An Early Wake (18 page)

She was glad to see that someone had fixed the side door, even if it was really only for show. She’d worry about fixing the cash drawer tomorrow. She locked all the doors carefully and headed for home.

M
aura spent another restless night. After growing up in a city, in a neighborhood that boasted its share of shady characters and a few outright criminals, it had taken her a while to get used to living in a small cottage on a hill in West Cork. It was dark at night; it was quiet, except for the occasional complaint from a cow or sheep. She still fought the need to lock the door every time she left, although she had nothing to steal and there were few people around anyway. Plus she had a friend on the police force. But an unfamiliar noise was an unfamiliar noise, whoever or whatever made it, and she admitted to herself that she was sometimes nervous.

Was there drug dealing at Sullivan’s? It seemed unlikely—but then, so did an unexplained death. Under its quiet surface, rural Ireland had a lot going on, and it wasn’t all good.

Maybe a chat with Bridget would cheer her up. Maura took a quick shower, dressed, and ambled down the lane to Bridget’s house. Bridget opened the door quickly when she knocked.

“
Fáilte, a Mhaire!
Come in. I’ve been wonderin’ when yeh’d come and tell me all the news. Help yerself to a cup of tea—it’s ready in the pot there.”

When she was settled with a cup of tea and a piece of Bridget’s brown bread with butter, Maura said, “How much have you heard from Mick?”

“Ah, the boy never tells me anything! Thinks it’ll upset me. Like I’ve never heard bad news in my eighty-some years. There’s been talk of nothing else fer days, what with the music and that poor man dyin’. I’m told the gardaí have been keepin’ busy around yer place. What does yer young garda think?”

“Sean? He’s not exactly mine, you know. Anyway, he’s looking into it. Has Mick told you about the other things that have been happening?”

Bridget made tsking noises when Maura talked, and when Maura wrapped up her story, Bridget said, “It’s worryin’, right enough. Any one of those things could be the work of some unhappy local fella, lookin’ fer easy money. But comin’ all together? I believe yer right—there’s somebody else from outside. Yer bein’ careful, aren’t yeh?”

“I try, but I realized I’m kind of out of practice. Look, I’ve always heard that musicians attract . . . problems, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. And I’ve seen the inside of enough bars in Boston to know what goes on. I just wasn’t prepared for this, not here.”

“Yer talkin’ about the drugs, are yeh not?”

Even Bridget knew, up here in her country cottage on a lonely hillside? “Yes, I am. What do you know about drugs? Wait,
why
do you know about drugs?”

Bridget smiled, if a bit sadly. “Ah, Maura, I may be old and I may live in the country, but I’m not stupid nor daft. I listen to the radio, and I watch the telly. It’s not the world I grew up in—back then drink was the only problem, and a serious one at that for some people. But this other stuff . . . It’s no surprise to me that a lot comes in from the sea around here. There’s plenty of coastline, much of it beyond the sight of any houses. And too few gardaí—plus I’ve heard they might be layin’ off some and closin’ stations because the country can’t afford so many. So anyone with a fast boat could make good money haulin’ stuff, and no one the wiser. Maybe like you I’d hoped that it hopped right over West Cork and went straight to Dublin. I should know better, at my age.”

“Bridget, I think you’re amazing to keep up with all this. And you’ve pretty much nailed the situation, as Sean described it to me. But it hurts that it’s landed on my doorstep.”

“Is that what yeh think happened with poor Aidan? The drugs, I mean?” Bridget asked.

“I’m starting to think so. I mean, I want to think someone from Cork followed him for . . . something he had. But the person is still around and he’s still looking. I don’t know which would be worse: him refusing to give up until he gets what he’s looking for, and hurting more people along the way, or him giving up and going back to wherever he came from, and the rest of us never knowing what really happened.”

“Ah, Maura, yeh’ve got yerself a fine puzzle, haven’t yeh? Is Sean Murphy up to the task, do yeh think?”

“I hope so. I mean, he’s smart and he works hard. But I can’t say if this whole drug thing is out of his league altogether.”

“Is the boy smart enough to ask for help if he needs it?”

“I think so. I don’t think he’s looking just to make a name for himself. If he needs to call in the big guns, I’d bet he will.”

“Do yeh like the lad?”

