A Turn for the Bad (27 page)

John shut his eyes for a moment. “Oh, bloody hell. I'd guessed he was into somethin' like that, but I didn't want to ask. We were strapped for money, and then we weren't so much, but I didn't want to know where he came by the cash. Wait—he's not here. Where is he?”

“The gardaí are holding him in Skibbereen. That's where we're going next.”

“What kind of trouble's he in?” John asked.

Maura shrugged. “We don't know, yet—they just called. Yes, Conor was involved with the drugs, and that means more than just the gardaí will want to talk to him. As far as we know, he hasn't told anyone what happened, so we'd better get over there fast. But we needed to know your side of the story first. You up for talking to them now, John?”

“It's not like I have a choice, now, is it? Nuala, before yeh start yer whingin', remember he's my brother. Are the kids fixed all right?”

“My sister's at the house, lookin' after 'em. But I'm not lettin' you out of my sight. Oh, blast—what if we're goin' ta be on the telly? And me in this old dress?”

Maura swallowed a smile: Nuala was bouncing back quickly after a week of anxiety about her husband.

Mick caught her eye and nodded toward the other end of the room. She headed in that direction, and he followed. When they were out of hearing of the others, Maura said, “What?”

“There's the dead man to consider.”

In all the rush, she'd completely forgotten the man who had washed up on the shore. “You think he's part of this too?”

“What else? We don't find dead men washing up with the tide around here too often. We need to ask John if he knows anythin' about the man, before we take this to the gardaí.”

“Good point.” She turned and quickly walked back to the group. “John, I hate to make this any more complicated than it already is, but while you were missing, there was a dead man found in the water not far from here. He wasn't local, and nobody was reported missing. Do you know if he was part of the drug crew, maybe?”

“Hard to say. There were the two men who dragged me off the beach, but they were both alive when we got back to the main boat. Nobody exactly dropped in to chat with me once I was there, and I couldn't hear any voices, what with the noise of the engine and the generator. So I can't tell yeh much.”

“That's okay—at least we know those two men were still alive that long. We'll have to see what the gardaí have to say about him—maybe they know more now. You haven't had any troubles with the law before now, have you, John?”

“Me? I'm a cattle farmer. I raise cows, I milk cows, I sell milk. My brother helps us out, but I don't think he's ever been taken into custody. Before now, that is. No more have I.”

“Well, then, I guess we'd better get to Skibbereen and see what they've got. There are, what, nine of us? We'd better sort out how we're getting there.”

“I've no need to go,” Billy said. “I'll stay here, if it's all the same to yeh. Will Jimmy Sweeney be comin' in today?”

“Yes, in time for opening,” Maura answered. “Can you fill him in? But tell him not to say anything to anyone who comes in here after church—we still don't know the whole story.”

“Can I tell them John Tully's been found alive and well, thanks to you and yer friends here?”

Maura's first thought was that it would be good for business, and then she immediately felt ashamed: she hadn't helped track down John Tully just to sell more pints of stout. “Go ahead, but don't make it sound like more than it was.”

Billy smiled. “What it was, was a fisherman, an accountant, and a bartender set off in a small wooden boat and brought down a major drug dealer, right under our noses,
and found a man that no one else in the country had done. Yer the mastermind behind the scheme, Maura Donovan. How else should I tell it?”

“Whatever.” Maura could feel herself blushing, so she turned to the others. “Okay, sort yourself out in whatever cars you want, and we'll go talk to the gardaí.”

They managed to squeeze the eight of them into two cars—it was a good thing that some of the people didn't mind sitting close, particularly Gillian and Harry. Maura checked the time: it wasn't even eleven. Mass in Leap was still an hour away. She had no clue what the Mass schedule for Skibbereen was or how it might affect parking. But since the gardaí had asked her to come in, she assumed someone would be there at the station and waiting for her. Little did they know they were getting a whole crowd.

Maura felt both nervous and excited. From her Boston days she had a lingering distrust for police, not that she'd ever been in any trouble with them. But this was Ireland and things were different here. Weren't they? She wasn't sure whether she had done anything wrong, and she had been careful not to pass on any confidential information that Sean had shared with
her—she certainly didn't want to get him into any trouble. Although he too had been careful not to give her anything specific, only general warnings. Maybe she had done a few things that might not be quite legal, but she didn't know much about Irish laws. Was ignorance a defense around here? The big question mark still was whether the higher-ups had pulled off their drug raid or if the amateur efforts of her comrades had somehow screwed that up, which would not be good, even though they
had
found John Tully alive and well, against the odds, when nobody else had. And here they were, bearing him to the garda station, ready to lay him at their feet and beg for forgiveness. If any was needed.

Maura almost wished that it took longer to get to Skibbereen, but they arrived in under ten minutes. Parking proved easy to find near the garda station, on a side street, and after they all climbed out of their cars, they spent a moment straightening clothes and preparing themselves. For what, Maura had no idea.

