Chapter 58
58
“What time is it?” My voice was croaky.
I’d woken up in the bed in the bridal suite. Mum and Helen were at my side.
“About eleven.”
When Joey and I had got back to the hotel it had been 7 a.m. I’d thought I’d smell nothing but burning forever more. I’d shampooed my hair three times; Mum had dried it. They’d all clucked around me, guiding me into the bed.
“Is Joey awake?” I asked now.
“About an hour ago. He said to let you sleep.”
“Mum, I’m sorry about your car.”
“Not at all! Mr Kilcroney says the insurance will cover it.”
What insurance?
I had a shower, yet another one, and washed my hair again. When I left the bathroom, the bridal suite was busy, my sisters coming, going and packing up to go home.
“Food?” Francesca asked me. “Coffee?”
The idea made me queasy but I’d better have something before going to the police station.
“Regan and I can stick around for a few more days, Mum too,” Helen said. “We’ll get Artie to come down.”
Discommoding people would make me feel even lower, if such a thing was possible. “Thanks, but Joey and I will figure it out.”
Suddenly Courtney was there, a bundle of Easter eggs in her arms. Now I really was convinced I was trapped in an alternative universe.
“Anna, a stór . I’d hug you but for…” She indicated her bounty. “These are for you. From…” She consulted a list. “Pamela, Glen and family. Peadar Brady and the lads. Hardware Ralph. And Tipper Mahon and the crew.” Caught between her fingers were three envelopes. “Mass cards. From Moyna and Proinnsias O’Hehir, Gannon’s the pharmacist and Augustina Mahon, she’s Tipper’s mother.”
Oh my God. The lovely people in this town—welcoming, warm and fun. It made no sense but I felt responsible for bringing this horror to their doorstep.
…And why Easter eggs?
“Because there’s no flowers. Some flash piece bought up the town’s supply last Thursday. That was a joke, just in case it wasn’t clear. As for the Easter eggs, the minute Paddy’s Day is out of the way, the Easter eggs are on the shelves. I suppose people got excited.”
“But what about Joey? He’s just as upset as me.”
“Joey got stuff too!” Claire had appeared. “A bottle of Jameson! A pair of thick socks! It’s okay, Anna, dispiritingly gendered but okay!”
A kerfuffle at the door made me look up—it was the arrival of my breakfast, the tray carried by none other than Brogue-face Kilcroney himself.
The man looked very shook. “I want to offer my condolences for what you and Mr Armstrong went through last night. As a goodwill gesture I’m comping the entire stay for you, your family and Mr Armstrong.”
“There’s no need for—”
“What happened out there”—he jerked his head—“was all wrong. That’s not who we are. As for your mother’s car—a downright disgrace. Our insurance will look after it.”
His unexpected kindness broke my heart. “Sorry for being so emotional,” I gulped. “But poor Colm and Brigit. And not just them, what about Tipper, Hal, Declan Erskine, all the crew? They’d worked so hard and it was shaping up to be beautiful and it’s…”
Kilcroney was stricken with discomfort: not a man who did emotions. “We’ll organize a car to get yourself and Mr Armstrong back to Dublin.”
“We’ve to have a chat with the police, I don’t know how long they’ll want us to stay in town.”
“Not long, I’d say. They won’t want to drag out your ordeal anymore than they have to.” Quickly he left, passing Joey who was leaning against the doorway, looking desolate.
I got to my feet, he held out his arms and I rested my forehead on his shirt front.
“It’s shit,” he murmured. “I know.”
“Have you been talking with Colm?”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “I hate to ask, but can you stick around a few more days? A lot going on. Colm and the family are my priority. But the insurance company will be sending loss adjusters, they’ll arrive later in the week. And I want to be sure the police are taking this seriously.”
—
Wheeling cases and hoisting backpacks, the Walshes left as they had arrived—by attracting attention. Down in the lobby, the farewells were loud and lengthy.
As Mum hugged me, she hissed, “Do we really not have to pay?” She adored a bargain but would be appalled to be considered a grifter.
“You really don’t have to. But you can if you want.”
That did the trick. Like a trap snapping, her elbow clamped her handbag to her side, just in case her credit card made a bid for freedom.
Rachel grabbed me. “If it’s any help, the people here in the town are lovely . They’re very worried about the Kearneys obvs but they like you too, Anna. And Joey.”
Regan and Joey were the last people to bid each other farewell. Joey got down to her level and she said, “Joe-boy, let’s stay in touch.”
He almost smiled. “Let’s do that, Regan. It’s been fun hanging with you.”
