Murder in Galway

by Carlene O'Connor

  Danny shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re a stranger. This is Johnny’s livelihood.”

  “I understand.”

  “I hated being sneaky.”

  “I had to consider you a suspect too.”

  Danny nodded. A sad smile played across his face. “I’ve decided to trust you. Do you trust me?”

  “I want to.”

  “That’ll have to do.” He walked to the laptop and brought up their account for the security system. “The camera is rewound to just before they were disabled. Soon we’ll have our culprit.” Tara’s finger tingled. He pushed play. The screen came alive with a shot of Johnny’s office from behind the bird’s nest. The other camera was in the opposite corner. They would have a clear shot of the guilty party.

  There were a few seconds of silence and then Johnny’s door opened and a man slipped in, dragging a ladder. He was wearing a navy tracksuit with a hood, and he had it pulled up and over his head. He made sure never to look directly at the camera—the one he knew about in the far corner of the room. He was short but muscular and sturdy.

  “That looks like Ben Kelly,” Danny said. “Breaking and entering.”

  He glided straight over to the camera and leaned the ladder against the wall. He kept his face averted until he had the camera shut off. He descended the ladder and folded it up. He turned, clueless he was still on camera, his face visible. It was Ben Kelly alright. He hovered near Johnny’s desk, eyeing it.

  “What is he looking for?” Tara asked.

  “Whatever it is—he’s breaking several laws already.” Ben Kelly slid open the middle desk drawer and began to root around.

  “Do you think Alanna knows?”

  Danny bit his lip. “I doubt it. The two don’t exactly see eye to eye.” Ben Kelly knelt and opened the bottom drawer.

  “She’s been lying to him about going to cooking school.” Tara hadn’t been sure if she was going to spill the beans on that one until it was already out of her mouth.

  “What?” Danny said.

  “It’s no surprise she didn’t notice a shard of glass in my salmon. She only took a twelve-week class last spring, and even then she wasn’t a stellar student.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I visited the school.” Ben Kelly moved on to the next drawer. Tara didn’t take her eyes off him. “I wonder if he’s after the same papers the lawyer asked for.”

  Ben Kelly stood, holding a folder. He tucked it underneath his arm and grabbed the ladder with the other hand. “And looks like he got it,” Danny said.

  “Did Johnny keep copies anywhere?”

  Danny shrugged. “Not that I’m aware.”

  “We can confront Ben Kelly with this tape—or the guards.”

  “We can. But he’s never going to give us the correct documents back.”

  “Then we don’t go to the guards first. We threaten to go to the guards unless he gives the folder back.”

  “You stay here. I’ll handle this.” Danny headed for the door.

  “You’re not doing this on your own.”

  “Says the woman whose been doing this all on her own.”

  “That’s because you’re a suspect too.”

  “You’re not keeping me away from Ben Kelly.”

  “You’re right. But I am going with you.”

  * * *

  They found him in the Ring of Kelly just as one of his coaching sessions was ending. Sweaty lads bounced out as Tara and Danny entered. Tara had the footage from the camera on a USB stick and it was tucked safely in the pocket of her jeans.

  Ben Kelly looked at the pair of them and shook his head. “Look what the wind blew in.”

  “We need to talk,” Danny said.

  “If it’s about the violations, talk to the city planners.” Ben Kelly held his arms up as if surrendering.

  “We plan on it,” Danny said.

  “And the guards too,” Tara said. “Unless you give us back our folder.”

  Danny looked at her. “I thought we’d ease into that.”

  “Does he look like a man who is capable of easing into things?” She pointed at Ben, who was bouncing around one of his punching bags.

  “What are ye on about?” Ben said.

  “We have you on camera breaking into the mill, disabling cameras, and rooting through Johnny’s desk. You left with a folder. I’m assuming it’s the same folder the city planners have asked us to produce. Even if the folder is empty—which I’m guessing it’s not—you could still be in a lot of trouble.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’d think twice about spreading lies.”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Danny said. “We’ve got the proof. What you didn’t know was there was another camera in the opposite corner of Johnny’s office.”

