Murder in Galway
Page 22
That was probably far-fetched, and assuming Carrig Murray was killed by the same person, then the entire theory was shot.
Johnny was connected to both victims.
Johnny was hiding.
Tara had to admit, it was possible the guards had it right. That Johnny Meehan was their man. A murderer.
She needed to see Johnny again. He had to turn himself in. She would get him the best lawyer. She would keep investigating. And she would accept the truth, even if it meant her last living relative would spend the rest of his life behind bars.
Chapter 25
Tara wondered if the guards were still processing Carrig’s room at the Bay Inn. She also hadn’t had a chance to speak with Grace about the key, or about the harp, and Rose. She didn’t relish running into the guards at the inn, especially Gable, but she had to see what was transpiring before she did anything else. After the inn, she would find Ben Kelly and confront him about his secret meetings with city planners. There had to be some amicable way to sort this out. She left yet another message with Danny, and tried not to overanalyze when he didn’t pick up. She needed to speak with him about the security cameras and the lease on the retail shop. At this point she was starting to wish she’d never started investigating Johnny’s disappearance. She had a spotlight on her now, and the killer seemed to be several steps ahead of all of them.
Tara almost expected to see guard cars parked near the inn, and waited to see yellow crime-scene tape, but there was no one standing in front of the inn, nor were there any guard cars to be seen. Tara stepped into a lobby so quiet she could hear the clock behind the counter ticking. Grace was just ending a phone call, and looked startled when Tara approached. She quickly covered it with a smile.
Tara glanced at the parlor doors. They were shut. “Is Alanna here?”
“No. She has exams today.”
No she doesn’t. “Have the guards already left?”
“The guards?”
“To process room 301.”
Astonishment lit up Grace’s face. “What on earth are you talking on about now?”
“Oh my God,” Tara said. “She didn’t tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“Carrig Murray stayed here the same night that Emmet was killed.”
Grace straightened up. “He most certainly did not.”
“He did,” Tara said. “Alanna found the body of the cast-iron pig in the dresser. That’s why she wanted me to switch rooms—and that’s why there was blood on the key.”
Grace slid a glance toward the cubbyholes, but didn’t reach for a key. “You’ve lost your mind.”
“Alanna told me she was calling the guards. They have to process the room.”
Grace swiped the key for room 301 from the cubbyhole and started up the stairs. Tara hurried after her. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I want you to stop it.”
“I don’t think you should go in there. It’s a crime scene.”
“This is my hotel. Do not tell me what to do.”
She was fast for an old lady. “At least put on gloves,” Tara said.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Grace forged ahead.
“Stop!”
“I’ll do no such thing. In me own inn, you have some nerve, so you have.”
Tara took out her mobile and called 999. “Detective Gable please. It’s an emergency.” Grace stopped in the middle of the stairwell. “What are you doing?”
“I saw the room,” Tara said. “The police need to go through it.”
Breanna tried to take a message. Detective Sergeant Gable wasn’t taking Tara’s call. “I need guards over at the Bay Inn right away.” Tara hung up, then met Grace’s eyes, filled with rage.
“You’re nothing but trouble. I knew it the moment I realized who you were.” She whirled and headed back down the stairs, her hands shaking with rage.
Tara followed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t make me say it. Don’t make me speak ill of the dead.”
“You’d better be talking about Emmet or Carrig,” Tara said.
“I most certainly am not.” Grace reached the desk, and Tara could hear her wheeze as she tried to breathe.
“Do you need an inhaler?”
“The only thing I need is for you to get out and stay out.”
Tara went to the stand across from the check-in desk and poured Grace a glass of water. She was surprised when she took it, half expecting Grace to pour it over her head. She waited until Grace had taken a few sips and her breathing had calmed down, before continuing. “Everyone here is hiding something,” Tara said. “Including you.” Grace guzzled her glass of water like it was her last. “You think you’re helping, but you’re actually hindering the investigation.”
“Whose investigation? You are not a detective.”
“I’m trying to protect my uncle, and our business.”
“Your business?”
“My mother had a legal right to half of the business. That’s between me and my uncle.”
Grace slammed the empty cup down on her counter. “What about my business?”
“What about it?”
“You’re going to ruin my reputation, spreading your lies.”
“I’m not lying. I saw the room. Ask Alanna.”
“Carrig Murray did not stay in this hotel. Not recently. Not ever.”
“You’ll see. When the guards get here, you’ll see.” Tara stopped. This probably was not the right time, but it was now or never. “Rose has your cast-iron harp.”
Grace gasped. “She stole it?”
“She said you gave it to her.”
“More lies! Why would I do that?”
“There was a note with it. On the inn’s stationery. It said: ‘An old harp for an old harpy.’ ”
Grace shook her head. “I would never.”
Was she lying? If she was, she was a very good actress. Then again, you had to be good at a lot of things to get away with murder. “You’re saying you did not give Rose the harp.”
“I did not. Why would I do that?”
“Well, someone did. And she assumed it was you.”
“Where is it?”
“In her caravan.”
