, but she wanted to believe that the people who had shown up the night before, most of them middle-aged, had truly just come for the music. Maybe she really did hope that in coming to Ireland she’d stepped into a simpler way of life. She knew she didn’t want to be disillusioned.

  The transfer of the body was accomplished quickly, and she watched as the van made a U-turn and headed back toward Cork and the university hospital where the morgue was. Sean gave her a quick salute through the window, then he and the sergeant departed in their respective cars, Sean following the coroner, the sergeant headed back to Skibbereen. The street directly in front of Sullivan’s was empty again, save for the church-bound traffic.

  Rose and Jimmy Sweeney came in shortly before twelve. “Amazin’ last night, wasn’t it?” Jimmy said, still riding high. “I remember some of the lads, I do, from back in my younger days. Rosie here, her lot don’t have the same kind of experience, like. It’s all on the YouTube now.”

  “Did you enjoy it, Rose?” Maura asked, stalling. She hadn’t had time to figure out how she was going to tell them what had happened, though she knew she had to tell them something.

  “I did. It’s nice to see all the old people enjoyin’ themselves,” Rose said, struggling to keep a straight face. Jimmy made a rude noise but didn’t say anything. “And the musicians! They were older still—’tis a wonder they were still standing at the end of the evening.”

  Not all of them were. Maura took a deep breath. “There was a little problem here, after we closed up.”

  “And what would that be?” Jimmy asked, turning to stare at Maura, troubled by her tone.

  There was no way to sugarcoat it. “It seems that one of the musicians came in last night after Mick had locked up and left. He, uh, died in the back room. I found him this morning.”

  Her bald statement brought incredulous stares from Jimmy and Rose. Finally Jimmy managed to choke out, “Who?”

  Maura watched his face as she answered, “Aidan Crowley.”

  Jimmy’s expression gave nothing away. “I think I’ve heard the name, but I wouldn’t know him to his face. Is he still . . . ?”

  “No. I called the gardaí, and they took him to Cork for a postmortem. They said we could open, but I promised we wouldn’t use the back room again until they said we could. Rose, are you okay with being here today, after . . . ?”

  “Sure. I’m sorry he’s dead, and that he died here, but I didn’t know him. And I guess I won’t. What happened?”

  “I don’t know. The gardaí couldn’t say. Nothing obvious. Keep your fingers crossed that it was natural causes.” Maura thought about mentioning the key, but decided it might be smart to hold that back. If the gardaí wanted to mention it to Jimmy, let them talk to him themselves.

  “Who else knows about the dead fella?” Jimmy demanded.

  “Mick. Now you and Rose. Nobody else has been by. So if someone comes in talking about the death, ask them how they found out, will you? The coroner’s van was out front here, but not for long. I don’t know how many people will have seen it, but it’s not marked.” It occurred to Maura that she should talk with Tim. He’d been part of the group talking to Aidan Crowley on Friday night, and possibly last night. She hadn’t mentioned Tim to the gardaí, but there wa
s no need to unless the death was . . . not natural. She still shied away from putting that idea into words, even in her thoughts. “Rose, was Tim still here when you left?”

  “If he was, he was in the back. I never saw him leave, but I left with me da well short of midnight. I didn’t talk with him much, we were that busy. But he was having a grand time watching all the old ones play in the back.”

  Nervously Maura checked her watch again: nearly opening time. If it hadn’t been for poor Aidan, she would have been looking forward to opening today, to hear what people had thought of the night’s event and to begin to get a sense of whether it was worth doing again or even making a regular thing. It had been good, hadn’t it? Was it ruined now, for good?

  At twelve thirty she sighed and told Jimmy, “We might as well open up.” He walked over and unlocked the door. Billy was already there waiting, his face turned to the sun, and Maura was reminded of Bridget, who sought the sun’s rays in the same way. Old bones seeking warmth. “Come in, Billy, and I’ll get the fire going,” Maura said.