  Ben’s mouth dropped open. “I knew there was something funny about that bird’s nest.”

  “What were you looking for?”

  Ben Kelly headed for his office without glancing back. Danny and Tara exchanged a look and then followed. Ben opened a drawer in his desk, removed a folder, and then threw it on top.

  “This is what I took.” He handed it to Danny. Tara tried not to take it personally and looked over his shoulder. The folder contained a report from a private investigator. Ben Kelly’s name and photo were on the front page.

  “Johnny had an investigator on you?”

  Ben’s face was already red with fury. “He thought he could dig up dirt on me. Blackmail me, or shame me into giving up my quest for the mill.” His hands started to shake. He turned to pour himself a glass of water. He opened a bottle of pills, hands trembling through every step. “He was convinced I had something to do with his missing pig. Why on earth would I be taking such a hideous thing?”

  “To ruin his reputation?” Danny suggested.

  Ben scoffed. “He’d have been doing a good job of that on his own, like.”

  “What’s in this report you don’t want anyone finding out?” Tara asked. She didn’t expect a direct answer, but it couldn’t hurt to rile him up and gauge his reaction.

  Ben Kelly glared. “I simply wanted to find out what was in it. As it turns out, there’s nothing. See for yourself. If you can stay awake. Johnny found nothing.” He slammed his hands on the desk. “Because I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  It seemed to Tara that a person who had done nothing wrong wouldn’t go to such lengths to assure them that he had done nothing wrong. She continued applying pressure. “How did you know Johnny had hired an investigator?”

  Ben sunk into his desk chair and began to fidget. His nervous energy would drive Tara crazy. Just watching him was exhausting. “Emmet told me.”

  Tara perked up at this. “Emmet?”

  Ben nodded. He’d been at the mill a lot, on this journey for that blasted pig. He thought he saw a folder with my name on it. When he asked Johnny about it, Johnny got defensive—said it was best to know your enemy. Then I caught the guy. Not very smart to tail a man on a bicycle when you’re in a car.”

  “You don’t drive?”

  “Haven’t in years,” Ben said. “I’m prone to seizures.” He nodded to the bottle. “Medicine helps, but there’s no guarantee. Gave me license up long ago.”

  So he couldn’t have been in the car that ran me off the road . . . “We’re never giving up the mill,” Tara said.

  Ben Kelly nodded again. “I filed those violation complaints before Emmet was killed and Johnny went missing. Now with Carrig’s murder . . . I don’t want the mill anymore. It’s nothing but bad luck!”

  That was at least one problem Johnny wouldn’t have to worry about when or if he ever returned. “Was Johnny having anyone else tailed—or just you?” Tara asked.

  “I stopped when I found my folder. I didn’t see any others.”

  They guards hadn’t been as thorough going through his desk as Tara would have liked. It didn’t appear as if they’d removed anything from it. If Johnny was digging up dirt on the r
esidents, who knows what he uncovered. And if this private investigator wasn’t doing such a good job of being private—then Johnny could have thoroughly ticked off the wrong person.

  She scanned the report. “I don’t see the name of the investigator.”

  “I do,” Danny said, pointing to a name in the corner.

  “Paul Elliot,” Tara said.

  “You’d have met him,” Danny said.

  Tara was startled. “Me?”

  “He’s also the publican at O’Doole’s. He’s a retired copper.”

  “Oh, right. He makes lovely napkin-maps.” The two of them just stared at her. “I’m thinking I could use a pint,” Tara said to Danny. “You?”

  Chapter 29

  They found Paul behind the bar with a foot up on the ice bin, toothpick in his mouth, watching a rugby match. The only thing Tara knew about the game was that men didn’t do much talking when a match was on, although there was often a fair bit of hollering. She and Danny sat and sipped pints while they waited. When there was a break in the game, Danny waved Paul over. He slid Ben Kelly’s folder over to him.

