by Anna Sweeney
She rummaged under her pillows and among the bedclothes. She was agitated, like a child who had lost a favourite toy. ‘Has anyone seen my bag? I had it a while ago, I know I did.’
Nessa and Sal both stood up and scrutinised the mess around the bed. They found the bag under Sal’s chair, and handed it to Maureen, who pulled a plastic bottle out of it. She opened it and sucked thirstily at the orange-coloured liquid it contained. ‘Oh yes, I promise you, Maureen will get the better of those nurses yet, with their silly rules. It’s a free country, after all.’
Sal’s hand was on her mouth as she watched her. Nessa kept her own eyes on the bedclothes, afraid her daughter was about to giggle. Clearly, Maureen was not savouring a fruit drink for the sake of its vitamins.
‘I’ll tell you what worries me,’ she said presently. She sat up and arranged the pillows to her satisfaction. ‘It’s taking the gardai a long time to catch the person who killed poor Oscar Malden, that’s what. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ve passed on my suspicions about a few individuals.’
Nessa almost exclaimed aloud. Maureen seemed to have erased everything she had said five minutes earlier, and was off on a new tack, fortified by continuing sups from her bottle. The events of the past week were taking a heavier toll on her than Nessa had anticipated.
‘Look at Oscar’s son, for example. Far too quiet if you ask me, and not a bit fond of his father, was he? It’s the quiet ones you have to watch, that’s a well-known fact.’
‘You mean Fergus? It’s hard to imagine—’
‘Listen to me a minute, I saw how things were between the pair of them. We went on some trip or other, to Killarney I think it was, across those big scraggy mountains.’ Maureen’s eyes were brimming with enthusiasm again. ‘Myself and Oscar were trying to have a nice friendly chat as we walked along by the lake, but his son followed us every footstep, like a shadow. It was like something you’d see in a horror movie, the way he kept stalking us.’
‘But Fergus is the sort of person who wouldn’t, like, kill a fly.’
‘Don’t depend on it. Oscar told me he was very concerned about his son. He gave him every advantage money could buy, he said, and got no thanks for his trouble.’
‘But they came on holidays together, all the same?’
‘True enough, but I believe Oscar decided to go home early because they’d had a row.’ Maureen took a final gulp before screwing the top back on her bottle. ‘Take it or leave it now, but that’s my opinion of the matter.’
‘And what was your opinion of the others in the holiday group?’ Sal asked the question while Maureen fussed with her bag, pushing the bottle under a pile of tissues.
‘The others? Well, I can’t say they bothered me either way. I do my best to get on with people – rich or poor, old or young, they’re all the same to me. Mind you, there was one young woman I didn’t take to. She had one of those new names – Zelda, was it?’
‘I think you mean Zoe,’ said Nessa. ‘And her sister’s name is Stella.’
‘OK, Zoe then, if you say so. Well, I’d a pain in my ear listening to some of the ridiculous things she said. Do you remember that place we visited, the great big mansion with a view of the sea?’
‘You mean Bantry House? The weather was beautiful while we walked around the gardens.’
‘That’s the one, and a fine place it is indeed. Well, we were all enjoying ourselves nicely until Zelda started pronouncing about the moneyed classes of Ireland, as she put it – which means anyone who ever made a decent few bob for themselves, like Oscar Malden or indeed myself. Her idea was that nobody should be allowed to get rich while we’ve poor people in the world. Honestly, as if that would work in a million years!’
‘What did you think of her sister Stella?’ Nessa asked slowly. She was afraid that their visit had become undignified, but her curiosity was keeping her in the room.
‘I don’t remember much about her, except that she was quiet. Too quiet, actually, just like the son, Fergus. Two of a kind, when you think of it, and my guess is that there was something going on there – eyes across the table and what have you. Yes indeed, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit.’
‘Stella must be at least seven or eight years older than Fergus,’ Sal interjected.
‘What’s that got to do with it? I think he’s the type of fellow who’d be led on by an older woman.’ Maureen yawned conspicuously. ‘But God only knows, I’d a lot on my mind that week and it wasn’t my business to worry about other people.’