“Sames.”
Then they were all gone, leaving just me and Joey.
“Cop shop?” he invited, extending his elbow.
“Why not?” I replied.
Mum’s broken car had disappeared from the curb but cubes of glass still crunched underfoot.
I had to ask. “What kind of fool wants you to leave town then trashes your car?”
Joey shook his head.
On the short walk, we were stopped probably ten times, each person insistent that the retreat would be a good thing for the town. “Whoever did that terrible thing last night, they weren’t speaking for me.”
“I believe them,” I told Joey. “Whoever did this, it’s just one or two people, with a specific agenda.”
At the police station, I’d expected to find a consignment of detectives dispatched from Clifden, even Galway, trying to find a space to work from. For phones to be hopping off tables as the public rang with information tips. For it to feel important and urgent .
But the only person on duty was an unsmiling Burke. “I told you to get down here nice and early.”
He pointed a pen at Joey, then at three orange chairs in the corridor. “Wait there.” The same pen was pointed at me, then at a small, bare room. “In there.”
My phone vibrated: a text from Ike. I need to see you.
A second text arrived immediately. It’s about the fire.
Was there any point? The plug was probably going to be pulled on the whole venture. And he’d never given me any actual information, had he? Just winked and hinted and wasted my time.
Burke sat at the far end of the table. “Well?” he asked, as if I’d been called into the headmaster’s office to explain away some transgression.
“Well!” I replied. “On Thursday I got an email that literally threatened to burn the cottages at Kearney’s Farm. Here.” I slid my iPad down the table, the email from [email protected] highlighted.
He gave it a cursory glance. “ProudIrishPatriot1916? Oh, I know him well. I’ll just go below and bring him in for questioning, will I?”
Sarcastic prick. “But you can get their IP address and—”
“Hold your horses! You’d need a warrant for that.”
“…But. You’re the police. Warrants are your thing—”
“Just because someone threatens something doesn’t mean they’re the ones who did it. It could have been any keyboard eejit acting tough. Only one thing is clear, M’town doesn’t want this hotel going ahead.”
“That’s not true, I’ve met so many—”
“You come down here from Dublin, thinking you know everything. But I’m the sergeant here. I know my community, they trust me.”
What could I say to that? “So what happens now?”
With contempt, he shook his head. “You want some big investigation? With arson specialists arriving from Galway city? You want local people to lose their liberty because of a hotel catering for a crowd of moneybags bastards who could go anywhere in the world?”
“No, but—”
“Myself and the other officers here will get to the bottom of whatever went on. Some bored young fellas, probably. They’ll be set on the right track and we’ll all get back to normal.”
“Do you know who did—?”
“People could have died last night!” he thundered. “Died! Next time you mightn’t be so lucky.”
With that warning, he said, “Off you go. Send in Armstrong.”
“You mean we’re finished?”
“Send in Armstrong, I said.”
Reeling from the speed of the dismissal, I left the room and came face to face with Tipper Mahon, Declan Erskine and another crew member, whose name I thought might be Vazey.
“Tipper!” It didn’t matter that he didn’t like me; we were long past that. I clasped his hand, tears pouring down my face. “Sorry for crying, but all your hard work! You made it so beautiful and for it to be ruined, your heart must be broken.”
Tipper seemed stunned. “Ah, shur,” he stuttered.
“And Declan!” I moved to embrace him. “You too. And all for nothing.”
Withholding eye contact, Declan mumbled, “No one died, I suppose.”
Moving on. “Vazey? It is Vazey? I’m sorry we’re meeting in these circumstances. My heart breaks for you all.” I looked around. “Where’s Hal?”
“Above home,” Tipper said at the same time as Vazey said, “In Athlone.”
“He’s back,” Tipper said. “He was away for the weekend, but he’s back. I think.”
“I nearly forgot to say, thank you for the Easter egg. And Tipper, your mum sent me a mass card. Can you thank her from me?”
“I can of course.” He wouldn’t look at me.
“Armstrong!” Sergeant Burke was out of the interview room. I’d forgotten about Joey, who was still on the orange chair.
“I’ll be in the coffee shop across the road,” I told him.
Café Grumpy, it was called. “I’m Glen and Pamela’s daughter, Catreen,” said the young woman behind the counter. “We’re all mortified by what happened. What can I get you? On the house, like.”
While I nursed a mint tea, I rang Helen. “If I gave you an email could you find the IP address and tell me who owns it?”
“No. But I know people who could. They’ll need to be paid, though.” Then, “Ah, lookit, it can be your birthday present from me.”