  Paul glanced at the folder, then gave a curt nod. “Are you looking to hire me or is this an inquisition?”

  “Did my uncle ask you to investigate anyone other than Ben Kelly?”

  “That’s between me and Johnny Meehan.”

  “Because if he did,” Danny said, “and you dug up something about someone that they didn’t want anyone else knowing . . .”

  “That’s the one who could be our killer?” Paul filled in. Tara nodded. “You’re saying something in my reports caused someone to kill Emmet or Carrig?”

  Danny stepped in. “We’re simply saying we won’t know what the possibilities are until we see what the investigations unearthed. We have to follow every breadcrumb.”

  “Yes,” Tara said. “I’m pretty sure Johnny would be fine with you sharing your results with us.”

  “Why don’t you just go through his papers?”

  “We did,” Tara said. “We didn’t find anything else. I didn’t even find this when I looked and that was before—” She stopped herself, not wanting to give away the bit about catching Ben Kelly breaking in.

  “Before?” Paul asked, eyebrow raised.

  “Before I found Ben’s report.”

  “Wait,” Danny said. “What do you mean?”

  He sounded defensive. “I’ve been going through his papers since I first came to the mill,” Tara said. “Trying to understand the business.”

  “Do you think you just hadn’t gotten to this folder, or it wasn’t there?”

  That was a good question. “I can’t say for sure. But if it wasn’t there—and then it was—that could only mean that someone removed it and then put it back.”

  “Either they wanted us to find it—or they rifled through it and removed incriminating evidence.” Paul removed his foot from the ice bin and frowned. Tara leaned in eagerly. “Do you have a copy of your original report?”

  He squinted. “I might.”

  He did. “You can at least give us that. Can’t you?”

  “Why don’t you leave this folder with me and I’ll compare it to my original. If anything is missing I’ll let you know.”

  Tara wanted to argue, insist that he hand over the original to them, but New York stubbornness, as strong as it was, was no match for Old Stock Irish Stubborn.

  “Deal,” Danny said. He stuck out his hand and the two men shook on it. Tara rolled her eyes and drank the rest of her pint.

  * * *

  “Now what?” Danny said as they exited O’Doole’s.

  “I’m going to see the real estate agent to find out who checked out the retail shop,” Tara said. “Then I have to work on a few vision boards.”

  “Vision boards?”

  “It’s for a client in New York. I create poster boards where I play around with design ideas.”

  “Will you show me sometime?”

  “Sure.” She hesitated. “I’ve also created one to help solve these murders.” Danny came to an abrupt stop and Tara plowed into him.

  “That’s a fantastic idea,” he said.

  Tara sighed. “It’s not really getting me anywhere.”

  “Keep at it. You never know what will break loose.”

  “What are you doing with the rest of the day?”

  “Our solicitor is going to ask for an extension on the violation and evictions—with Johnny missing, he feels it could qualify.”

  “The longer we keep them at bay the better.”

  “Agreed.”

  “We also need to visit George O’Malley again. Use the granite slab as an excuse.”

  “Okay. But what’s the real reason?”

  “He was holding something back. With Carrig murdered, maybe he’ll be ready to talk. And I want to have another look at that theatre light Carrig wanted back so badly.”

  “Why don’t we go tomorrow?”

  “Perfect.”

  Danny grinned. “It’s a date.”

  “It’s not a date.”

  He winked. “Whatever you say.” She watched his broad shoulders flex as he strolled away.

  “Not a date,” she called after him.

  * * *

  Heather Milton was not in her office. It was locked tight. Tara had left three messages and the woman wasn’t calling her back. Was she purposely avoiding her, or was Tara just being paranoid? The retail space was a great location, so whoever had rented it was doing Irish Revivals a favor. Maybe it was time to open the shop. With Johnny gone, none of the usual mill customers were calling. Business was at a standstill. And if they did get shut down, there would be nothing to fall back on. Tara would start bringing over pieces to the shop and officially open. She was tired of all this murder business. She was itching to do something creative and fun. But today she had to finish the vision boards for Victoria’s client in New York, or she would no longer have that to fall back on either.