She dropped her head back on the pillows and Nessa nodded to Sal that they would leave as soon as possible. But after a minute, Maureen sat bolt upright again and looked at Nessa as if she saw her properly for the first time. She opened her album and turned the pages urgently.
‘Oh, Christ almighty, I’ve just remembered what Dominic told me about you! You’re the owner of the guesthouse, of course, and you’re married to that foreigner, the dark suntanned one like this girl here.’ She looked from Nessa to Sal and back to her album. ‘Dominic is going to kill me if he hears I let you in the door! I must be going gaga in this godawful hospital.’ Her voice grew louder. ‘So just get out right now, will you? He told me how you attacked him and that he hasn’t had a minute’s peace from the gardai ever since.’
Nessa murmured some bland reply but Maureen turned her back to her, pulling the bedclothes over her shoulders.
‘I’ll have a little sleep now and everything will settle down. Then Dominic will come in with another bottle of orange for me.’ She seemed to be talking to herself. ‘And didn’t he say he’d bring me a nice visitor today? A friend of his from the papers,who wants to help us, that’s what he was on about.’
Nessa and Sal slipped out the door. Neither spoke a word until they were halfway down the main hospital stairs.
‘Oh my God, I so can’t believe how sad she is!’
‘She’s much worse than I’d imagined. And I’m sorry you got to see her like that, Sal, but I really appreciate that you came here with me.’
‘I thought she was OTT when she was with us at Cnoc Meala, but now she is seriously losing it. I thought I’d choke when I saw the album!’
Nessa put a protective hand on her daughter’s back as she steered her towards the main door.‘It’s frightening to see how the whole episode has affected her. She really can’t handle it, and she needs somebody to look after her, poor woman.’
‘Do you believe what she told us about her conversation with Oscar down at the hotel? That he was heartbroken and jealous over her?’
‘I believed her, just about, while she was saying it, because she seemed so convinced of it herself.’
‘But it doesn’t add up, does it? Oscar was hardly that utterly desperate, considering he’d women all over the country panting to get into bed with him.’
‘Maybe he led her along, all the same, and Maureen added on her own fantasies,’ said Nessa. She took a deep breath as they stepped outdoors. ‘What took me aback most, though, was how she changed her story completely, as if she’d said nothing at all about Dominic being guilty.’
‘Yeah, and then blaming Fergus instead.’
Nessa paused as she tried to straighten her thoughts. ‘Well, what I’m wondering now is whether she realised that she’d said too much about Dominic, and wanted to send us off in a different direction? She could be more manipulative than we’ve given her credit for.’
‘She’s a total drama queen, no question. But I can’t believe she’s capable of acting a part from beginning to end?’
‘Maybe not. But if she did let a bit of the truth slip out early on, she might have decided to cover it up by acting as if she’d lost her marbles?’
‘I don’t think she can tell the difference between truth and lies, Mam. Can you just imagine being some poor garda sap, taking down reams of interview notes from her and trying to make sense of them?’
FIFTEEN
Saturday 26 September, 11.10 a.m.
Dominic stoo
d at the bar and ordered a drink. The place was quiet, as most of Cork’s Saturday shoppers had not yet earned a break from their labours. Two men dressed in dark suits came in from the street, and nodded to each other when they saw Dominic.
In the mirror along the back of the bar, his eye caught their movement. He spoke hurriedly to the barman, took another quick look in the mirror and walked off. He almost knocked over a low stool in his haste to reach the double doors at the end of the bar, which led further into the hotel.
‘So what’s burning your heels then, you blaggard?’ Conor Fitzmaurice muttered curses under his breath while he and Redmond Joyce followed Dominic through the inner doors. They found themselves in a wide corridor, adorned with small windows in which local craft and cosmetic products were displayed for the benefit of tourists. They spotted Dominic heading for the main stairway at the end of the corridor, and the lifts to the upper floors of the hotel.