“Everybody ready?” she asked. Nods all around. “Remember, just tell the truth. Keep it simple. Don't volunteer anything, just answer the questions you're asked.”

“Anybody'd think you'd been arrested before, Maura,” Mick said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Nope. I watch TV shows now and then. We'll all come out of this in good shape,” Maura said, although she wasn't convinced herself. “Let's go.”

She led her ragtag band to the front door of the garda station. She'd been inside it before, and she knew it was a relatively small building. It hadn't occurred to her that they might have trouble fitting everyone into one space at once, but no way was she about to suggest splitting up. They were
all part of the same story. The question was, where did the drug raid meet up with their part?

Taking a deep breath, she opened the front door and walked in. There was a young female officer behind a narrow counter. “I'm Maura Donovan. I need to speak to . . .”

Before she could finish her sentence, the officer said, “Sean Murphy, I know. He's expecting you.” Then she looked at the people crowding in behind her, filling the tiny vestibule, and her eyes widened. “Are you all together? I, uh . . . I'll call him and tell him to come out and meet you, will I?”

“Fine,” Maura said, and shut up. The others remained silent, following her lead. The officer at the counter turned away and made the call, then hung up and turned back to them. “He'll be here straight away.”

“Thank you,” Maura said, and stopped again, watching the door she knew Sean would come through. He showed up in under thirty seconds—obviously he'd been waiting for her.
Her
, not a crowd. Maura stifled a smile as she watched him take in all the people behind her. When his eyes landed on John Tully, they widened. “That's not—”

“It is. John Tully,” Maura said triumphantly. “And you know his wife, Nuala. And—” Sean held up one hand.

“Let's wait a bit on the introductions. I need to talk to, to . . . I'll be back.” He turned and fled back the way he had come. Maura almost felt sorry for him.

He returned after another minute had passed. “Follow me, please,” he said formally. He led them through what Maura called the squad room, where the gardaí had desks, to a room at the back of the building that she hadn't seen before. Inside was a large table surrounded by chairs; standing at the far end was Detective Chief Superintendent Patrick Hurley, who
Maura had met more than once, flanked by two men she'd never seen before. They all looked extremely official, not smiling, and they didn't volunteer any information. They watched silently as Maura's group filed into the room.

Finally Patrick Hurley said, “Please take a seat, all of you. Then we can manage the introductions.”

Maura couldn't read his expression: were they in trouble? Was she still supposed to speak for the group? At least she'd worked with the station's detective in the past and knew him to be a fair and open-minded man. She took the chair at the end of the table opposite his, so she could watch his face and gauge his reactions. The others fumbled their way around the table, John Tully taking a seat on her right, with his wife still at his side; Mick sat on her left, followed by Gillian and Harry, still sticking close to each other. Gerard took the final chair on the left, while Sean claimed the one on the right closest to the strangers. A strained silence fell.

Detective Hurley took his time, surveying the people at the table, before speaking again. “I know some of you—Maura, Harry, Gillian, Mick. Others such as John Tully I haven't met, but I know of you. And you are?” he asked, looking at Brendan and Gerard, who introduced themselves quickly. When they had gone around the table, Detective Hurley said, “I'm guessing you have a story to tell. Who would like to begin?”

Maura spoke quickly. “Just a minute, sir. We all know Sean Murphy, but who are these other men? I'm asking only because I don't want anyone here to say anything that might cause them problems later.”

The detective nodded once. “I can understand that, and it's a fair question. However, they are here merely to listen, and I hope there will be no repercussions.”

The two men nodded silently, which did not reassure Maura. Back in Boston she might have guessed they came from one or another government agency, but here in Ireland she had no clue.

Detective Hurley continued, “Why don't you begin with how you came to find John Tully? Unless, Mr. Tully, you feel you need legal representation?”

John Tully didn't take kindly to that. “Detective, whatever your name is, I was doing no more than takin' a walk along the beach with me young son when two thugs from a boat grabbed me and hauled me off to their ship, where I've been sittin' and stewing fer days, wonderin' if I'd ever see land again, until these fine lads”—he waved at Harry and Mick and Gerard—“showed up this mornin' and brought me home, no more than a coupla hours ago. I've no idea why they took me off like that. If you've been doin' all the searchin' I've been hearin' about, you'll know that I'm a dairyman, nothin' more. What is it yer askin'?”

“What about your brother Conor?” the detective asked quietly, unperturbed.

“What of him? Is he here? What's he said?” John demanded.

“He's in the building, but he's said nothing thus far.”

“Why can't you bring him here, then?” John said.

“In good time. First, Mr. Tully, I'd like some more details about what happened to you. Please.”