  She settled into the shop, opened the garden doors, and began to immerse herself in the boards. By the time she was done, she had what she felt was a fantastic living room. There was a suede sofa the color of burnt orange, with a bamboo coffee table. Silver sculptures helped modernize the look. She found old industrial lights in the mill, large dome-shades the color of emeralds. She took photographs of them, had them printed at a local shop, and added them to the vision board. Time no longer held any meaning as she worked—a throw rug, the color for the walls, art work, additional seating. Before she knew it, the board was complete.

  She hurried to the post office to mail the boards to New York, then picked up fish and chips from the seafood restaurant by the bay, and ate them on a bench in Eyre Square. It made her think of her time here with Breanna. They’d had fun. Tara needed fun and friendship. She sent her a text.

  Let’s get together soon!

  She finished her lunch, hoping to hear back from Breanna, then strolled back to the retail shop, taking in the sights and sounds of Galway in the summer. Street performers were out again, including the unicycling knife-juggler.

  She thought of Carrig, the knife in his back. Were the guards getting anywhere? Were there any clues? Cameras? Did the knife yield anything?

  She went back to the retail shop and stared at her vision boards for the murders. She added RETAIL SHOP to the list, as well as INVESTIGATIVE REPORT ON BEN KELLY. FILES MISSING?

  She added items to the timeline:

  BEN KELLY DISABLED THE CAMERAS AND STOLE HIS FILE.

  PAUL AKA PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR

  CHECKING ORIGINAL FILE AGAINST ONE

  RETURNED BY BEN.

  HEATHER MILTON NOT RETURNING MY CALLS.

  She glanced at the granite slab in the corner and hoped their second visit to George O’Malley would give her something a little more substantial to add to the boards.

  * * *

  George agreed to meet with them again on Thursday after his trad session. Two days from now. Tara made a note of it an
d tacked it to her vision board of the murders. There was something about what Paul said about his investigations for Johnny that was bothering her. She just couldn’t figure out what exactly, but her mind kept circling around it. On a napkin, to associate the note with Paul, she wrote: Paul’s investigations for Johnny. She tacked it to the vision board and then added more:

  Which pieces were the most puzzling?

  Tattoo/proposal

  Paul’s investigations

  Forgery of the pig

  Carrig inflating theatre budget

  The theatre light

  Had Sergeant Gable looked into Carrig’s bank accounts? If he was skimming from the theatre, what had he planned on doing with the money? Was that even important? She headed over to see Rose. She would get the answer to the proposal once and for all. The note on the caravan door read: IN SESSION.

  Tara opened the door anyway. Rose was sitting at her table in front of a spread of cards. Hamlet was sitting across from her, tears streaming down her face.

  “Get out,” Rose said.

  Tara ignored her and turned to Hamlet. “Why are you crying?” The young woman’s eyes widened. Tara moved closer. “Why are you still here?”

  “Carrig’s blood is on my hands,” she wailed. “It’s all my fault.”

  Chapter 30

  Tara escorted the actress to the Garda station. “I’m not normally a gossip. I never knew the information would be used to blackmail him,” Magda said. She sounded sincere. Then again, she was an actress.

  Apparently, there was a reason Carrig had decided to do an all-female production of Hamlet, and it had nothing to do with supporting women. In his last production he’d had a hard time keeping his hands to himself around some of the male actors. These were the rumors Magda/Hamlet had referred to when Tara was trying to convince her to break into his phone. She should have followed up then but she’d been too distracted.

  “Was he accused of forcing any of them?” Tara asked.

  “Nobody filed any official complaints,” Hamlet said. “But his reputation was starting to get out. Every male actor he had offered the part of Hamlet to had turned him down.”