Maura considered playing dumb, but she knew what Bridget was asking. “I don’t know, Bridget. I don’t know how I feel about him. Sean’s a good guy, like I said. But to tell the truth, sometimes he seems kind of young to me, even though we’re close to the same age. Or maybe I mean I feel old around him—I feel like I’ve seen a lot more than he has, even though that’s not his fault. And take Tim Reilly. You haven’t met him, but he seems younger than Sean even, although they’re only a couple of years apart. But Tim just doesn’t act grown up yet. He and Rose hit it off well, but she’s wiser than he is sometimes, and she’s years younger than him.”

“What a muddle it all is,” Bridget said, smiling. “Well, there’s no rush, now, is there? Such things often work themselves out for the best.”

“I hope so!” Maura said. “I’d better be going. The one good thing about all this trouble is that business has been up for days now, and we need the whole staff there. And the crowds may last through the weekend.”

“You go to work, dear. You can tell me all about it when yeh have the time.
Ádh mór ort!
”

Maura stopped at the door. “What does that mean?”

“Good luck to yeh!”

Tim was waiting when Maura arrived at Sullivan’s, and he looked less depressed than he had for days. “Hi, Maura,” he said. “Sorry to bother yeh so early, but I figured that I’m runnin’ out of time to collect what I need for my studies, and I’d better get on it before I lose me chance.”

Maura unlocked the front door and led him in. “So you’re going to keep going with it?”

“I think so. I mean, I’ve learned a lot, and I’ve talked to a load of people, so I’ve got stuff nobody else does. It’d be a shame to waste it. And even if Aidan didn’t turn out to be . . . yeh know . . . a lot of the guys have said they’d stick around or come back to hold a session in his honor, so maybe I can talk to them again. Funny how they remember him after all these years. Could I trouble yeh fer a coffee?”

“No problem.” Maura busied herself with the coffee machine, marveling at how resilient Tim was. He’d lost the hope of a father, he’d been involved in a death investigation, he’d been kidnapped, and he’d struck up a relationship of sorts with Rose, all in the space of a few days. Now he was planning to get back to his studies and use all of this. Maura smiled, trying to picture what his adviser would say when he presented his plans. If that was the way things worked—she had little experience with American higher education and none at all with the Irish kind.

“There you go.” She slid the coffee across the bar. “What does Rose think about all this?”

“Oh, she’s been a big help—she’s the one who told me I should go on with it.”

“Do you need more information?” Maura asked.

“Well, maybe. I have to sit down and figure out what I’ve already got. But I’ll stick around through Saturday, if that’s when the tribute will be—that could be really special. Hey, I’d almost forgotten—I took pictures on my mobile of the event last Saturday. I thought I’d lost it when that man came at me, but the gardaí found it and gave it back to me. The photos’re kinda small, but I can upload them to my laptop and identify who’s who. And I can e-mail yeh a set—maybe yeh can print them out and put them up on the walls, with all these others.” He waved around at the walls crammed with curling photos, business cards, and notes, some of which dated back years or even decades.

Maura looked blankly at him, having neither a laptop nor a phone that took pictures. Nor any need for either.

Tim must have noticed. “Here, I’ll show yeh.” He pulled out his mobile phone and punched some buttons, then handed it to Maura. “See, I was takin’ pictures from the back of the room, and from the balcony, once the players got rollin’. Even did a few short videos. Hang on, I’ll show yeh Aidan on the stage.” He took the phone back and scrolled through a few pictures until he found what he was looking for. “There, playing with Niall. He looks like he’s having a grand time, doesn’t he?”

Maura had to agree. The two men were smiling at each other like the old mates they were. “I’m glad he had that moment, at least.” She looked through the next few pictures, which showed the stage from different angles, before handing it back.

“Maybe I could get it blown up, like, for the do on Saturday.” He looked at the screen, rotating the phone and scrolling back and forth. And then he went still. “Oh, shite,” he whispered.

“What is it?”

Tim turned the phone to face Maura. “That’s him, on the left, in the back of the room. That’s the guy who grabbed me. He was there!”

Maura leaned in closer to study the man Tim was pointing to. A stocky thirtysomething, his hair buzzed, dressed in nondescript brownish clothes—and staring intently at the stage. “You’re sure? He doesn’t look familiar to me, but there were a lot of people there that night.”

Tim nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure. His face is pretty well burned into me mind. And I was with him in the car for a while, remember?”

“Tim, you need to show this to Sean.”