“Have you told the guards? She’s a thief and a liar. Why aren’t you over there accusing her of being a killer?”
“Please stay with me for a moment. Why would Rose steal your harp and then type a nasty note to herself, on the stationery from your inn?”
“Why would I give Rose me own harp and then pretend it’s missing?”
Funny. I was wondering exactly the same thing. The door opened, startling both of them. The guards had arrived.
* * *
They stood in room 301, four guards, staring at Tara as she and Grace entered. It was sparkling clean. There was nothing in the dresser. No pig. No blood. No mess.
“I was here right before discovering Carrig’s body. I saw the pig. Alanna told me Carrig came here the same night—morning—Emmet was killed. Presumably after the murder. With part of the murder weapon. As if he was cleaning up, hiding his tracks.”
“And why would he leave the room a mess if he went to such trouble to hide his tracks?” Gable asked.
That was a good question. “I’m just telling you what I saw. What Alanna said.”
Detective Gable sighed.
“She also said that Rose Byrne has my stolen harp,” Grace said. She nudged Tara. “Tell them about that.”
“It’s true. She has the harp and a note—”
Gable held up his hand. “Enough. You’ll have plenty of time to tell us at the station.”
“At the station?” Fear tickled Tara’s throat.
“Yes. You’re coming with us.”
“I can tell you everything right here. Call Alanna.” She was going to lie. She had already lied. Or had Grace lied? Did Alanna tell Grace about room 301 first? Had she immediately cleaned out the room, wiped out the evidence? Why would she do that?
Her father . . .
Or maybe the room was simply used to hide evidence of a murder.
Lady Bea from the cooking school was right. Tara was stirring things up. It wasn’t worth it if it put an innocent person in danger. She had to make sure Alanna was okay. “Unless you’re arresting me, I can’t go to the station right now.”
“Why is that?” Gable walked to within a few inches of her face.
“I have an important meeting with the city planners.” Now she was doing it. Lying. It was awful. But she didn’t have time to sit around a station. She wanted to find Danny. And see what Ben Kelly was up to at this very moment.
“Either you come to the station voluntarily, or I will arrest you,” Gable said. “Your choice.”
Tara sighed. “Just let me make a phone call.” She turned to Grace. “At least show them the key to 301.”
Grace sighed, then grabbed the key. She stared at it. Tara stared at it. Gable stared at it. It was sparkling clean.
“Tell them,” Tara said to Grace. “Tell them there used to be blood on it.”
Gable shook his head. “I don’t have time for games.”
“There was something on it,” Grace said. “I thought it could be nail polish.”
Tara turned to Grace. “Alanna said she wasn’t going to give me room 301 because of a leak. Was there really a leak?”
Grace bit her lip. “I haven’t gone through the records.”
Tara was confident there were no records. “Surely if a plumber came in to fix a leak, you would remember.”
“You’re not a detective,” Gable said. “Let’s go.”
Grace remained silent, but Tara could tell the wheels in her mind were spinning. The only question was—was it the wheels of a murderer trying to juggle all the lies, or was it an elderly lady frightened for her life?
“Outside,” Gable said. “Make your phone call and make it quick.”
Chapter 26
Tara stood on the sidewalk, wishing she felt as cheerful on the inside as the streets of Galway were on the outside. She wished she was just a tourist and that her biggest problem was whether to go into this pub or that pub. Right now, she’d take any of them. Danny answered on the third ring. “Are you alright?” he said. “Did you get my message?”
“Yes,” Tara said. “And I want to hear all about your second visit with George.”
“We also have that meeting with the solicitor. Do you want to meet at the mill?”
“I’m on my way to the Garda station,” Tara said.
“Oh, no,” Danny said. “What happened?”
“Apparently they have a lot of questions for me.”
“For you?”
Tara sighed. Gable was glaring at her. “I’ll tell you later. But before I go—Dawson Security called me. The security cameras at the mill are disabled.”
“What?”
“Did you have anything to do with that?”
“’Course not. When?”
“Yesterday.” At least she thought it was yesterday. Was it the day before? So much was happening, Tara was losing her grip on time. “The day before yesterday. A few days ago. I don’t know.”
Danny’s low laugh eased her mood a bit. “I’ll take care of it. Why didn’t you call straightaway?”
“I was waiting to see you in person.”
“Let’s go,” Gable said.
“Are you going to need a solicitor?” Danny asked.
“No.” Am I? “I know about the retail shop too,” she said. She was sick of secrets. “I’m not mad. I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”
“What retail shop?”
“Now.” Gable wasn’t joking around.
“I’ve got to go.” Tara hung up. Now Danny was upset with her. What retail shop . . . Was he playing her? Or had he spoken with the real estate agent so long ago that he forgot? Maybe Heather had weaseled her into signing the lease by pretending someone from Irish Revivals had been interested in renting it. Now that she thought about it, Heather had consistently referred to “her employee.” Everyone in town knew about Tara and Johnny Meehan by now. Had she been played?
Even if that were the case—she loved the retail shop. As soon as she was finished at the station she might head over there, just to start planning, to distract herself—make herself feel better. She didn’t need this. She didn’t want it.