Sergeant Fitzmaurice called out to Dominic just as a group of people exited one of the two lifts, laughing boisterously. It took a few minutes for the gardai to get past the group, by which time the lift door had shut and their quarry had eluded them.
Redmond signalled that he would take the stairs while Conor awaited the second lift. They had glimpsed Dominic pressing the up button, but there was no sign of him at the first- or second-floor landings, and Redmond was almost out of breath as he paused at the next set of stairs. As well as several floors of bedrooms, he remembered that the hotel had a basement car park. There was nothing to stop Dominic changing course midway, and driving off into the city streets in his car.
Redmond turned back quickly and saw that the lights over the lift doors showed Dominic’s lift arriving at the floor above him. He hurried up the stairs two steps at a time, reminding himself that he had not been to the gym in the previous week. As he rounded the corner of the third landing, he heard his colleague’s unmistakeable Kerry voice.
‘Now, my buckeroo, you’d better whisht awhile and listen to me.’ Redmond guessed that Dominic had tried to confuse his pursuers by changing lifts, only to be confronted by Conor when he stepped into the second one. The sergeant was holding the door open with his foot, while blocking Dominic’s retreat back on to the landing.
‘Get away from me, you bastard, you’re way out of line. I’ve already complained to my solicitor about your harassment!’
Redmond decided to play the soft cop. They had no arrest warrant and Dominic was entirely within his rights to refuse to cooperate.
‘Take it easy, Dominic,’ he said quietly. ‘We’d just like your assistance with a small detail. We tried to phone you last night, and when we got no reply, we figured we could drop by at your hotel, on our way to Malden’s funeral.’
‘My head is done in with your stupid questions, and you still don’t believe a fuckin’ single word I’ve told you.’
‘You’ve nothing to fear from us, boy,’ said Conor, ‘if you’ve kept your nose clean these past nine days.’ He drew Redmond into the lift and pressed the button with his elbow. ‘Let’s head back downstairs, Dominic, in case your friend the barman is worried that you’ve had a seizure on your way to the loo.’
‘The detail we’d like to clarify,’ said Redmond, ‘is whether you met anyone while you were fishing at Pooka Rock on Thursday the 17th September, or spoke to anyone who passed you on your way there that same morning? Maybe there’s something you’ve remembered since your last garda interview?’
‘There’s nothing I could’ve remembered because I’ve been telling you the bloody truth all along. I didn’t follow Oscar Malden anywhere, I didn’t strangle him to death and I want to be left in peace.’
‘Let me ask the question once again, Dominic. All we’d like to know for now is what happened when you went to Pooka Rock. You parked near the hotel and walked along the coastal path to your fishing spot, is that right? So it’s possible that Oscar strolled past you in the opposite direction?’
Dominic looked sulkily from one to the other. ‘Don’t try to corner me with your clever words, guard. I’d no wish to see smarmy-face Malden that morning or any other morning.’
‘Suppose Oscar threatened you, or said something that started a row between the two of you, what happened then?’ The lift had arrived on the ground floor but Conor pressed the button to carry them upwards again. ‘We’re trying to help you here, Dominic, if only you’d listen to us.’
‘You’re trying to pin a murder on me, you bollocks, and you know it. So give up your pretence of being nice to me.’ Dominic spat the words angrily. ‘A few of the news people have given me a fair hearing, but as for you guards …’
‘We gave a fair hearing to your story about the boat near Pooka Rock, supposedly occupied by tourists watching seals or some such.’ Conor had no difficulty remaining calm under provocation. ‘But as you didn’t pay attention to the name of the boat, it’s proving a bit tricky to identify it.’
‘The boat was flying a French flag, as I told your bullyboy colleagues. But maybe they’re so stupid they forgot to write that down? Surely you can send out a radio call or something?’
‘We’d like to know what time you met Oscar that Thursday,’ Redmond repeated. ‘Telling us the truth will work out for the best, you know.’
‘I refuse to say another single solitary word. I’m sick to my back teeth of the lot of you.’ Dominic pushed Conor’s hand away from the lift’s control panel. ‘I’ve an appointment in the bar just now at midday, and if I see the two of you spying on me, I promise you my solicitor will be onto the garda complaints outfit straightaway.’