“I can send it to him now,” Tim said. “What’s the e-mail?”

“Uh . . . I have no idea. By the time I figure that out, he could drive here. I’ll call him.”

Tim still looked puzzled, but Maura ignored him. She was lucky to find Sean at the station. “Tim’s here, and he has something I think you should see, sooner rather than later. Can you stop by?”

“Yes, I can be there quickly.” He hung up with no more comment.

Tim finally found his voice. “Doesn’t he use e-mail?”

“Probably, but I know I don’t.” When it looked like Tim was about to lecture her on modern electronic technology, Maura stopped him. “Don’t ask. Listen, maybe you should go through the other pictures on your phone and see if you recognize anyone else, or if that guy hangs out with anyone else for a while.”

“Yeh think there might be more of ’em?” Tim now looked spooked.

“Probably not—there wasn’t enough money for two people to follow up on.” Maura was guessing, but her main goal at the moment was to reassure Tim. “Just look at the pictures, will you?”

He retreated to a corner table and stared intently at his phone as he scrolled through the photos. Maura went about the normal process of opening the pub. Mick came in; Jimmy and Rose weren’t due for a couple of hours yet.

Sean arrived quickly, as promised. “What’ve you got?” he asked Maura.

“Talk to Tim.” Maura nodded at him, in the corner. “He’s got a picture of the guy who kidnapped him.”

Sean didn’t ask any more but went directly over to speak to Tim. They sat side by side while Tim went through the pictures, talking in low voices that Maura couldn’t hear.

“What’s that about?” Mick asked, nodding toward them.

“Tim took pictures of the show last Saturday, but then his phone went missing. He got it back, but he’s been so distracted by everything else that he didn’t really look at them until now. He thinks he’s got a picture of the guy who grabbed him.”

“Did you recognize the man?” Mick asked.

Maura shook her head. “You know how it was that night—busy and dark. I can recognize most of the local men, but not strangers. Tell me you’d be any more use.”

“I doubt it. But I’ll take a look.” Mick walked over to the table, and Tim handed him the phone. Mick too scrolled through the pictures, but shook his head. He and Sean exchanged a few sentences, and Mick came back to the bar. “Never saw the man. Might be he didn’t stay long—came in long enough to check things out then left. He must’ve figured Aidan wouldn’t notice him in the dark, or maybe Aidan didn’t know him. Anyway, there was only the one photo of him.”

Sean had taken the phone and input some commands, and Maura guessed he was sending copies of the photos to his own phone or his computer at the station. He thanked Tim and came over to the bar. “The man looks a bit familiar to me—I’ve got to check somethin’ back at the station. You’ll let me know if you see him hangin’ about again?”

“Of course I will. You really think he’s still here in Leap?”

Sean shrugged. “Could be. Just be careful, will yeh?”

“Of course I will. Thanks for coming over so quickly, Sean.”

“That’s me job, Maura. Ta!”

T
he pub had been open less than an hour when Sean called Maura on her mobile. “Yer man’s a small-time drug dealer from Cork city,” he said abruptly when she answered. “He’s been in trouble before.”

“Around here?” Maura asked. She had trouble imagining Leap as a hotbed of drug activity.

“Nah, he’s never strayed from the city before. Which means he likely
was
after Aidan, or rather, after the money he was carrying. We’d like the man—his name is Donal Maguire—to assist the gardaí in our inquiries. As soon as we find him.”

Maura recognized the formal phrase. “That means you want to question him, right? But you can’t arrest him without some complicated process?” Sean had explained it to her in the past, but she hadn’t absorbed all of what he’d said, except that all warrants had to come down from Dublin. Which seemed absurd to her until she reminded herself that Ireland was the size of Maine, so it wasn’t like sending a request to the federal government back home—which could take years.

“Right so. Maura, if you see him, call me or anyone here at the station. Don’t try to talk with him or hold him there. Just let the gardaí know he’s there.”

“Of course.” She wasn’t about to tackle a known drug dealer. “Uh, is he likely to be armed?”

“Less likely than a Boston dealer, I’m sure, but it’s still possible. Like I said, be careful. You understand?”

“I do. What about Tim?” The boy was still sitting in the front window, alternating between staring at the tiny screen of his phone and scribbling notes in his notebook. He looked completely absorbed.

