Chapter Eight #5
He finds himself wondering whether anyone checked the Holohans’ supply of antifreeze to see if any was missing or not, and whether anyone went looking for a discarded container.
He also wonders where Rachel was, all that blank stretch of time between Sheila’s house and the river.
He wishes the Guards had pulled her location history, and ideally location histories for all the Moynihans and that little shitbag Donie McGrath, but he doesn’t blame them for not doing it.
Cal has seen Irish detectives in action on a murder case, and found no fault with their work, but this wasn’t a murder; this was just an undistinguished small-town tragedy, a part of the inexorable snowfall of girls and boys who every day slip through the world’s fingers and melt away.
If it occurred to anyone that it might be something heavier or darker than that, Tommy Moynihan would have ground out that thought under his heel like a cigarette butt.
The Guards did what they were supposed to do. Then they withdrew, leaving the townland under its rain and its silence, to deal in its own ways with anything that remained.
The waitress puts down Cal’s scone and shuffles away without making conversation. The scone tastes like lukewarm Play-Doh. Cal takes two bites to keep the waitress’s spirits up, and leaves the rest be.
Maybe sweet-natured Garda Dennis is right, and the whole thing was a big tragic mix-up.
Rachel’s family thinks she and Eugene had planned to meet up that night; Eugene says they hadn’t.
But if Rachel was waiting alone at the meeting place and thought Eugene was ghosting her because of whatever the hell was going on, she would have at least tried getting in touch with him before she reached for the antifreeze and the river.
Cal is less certain about Eugene than he was.
Eugene may be a wimp, but wimps are the ones who lash out most frantically when they’re backed into a corner, like for example if they and their daddy are up to something squirrelly and their girlfriend is getting cold feet.
And Eugene may not be the boy genius he thinks he is, but he’s smart enough that if he had done something bad to Rachel, he’d have made sure to leave a bunch of missed calls on her phone.
Cal would love to know where Eugene was from seven o’clock that night, or at least where he says he was.
Even if he’d wanted to bring up the subject with Garda Dennis, there would have been no point; no cop around here is going to ask Tommy Moynihan’s young lad for anything that resembles an alibi.
Cal tells himself he’s not acting like this is a murder; he’s just acting like there’s something hinky here, which there is. He flips to a fresh page.
Tommy:
Reddys
Rachel
Eugene council?
Land
Tommy has been trying to run the Reddys out of town; he’s trying to find out something or other to do with Rachel’s death; if Mart is right, he’s trying to launch Eugene into local government.
And way back before Rachel died, Francie was warning darkly that Tommy was up to something—something to do with buying land, although no one ever settled on a solid suggestion as to what that might be.
Cal can’t see how those four lines of business might connect up.
It’s possible that they’re unrelated, of course, but that would make Tommy one hell of a multitasker.
The guy is canny enough and experienced enough to prioritize when the pressure is on.
If he’s still running all four of those lines, at a time like this, Cal is ready to bet they’re all four knotted together.
Going by what Rachel told Sheila, Tommy and Eugene are up to something that would harm people around Ardnakelty—possibly something illegal, but not necessarily, given that Rachel didn’t mention going to the Guards.
The amount of resources Tommy is willing to pump into it suggests that it’s something big.
Cal doesn’t like any of this. He has no clear line of sight on anything, and he can’t see to an ending in any direction.
He didn’t like this feeling back on the job—any case could turn bad, but these were the ones that had a tendency to turn bad in ways he never saw coming.
He sure as hell doesn’t like it popping up in his own life.
The rain is thickening, coating the windows till the street outside is invisible. The waitress has vanished; the weary clatter of half-hearted washing-up filters out from the back room.
Cal is aware that his urge to fix stuff isn’t always a good thing, but what he’s doing here isn’t coming out of his own urges, misguided or not.
On a personal level, he feels no drive to do anything but let Rachel Holohan rest in peace.
This demand comes from outside him; from Sheila Reddy making it clear that the Moynihans are, somehow, a threat to this place.
Skippy Gannon gave Cal straw for his vegetable beds; Angela Maguire is planning his wedding cake.
Senan brought Cal for a few pints with Lena’s three wary brothers, all of whom used to play Gaelic football with Senan, making his character reference the most powerful one Cal could have.
P.J. helped him clear the brambles that were reaching out to choke his back field, and while they were at it he raised his clear tenor shyly over the snapping of the shears and taught Cal the words to a bunch of folk songs, so now Cal can sing along when the pub turns musical.
Bobby brought him a bottle of holy water.
Cal’s feelings about Ardnakelty are complicated, with plenty of tangles and reservations, but his feelings are beside the point; they’re nothing but fuss and fluff, beside the solid fact that he lives here.
Regardless of Lena’s objections, he can’t switch that on and off at his convenience.
When he has something the townland needs, he has an obligation to provide it.
What he has to offer is a little woodworking skill, and the muscle-power to pack a silage clamp or mend a dry stone wall, and the fact that he used to be a detective.
He understands now why Mart gave him a funny look when he said something about everyone wanting a PI.
Tommy looked at Cal and saw a PI for hire, but Mart just saw a guy who lives here.
The coffee has gone cold. Cal reads over his timeline once more and puts the notebook away. He figures, seeing as he’s already gone and pissed off Tommy Moynihan, he might as well find a moment to have a chat with Eugene.