“My birthday’s four months away.”
“Okay, it can be my ‘sorry for sleeping with Joey back when dinosaurs roamed the earth.’ How was I to know yous were in love with each other—”
“No, we weren—”
“Gimme the deets.”
I took a breath. “Seriously? You can literally tell me the name of a person who sent an email?”
“I can get a physical address the bill payer is registered at. Probably even the device the email was sent from. But if they’ve a sophisticated cyber set-up—although how likely is that in Maumtully?—it’d be harder. Or if someone was using another person’s computer, you couldn’t prove it. And none of it could be used in court. Ping me what you’ve got.”
“Thank you!”
“Slow your roll, I haven’t done it yet. And listen, sorry for saying ‘ping.’ And ‘deets.’ I was feeling dynamic, got carried away. Give me a few days, I’ll do what I can.”
I sent ProudIrishPatriot’s email to Helen. At the last minute, I also added ConcernedCitizen’s details; there had been so much hostility in that message, about fucking me if I had a bag on my head, that it seemed sensible to check it out. Then—why not?—I rang Ike.
“Where are you?” he asked. “Café Grumpy? I’ll be there in five.”
A man of his word, he barreled in, big and busy. “The truck’s on double yellows, I can’t stay.” He pulled up a chair. “What I’m hearing is whoever did it was told to burn one house but the fire didn’t catch, not immediately, so he tried another. Then the rain started. He thought nothing would take. He panicked. Overdid it.”
“Ike, why can’t you just tell me straight out what you know?”
“I live here.” His eyes darkened with exasperation. “This is my home. And it’s a small place.”
Finally, I really got it: he hadn’t withheld information just to toy with me. It was because he had conflicting loyalties.
“ And ,” he said, “I don’t know anything for certain. Finding out was meant to be your job. I told you what I could without riling up more people than I already have. But ask yourself the question: who has the most to lose by a fancy resort setting up in the area?”
“I…” Hadn’t a clue. The Broderick was a hotel but a totally different thing. There would be no overlap.
“Nicolas Burke will try to stop an investigation. But the insurance company will insist on a proper forensic examination. The individual who set the fires is just a misfortunate fall guy, a clueless man who’s not well equipped for life. Probably got paid something like a hundred euro. He’ll end up in prison but the people who’re actually behind it will be grand.”
Ike cast a glance at the truck outside. “Gotta go. One last thing. I’m sorry about Saturday. Putting my eye on your sister.”
What did it matter now? “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
“Once the go-boy came back, I knew I’d no chance.”
“Joey?”
“You and him. Unfinished business.”
He was gone.
After a while Joey emerged from the police station. I watched him cross the road, rangy in his dark coat, the breeze whipping his hair around his angular face. God, he was gorgeous.
I met him outside. “How’d you get on?”
He rolled his eyes. “The deluded gobshite thinks he can avoid an investigation. Listen, I’ve hired a car. It was driven in from Galway. I’ve to go to the Broderick to pick up the keys.”
“How’s the driver getting back to Galway?”
“He’ll walk in his wooden shoes. Gonna take him three days because he has rickets.” Then, “God’s sake, Anna, I may be flash but I’m not a monster. Two cars came. Two drivers. Ours will go back with the other.”
“?’Kay.” A question was sending signals from a worried part of me, something to do with Joey and his car, but trying to clarify it just made it dissolve.
As we walked, Joey said, “Officer Dibble was all about ‘community policing’ and ‘we deal with our own.’ But the insurance forensics will be savage. Criminal charges will happen for certain. I bet that Dibble is on the blower right now to Kilcroney. When we get back to the hotel, Kilcroney will offer us something—compensation. Help in rebuilding. A lifetime’s supply of crimped crisps— any thing to keep the insurance company out of this.”
“Why would he do that?”
“To avoid bad publicity for the town? The local economy depends on tourism. Then there are the festivals.”
Reluctantly, I said, “I think I know who set the fires.”
Heavily, Joey said, “Yeah.”
“Hal Mahon? Yes? Why do you think so?”
“That pantomime in the cop-shop about him being ‘above home’ and also ‘in Athlone.’ Tipper and his mates…they’re freaked out . What’s your theory?”
“Ike Blakely texted, came to the coffee shop. Said a few things about ‘the perpetrator’ being ‘clueless and not really able for life.’ The type of stuff other people have said about Hal. Someone else got him to do it. He was only supposed to do one house but didn’t know how to set fires, then it started raining, so he panicked.”