John glared at him for a moment, then launched into his story about his strange abduction. As far as Maura could tell, it was no different from what he had told them earlier. She was willing to bet that he wasn't involved in anything criminal; he'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he was lucky to be alive. He finally wrapped it up
with, “And that's all I know, I'd swear on the Bible.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Thank you, Mr. Tully. Now, I think we'd like to hear a bit more about how you others managed to locate Mr. Tully on that ship.” Detective Hurley was looking directly at Maura.

Maura fought back panic. The simple truth was, Conor Tully had given them the first important clue, which had led to the search for a particular kind of boat. He'd told her first, or maybe he'd told or hinted to Billy about what was going on, and Billy had pushed him to tell her. She could have done any number of things after that, including telling the gardaí what Conor had said. But she hadn't, because she'd believed Conor, that John's life was at risk, so she'd cooked up a crazy scheme to retrieve his brother all by themselves, recruiting some of her friends, without talking to the gardaí. What was she supposed to say now?

Actually there wasn't much choice: as she'd told the others, she had to tell the truth. But she needed Conor Tully to back her up. “I'll be happy to tell you, Detective Hurley, but we need to bring Conor Tully in. What he told us was important to finding his brother. Has he explained that to you?”

“No, he has not. He asked that we call you, and then he stopped speaking at all. You do recognize that this is a rather unusual way to conduct an investigation?”

“Of course it is. But we did what we did because we were afraid that if we waited for you guys to do anything, John would be dead and no one would ever know what happened to him, including his wife and kids. We thought we could handle it on our own, the bunch of us here. And we did.”

Detective Hurley regarded her silently for a few moments, and Maura held his gaze. She'd done the right thing, she
thought, legal or not. Finally he said, “Were you aware that your actions could have jeopardized a major cocaine seizure?” His eyes flickered toward Sean Murphy.

So it's cards on the table
, Maura thought. “Not in the beginning. After Conor Tully talked to me, we kind of figured it had to be something like that, something big. But we didn't know anything about the details, apart from what Conor told us.” That was the best she could do to protect Sean.

Detective Hurley studied her for a moment before replying. “All right, Miss Donovan. Let us accept that Conor Tully gave you some idea
why
his brother had been taken from the beach and where you should be looking. Then what happened?”

“Hang on,” John Tully interrupted. “Yer sayin' that me brother knew where I was all that time?”

Maura laid a hand on his arm to stop him. “John, he knew
who
had you, but not where. He doesn't know squat about boats, large or small, right?”

“I'd have to say yes. So?”

“He felt so bad that he had to tell someone, and Old Billy Sheahan convinced him to talk to me.” She hoped Billy wasn't going to get dragged into this mess too, but she figured he could handle himself.

“Conor Tully could have come to us,” Detective Hurley said.

Maura shook her head. “No, he thought he couldn't. He was afraid that if you and your pals heard about what he had seen, you'd go bumbling in and get John killed. He truly believed that the only thing keeping John alive was what he knew about the drug thing and his threat to tell you guys. Kind of like honor among thieves, right? If he kept his
mouth shut about the deal, they'd let John live.” She decided not to mention that she had wondered whether the gardaí would think their big raid might be more important than the life of one man. “But I'm not sure he really trusted those guys anyway. He wanted to find John himself, but he's a dairyman too, and he needed someone who knew the harbor, so he could figure out what ship John might be on, and then he needed someone who knew boats, to get him out to it and actually find John. Look, half the country had been looking for John for most of a week, and you hadn't found him. Why should we think you'd do any better the second time around? Much less get to him in time?”

Maura wondered if Detective Hurley was hiding a smile when he said, “So Conor Tully came to you, and you recruited . . . who?”

“Mick, for one, because he's local. Then I remembered Brendan here had said the guys at that distillery in Union Hall had been fishermen, and we were planning to meet with them anyway, so I figured Brendan and I could ask them where we should look, or if they'd seen any boats that might fit the bill, and then Gerard agreed to help us. And he found the right boat.” And had the gardaí known which boat they were looking for from the beginning? Only they hadn't put it together that John Tully might be aboard—but why would they?

Detective Hurley glanced at the stone-faced men flanking him. Maura almost felt sorry for them: they'd thought they had this huge top-secret operation all set up, and a bunch of amateurs with a small boat had blundered into the middle of it.

As if reading her mind, Detective Hurley asked, “You're saying you knew about the smuggling of the drugs?”

“Only that it was happening,” Maura said. “Like I said, after talking to Conor we guessed something big was going on, but he didn't fill us in. We kind of figured out on our own that it was more than a rowboat full of weed that we were talking about. They wouldn't have grabbed John for something that small. And Conor was talking about a truck or two of stuff, not just a bag.” Maura summoned up her courage and asked, “Look, before we go any farther, can you tell us if you did manage to pull off your end of things? Or did we make a mess of that?”