She supposed she was lucky that when Gable opened the back door to the guard car she wasn’t in handcuffs. But people were watching anyway. The Irish grapevine. She was starting to hate grapes.
* * *
Breanna was behind the counter and offered a weak smile when Tara entered, flanked by Detective Sergeant Gable and the other guards. Tara tried to smile back, but she couldn’t make her lips move in the direction she wanted, and feared it came out as more of a snarl. She felt nervous, and could see how bad this looked from their perspective. She had been the one to discover both murder victims. They might easily think she was lying about room 301 and the blood on the key. They might think she was lying about her phone being stolen and that’s why she didn’t tell them about discovering Johnny right away. And she was going around and talking to all the suspects. What if they sent her home? Could they? She didn’t know her rights. She did know that Ireland offered citizenship to anyone whose grandparents were born here, and given her parents—according to her mother, her father was Irish too—had been born here, then Tara could become a citizen. She’d never considered it before. But the more people wanted her gone, the more she wanted to stay. If that kind of obstinance wasn’t an Irish trait, she didn’t know what was.
They led her to a room empty of everything but a long table and several chairs. Then they left her there. They were treating her like a suspect. She still had her phone, but she had a feeling they wouldn’t be happy to see her using it. She didn’t know who she would call anyway.
Detective Gable returned, and to her surprise set a cup of coffee in front of her.
“Thank you.”
“What else haven’t you told us?”
Tara chewed on her lip. Was this a good sign, or was he circling in for a kill? “Alanna lied about her alibi.”
Gable stared at her, his face turning red. He crossed his arms. “Go on.”
“I visited the Galway Cookery School. She only took their twelve-week program, and that was last spring. When I asked where she was the morning Emmet was killed, she insisted she was in class. She’s been pretending to go every day. Ask Grace.” Or her father.
“Alanna Kelly is playing you for a fool,” Gable said. He took a seat but his arms remained crossed. “She may be a liar. But that doesn’t make her a killer.”
“I’m just telling you what I know.”
“What else?”
“I think Carrig Murray was taking money from his theatrical production.”
“And you know this . . . ?”
Tara sighed. She filled him in on their meeting with George.
Gable glared. “Is that it?”
“Why would he sell George a light then turn around and insist on getting it back?”
Gable tapped his pen. “I suppose you have a theory.”
Tara shook her head. “It’s still an open question.”
“Let’s focus on the matters that pertain to Emmet’s murder, and by all means if we have time we’ll move on to open questions.”
The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Tara, but she was happy to move on. “Johnny was going to propose to Rose, and for some reason he didn’t. I found the stem of a rose left outside his cottage. He had a tattoo done recently of a rose with an engagement ring. So why didn’t he propose?”
“You didn’t think to ask him when you discovered his hiding place?”
“I was so stunned I forgot all about it. I didn’t even remember to ask Rose
when I saw her.”
“Once more Ms. Meehan . . . what does this have to do with the murders?”
“I don’t know. You asked me to tell you everything. I’m telling you everything.”
Gable jotted a few notes down, stared at his pad. “Don’t stop now.”
Tara held out her hands. “You get the significance of how Carrig was killed, don’t you?”
Gable’s head popped up. “In what sense? Stabbed in the back or Shakespeare?”
Danny was right. Most Irishman did know their Shakespeare. Yay them. “Both,” Tara admitted.
“Leave those threads to me.” Gable shut his notebook.
“I thought you wanted it all,” Tara said.
Gable arched an eyebrow, opened his notebook again with a sigh, and waved for Tara to continue.
“The security cameras around the mill were disabled by someone the other day. And the paint used to write ‘Go Home Yankee’ was taken from in front of Rose’s caravan. I confronted Alanna and she admitted to leaving the message.” She swallowed. This next one was a betrayal, but she had to come clean. “Remember the cast-iron pig that Emmet Walsh hired Johnny to find?”
“How could I forget? That was the tipping point to their feud.”
Tara didn’t want to tell him. It didn’t bode well for Johnny. But she was in way over her head and she wasn’t going to keep any more secrets. “I found out that the cast-iron pig—the one that was used to kill Emmet—was a copy of the original.”
Gable stopped writing. “What?”
It was too late to turn back now. This wasn’t her fault. She should never have been in this position in the first place. “I think Johnny was fed up with Emmet hounding him about it so he . . . he cheated. I got a phone call from a man who did the work—asking if the client believed it—bragging about how good his workmanship was.”
Gable crossed his arms. “Why am I just hearing about this now?”
Tara pretended it was a rhetorical question and kept going. “And it might not be the first time. I had planned on checking the authenticity of a granite slab, a cast-iron harp, and an old theatre light. These items involved Carrig as well.”
“Involved Carrig how?”
“He asked Johnny to find him a granite slab so that he could trade it for his old theatre light that he sold to George O’Malley in the Aran Islands.” Gable’s right eye appeared to be twitching. Not such a ridiculous question now, is it? Tara felt sorry for him. “Do you need a cup of tea?”