  Billy stepped into the room, then stopped, studying everyone’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  Maura sighed. Was the man fey? At least there was no one else around to overhear. “I found Aidan Crowley dead in the back room this morning.”

  Billy automatically crossed himself. “What was it took him?” he asked.

  It took Maura a moment to work out what Billy meant: Aidan had been taken from life by something—or someone. “We don’t know for sure yet. The gardaí have been and gone, and Sean Murphy said he’d let us know what happened, after the postmortem. Did you talk to Aidan last night?”

  “I did, but not for long. He was one of the regulars, long ago. Never stood out, but you could count on him. Was it his bad heart?”

  “He had a heart problem?” Maura asked, surprised and immediately relieved. A heart problem was a legitimate—if sad—reason for him to have passed away peacefully. Nothing to do with her or Sullivan’s.

  “He was born with a weak heart, which kept him from any heavy work. Never stood in the way of his music, but he seldom had two pennies to rub together. Poor man. Most people who knew the man would know of it, but not likely a stranger.”

  “Did he have any particular friends? Or did he come with someone last night?”

  “I can’t say. He was a friend of Niall’s, of course, but there were so many people crowded in here, I couldn’t see my own feet. It was a great night, right enough. Good to hear the old sounds in this place.”

  “It was,” Maura agreed. “Look, I know it’s a long shot, but do you have any idea where Aidan was staying?” Assuming, of course, he hadn’t sneaked into Sullivan’s on Friday night as well and found a corner to sleep in without Maura’s knowledge.

  “That I don’t,” Billy replied.

  “You ready for yer pint now, Billy?” Rose asked.

  Billy settled himself heavily in his chair, while Maura set to work building a small turf fire. “After such sad news, I’m in sore need of one, love. Thank you fer askin’.”

  Maura finished laying the fire, then stood up and dusted off her hands. “Will we be seeing the players here again today?”

  “Not to play, I’ll wager, but they might stop by to see how the folks liked it.”

  “Do most of them live around here, or did they have to travel to get here?” Maura asked.

  “Some of both, I’m guessing. Ah, Rose, a thousand thanks.” Billy accepted the brimming pint that Rose held out to him.

  Maura went back behind the bar, but looked up when a shadow crossed in front of her window. It was Niall Cronin, who opened the door and stepped in just as Maura’s mobile phone started ringing in her pocket. She checked the display: Sean. Did she want to answer it? She could pretend she hadn’t heard it and delay what might well be bad news just a little longer. But in the end she turned her back on the room and hit the button.

  “Sean? You have something?”

  “I do. Yer man did die of a heart attack . . .” Just like Billy said, Maura thought, relieved. But Sean was still talking. “Signs point to it being someone’s hands around his neck that brought it on. The bruises didn’t show right off.”

  “Oh, no,” Maura said without thinking. “Can you tell me anything more?”

  “No time now, and little to add. I’ll be back in a bit. Try to keep things quiet, will you?”

  “Of course. No one’s here yet. Well, Billy is, and Niall just came in, but that’s all.”

  “I’m sorry, Maura. I’ll see you later.”

  “Good-bye, Sean,” Maura said to a dead phone. She slipped it into her pocket and turned to face the others. Her eyes flickered to Niall, who was standing indecisively in the middle of the room, as if trying to decide whether to stay or to go. The others were watching her, waiting for an update. She shook her head, not daring to say anything more.

  Then she turned to Niall and summoned up a professional smile. “Good morning to you. Everyone had a great time last night. Can I get you something now?”

  Niall finally came over to the bar and sat on a stool. “Have you seen Aidan Crowley?”

  Chapter 15

  Maura struggled to keep her face neutral, but she was pretty sure she wasn’t fooling anyone. So much for saying nothing. She couldn’t lie to Niall.

  “Why do you ask?” she said cautiously.