‘Please think carefully about our questions, Dominic, for your own sake. We’ll be happy to meet you again – here in Cork or in your own homeplace, whatever suits you when you’re ready to talk.’
Redmond and Conor did not follow Dominic when he lumbered out of the lift. They took a quick look into the bar five minutes later, however, and saw him seated with a man who was dressed in a blue pinstriped suit, complete with canary yellow handkerchief in his top pocket. Jack Talbot, eyes glinting with anticipation, had a small recorder in his hand.
Redmond had a good view of the crowd as he stood inside the church, arms folded respectfully. He estimated that the seats held four hundred people, and many others were crowded at the back and along the pillared side aisles. Coughs and whispers broke out as they watched the local bishop walk solemnly to the lectern to deliver the funeral mass sermon.
Only a week had passed since the investigation into Oscar’s murder had begun, but new forensic evidence pointing to Dominic’s involvement could bring it to an end quite soon, Redmond thought. Two tiny shreds of wool had been found snagged on the front zip fastener of Oscar’s jacket, and appeared to match the fibres in the multicoloured jersey worn by Dominic on the day of the murder. They would hardly be enough to convict him of the crime, but his failure to verify any contact with Oscar that day seemed to make his guilt more, rather than less, likely. However, further tests were taking place on all clothing samples taken by gardai – to check, for example, whether Dominic’s jersey had left similar shreds on Maureen’s clothing, a few of which might then have transferred from her to Oscar. Meanwhile, gardai were on full alert at the funeral, to watch for any gesture or conversational slip that could betray the murderer’s presence in their midst.
‘We have heard the same phrase time and again in the past week,’ said the bishop in a sonorous voice, ‘to describe Oscar Malden as we all knew him, before his soul departed to the heavenly reward we hope and pray he has now attained. The phrase on everybody’s lips is that Oscar Malden was a gentleman; and we have also been reminded that he was a true patriot whose tireless efforts contributed greatly to the betterment of many lives, in this country and beyond our shores.’
A bishop, no less. Redmond counted five priests on the altar too, but it seemed that they alone would not suffice when a person of Oscar’s status was to be buried. The country’s big guns were well represented in the congr
egation, including cabinet ministers and politicians of every hue, leading industrialists and media personalities, along with embassy staff from countries in which Malden had operated. Artists and musicians who had enjoyed his patronage were also sprinkled among them. No doubt a bishop’s presence added the necessary religious gravitas to the prestige of the occasion.
‘We understand only too well that our words are inadequate to express our heartfelt sympathy to Fergus Malden and to his mother Louise. The best we can do is to trust in our prayers and our faith.’
Redmond hated funerals. He accepted that they were a great social institution in Ireland, open to all who had ever known or cared about the bereaved. He knew many people who attended perhaps ten funerals a year, gladly proclaiming them to be part of the glue that bound communities together. He appreciated such genuine sentiments, and wished he could share them. But when he walked into the church in Tipperary, he knew that his eyes would be immediately drawn to the altar, and that he would see two coffins instead of the single one that was there.
Two coffins, his mother and father side by side. And himself, their only child not yet twenty years old, seated a little apart from his aunts in the front row and unable to draw consolation from the crowd gathered behind them. That was the memory that confronted him at every funeral he had to go to in the past twelve years: his parents in two wooden boxes, their cold lifeless bodies encased inside. They had been killed in a car crash and their injuries were so horrific that only Redmond and his aunts had been allowed to glimpse their bodies before the coffins had been closed.
Seeing Oscar Malden’s ravaged body had been difficult, but it had been nothing compared to the shock and violent horror he had experienced then. And his parents’ deaths had had a cruel poignancy of their own: on the night they were killed, they had been on their way home from their first ever marriage counselling session. His father had stopped drinking alcohol six weeks earlier, after half a lifetime of addiction and fractious quarrels at home. Fragile hope had fluttered briefly, only to be spattered with their bodies on the tarmac.