“Hardly the work of a master criminal—” Abruptly Joey changed to Mr Smooth as a smiling man advanced on him with a car fob. “Ah, hello!”
“I’ll wait in the lounge.” Nothing bored me more than having the insides of a car explained, nothing . Except perhaps for the slow perimeter creep around a hire car, seeking out tiny imperfections for which I’d be charged a year’s salary if I didn’t point them out before I drove away.
Courtney was at reception. A thought popped into my head. “Courts? Do you know who’s the administrator on Maum Marketplace? Or Maum Chats?”
“God, there’s a few. What do you want to know?”
“Who Local Hero really is.”
“I’ll see what I can find…Wait now. Colm Kearney has done stints on Maum Chats. Have a word. He’ll find the email address, no bother.”
I wasn’t sure poor Colm would be finding anything “no bother” ever again, but I rang him anyway.
“I haven’t looked at Facebook in months,” he said. “Let me see if I can find…”
After a tortuous wait while he clicked and sighed, he said, “[email protected]. All I can tell you.”
“Thanks, Colm.” Immediately I messaged Helen asking her to trace it.
In the lounge, Teagan, with her swingy ponytail and long lashes, was on duty. Unexpectedly, she hugged me. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s desperate. What can I get you? Kilcroney says you can have anything.”
“Cake?”
“Sure! And brandy? For the shock?”
I was about to refuse, then said, “Okay.”
“I’ll give you the really dear stuff. A pint of it.”
She’d made me smile. “And have one yourself for your trouble, miss.”
“Kilcroney’s the stingiest man on earth. He must be mortified about the whole business to be giving ye free rein. Here’s the go-boy. What’re you having?”
Joey grabbed a chair. “Ice cream? Three scoops. One of each.”
“Sprinkles? Of caviar? Feck, we’re out of caviar. Mini-marshmallows do you?”
“And smarties?”
Teagan bounced her pen against her teeth. “Give him an inch…”
“Since when did you like ice cream?” I asked Joey.
“I always liked it. But I pretended I didn’t because I was afraid of seeming…”
I patted his arm.
“Would you mind if I joined you?” Dan Kilcroney, abject and ashen, stood before us.
“Please.” Joey was icily polite. “Take a seat.”
“Thanks. Thanks.” His head lowered, he pulled up a stool. “There’ve been a few developments…of a financial nature.” Kilcroney’s eyes flickered meaningfully from Joey to me.
Beneath the table, Joey squeezed my hand. Told you . “Anything you want to say can be said in front of Anna.”
“Fine, so.” Nervously, Kilcroney licked his lower lip. “A group of traders here in the town, we want to cover the damage and the cost of rebuilding. I’ll call in all the workmen I know. We’ll get this fixed in double-quick time.”
A second elapsed. Then another. In cool tones, Joey said, “A generous gesture. But unnecessary. That’s what insurance is for.”
“We’d like to keep the insurance company out of this.”
“You mean keep the police out of it?”
“But…local lads up to high jinks.” Kilcroney’s swallow was audible. “We can’t ruin their lives over a drunken mistake on a Paddy’s Day weekend. They won’t do it again. I can assure you of that.”
“So you know who did it?”
“I…ah…I’ve my suspicions. Harmless young fellas.”
“You should take that information to the police,” Joey said. “Quite apart from the damage at Kearney’s Farm, you can’t have pyromaniacs stalking the same streets graced by the great and the good from the world of literature.”
“They’re harmless , I assure yo—”
“There’s been a deliberate campaign of misinformation for weeks,” Joey said. “The ‘harmless young fellas’ weren’t behind that.”
“That’ll stop too. The rumors. Everything. You have my word.”
This was a confession, wasn’t it? Before I spoke, Joey’s hand touched mine again: Not yet .
“Mr Kilcroney,” he said. “You appear to have plenty of influence in the town. I’m thinking further down the road: what if we manage to finish the retreat, but mysteriously none of the locals will work for us? Or the farmers won’t sell to us?”
“They will work for you. They will sell to you.”
Joey was gentle. “You’re overestimating my authority. I’m just a hired hand, answerable to a consortium of high-net-worth individuals. My brief here was to sound out the objections and fix them. Which I haven’t managed to do. All I have to offer my employers is your word.”
“Which can be relied on.”
“Unless I come by new information whereby we discover what’s really going on and who ordered the damage, I can’t give them that assurance. We have no option but a full police investigation, with a detailed forensic examination of the site. There will be prosecutions, Mr Kilcroney, and convictions. Definitely jail time. And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to enjoy my ice cream.”