  She half expected Niall to come back with some remark amounting to “It’s not yer business,” but he surprised her by saying, “I didn’t want to leave without askin’ if he was headed back to Cork city and needed the lift.” Niall sensed something was wrong. He leaned against the bar and faced her squarely. “Has he gotten himself in trouble, then?”

  Maura looked at the others around the room, but they offered no help; this was up to her. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, Niall, since I know you were old friends, but Aidan’s dead. I found him here this morning, in the back.”

  The color left Niall’s face. “How?” he said, his voice rough.

  “It looks like a heart attack, but we don’t know anything for sure.”

  “Poor man. Never caught a break in his life.” Niall dropped onto a bar stool. “I could do with a coffee, maybe with a drop of something in it? It’s not every day that a man loses one of his oldest friends like this with no warnin’.”

  “I’ll do it,” Rose murmured and set about messing with coffee and mugs.

  Lucky Rose, with something to do, Maura thought. She was at a loss: she barely knew Niall, and Aidan even less, beyond exchanging a handful of sentences, and she sucked at playing the sympathetic listener, even if it was part of her job description. “Listen, Niall, do you know if Aidan has family who should be contacted? The gardaí will want to know.”

  Niall shook his head. “Once I might have been able to tell you—I think he has a sister somewhere. But we’ve been out of touch for years. It was only by chance that I ran into him in Cork city the other day, and we got to talkin’, and I persuaded him to come down fer last night’s do. Damn, this is not the way things should have ended.”

  Niall looked sincerely shaken. Rose added a splash of whiskey to his coffee mug and slid it wordlessly across the bar. Niall grabbed it and swallowed half at once, then set it down again.

  Maura debated mentioning that the death wasn’t quite natural, but decided it wasn’t her place—let the gardaí tell him, if they wanted to. “Did he join in the playing last night?” Maura asked. “I didn’t have much chance to listen in the back.”

  “We all took our turn. Even the young lads. I didn’t take note of when Aidan sat in, but he was part of it.”

  “Look, do you have any idea why he would have been in the pub here after we’d closed?” she asked. “Did Aidan have any problem with any of the musicians here last night?”

  Niall was shaking his head before she’d even finished speaking. “He hadn’t seen the lads fer years, decades even. If he had any troubles, he brought them with him. As fer the other th
ing, though, many’s the time we used to bed down here, upstairs or wherever we could find a bit of open floor. Old Mick didn’t mind—he gave those of us who played regular the keys to the place, although that was more like his stamp of approval, for any of us could have found our way in without.” He fell silent, staring into his dark coffee.

  At least now she had an explanation for the key in Aidan’s pocket: he had gotten it either from Old Mick himself or from someone else who’d played at Sullivan’s all those years ago.

  Maura looked up to see several people standing outside, reluctant to come in. Most likely someone had in fact seen the coroner’s van and was now spreading the word about a death at Sullivan’s. How long would it take them to put a name to the dead man? They nudged each other and nodded toward the bar inside. Clearly they recognized Niall, but weren’t sure whether to bother him. Maura leaned forward. “Niall, do you feel up to talking with your fans, or would you rather go somewhere more private?”

  He looked up at her then. “Give me a bit to get myself together first.”

  “Come sit with me by the fire, Niall,” Billy said. “They’ll leave you alone ’til yer ready.”

  “Thanks, Billy.” Niall stood up and joined Billy in the corner next to the fireplace, and they settled themselves there, Niall with his back to the room. That emboldened the people to come into the pub, leaning on the bar to order their pints but sneaking the occasional glance at the two men in the corner, although they maintained a respectful distance.

  Maura gestured to Mick and Jimmy to follow her, while Rose was serving the new customers. They retreated to the hall next to the closed doors that led to the back room. “We need a story to give out,” Maura said in a low voice. “Suggestions?”

  “The news’ll come out soon enough,” Mick said. “We might as well tell people that it was Aidan and he died here last night, and let them decide if they want to stay.”

  “If Niall stays, I’m betting they will as well,” Jimmy added.