“It might be best if he were somewhere else for a bit. This Donal may have already chewed him up and spit him out, but Tim can’t be relied on if things get nasty. Be careful,” he said yet again before hanging up, leaving Maura in an uncertain mood. She was oddly flattered: Sean was worried about her.

Mick joined her behind the bar. “What’s he got?”

Maura took a quick glance around—there were no customers in earshot. “Sean’s identified the man who attacked Tim,” she said in a voice low enough that only Mick would hear. “His name’s Donal Maguire. He’s from Cork and he does something with drugs. Sean thinks he probably followed Aidan here.”

Mick didn’t seem surprised. “Will he be back?”

“Sean or this Donal guy?”

“Donal. He’d still be after the money, wouldn’t he?”

“Sean thinks maybe.” A surge of lunchtime customers interrupted their conversation, and Maura was kept busy for the next hour or so. Jimmy and Rose came in together, but as soon as Rose saw Tim in the corner she went straight over to him and sat down. Maura didn’t go after her—she didn’t feel like playing the heavy today, not with a criminal lurking in the neighborhood. In fact, with Tim the only one who could identify him directly, maybe it would be a good idea to get both of them out of the way for the afternoon, or at least until she’d figured out what to do.

Billy Sheahan came in after his lunch and settled himself in his habitual chair. Maura delivered his first pint to him.

“Many thanks, Maura. Have you a moment to sit? You look troubled.”

Maura checked the room before sitting down. “I am, I guess. You can probably figure out why.”

“I can.” Billy nodded. “It’s a sad thing. But is that all that’s on yer mind?”

“It’s all kind of jumbled up. I mean, did Old Mick ever have any trouble here?”

“Trouble? Are yeh thinkin’ of fights? Thefts?”

“Either or any.”

“For the most part, it’s a quiet corner of the country we have here. I’ll have you know that West Cork has one of the lowest crime rates in Ireland.”

That made Maura feel slightly better—at least her initial impressions and observations hadn’t been totally wrong. “That’s kind of what Bridget Nolan told me. But Old Mick was a guy, and I’m not.”

“And the saints be praised for that! Many’s the time I’ve said yer much nicer to look at.” He beamed at her.

Maura smiled back. He’d used that line more than once, but it was sweet of him to say it. “Thank you—I think. But what I’m saying is, I can tell when guys are getting heated up, but I can’t step in and stop them, not physically. At least, not if they’ve had too much to drink. I’m just not big enough or strong enough.”

“You’ve Mick and Jimmy to look our fer yeh.”

“Well, yeah, kind of. But this is my place, and I hate to have to call for help every time somebody picks a fight with the guy next to him.”

Billy studied her critically. “I won’t lie to yeh—it’s the drink that starts most of the fights around here, mebbe everywhere throughout the country. It’s not money or women. Although there’s also times when a certain team’s playing that people get a bit wound up.”

“Somebody’s going to have to explain all that sports stuff to me soon, so I’ll know when to keep an eye out.”

“You’ll learn soon enough. It’s the football yeh’ll have to be watching out fer.”

“Which one? I know there’s more than one kind, and it’s not what the New England Patriots play.”

“Ah, see? Yer already on yer way if you know that much. There’s the Gaelic football and the association football, or what yer side of the water calls soccer. When all this”—Billy waved his hand at the midsized crowd in the pub—“settles down, yeh can ask me again and I’ll tell you more. But that’s fer another day. Have I cheered yeh up, then?”

Maura had to smile again at his comment. “Enough, Billy. Thanks. Let me know when you’ll be needing another pint.”

She returned to her post behind the bar, where Jimmy was cleaning glasses. Rose was still in the corner with Tim, and they were deep in conversation. “What was that about?” Jimmy asked, nodding toward Billy.

“Billy was promising me an explanation of sports in Ireland, when things aren’t so busy.”

“Ah—you should’ve come to me. Are yeh a fan of the footie?”

“Not at all, but I figured I should know who’s playing in case the patrons get rowdy.”

“I’ll keep you up-to-date on the schedules, then. Both winning and losing teams make for good business—the lads like to get together to cheer or to complain, and either way they need their pints.”

“Got it.” Something else to learn.

In midafternoon Maura caught Mick’s eye and nodded toward the back room, and he followed her into it. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Not an immediate one. I was talking to Billy and I started to ask him about whether Old Mick had any problems with fights or crime here, and somehow he sidetracked me into a discussion about Irish sports.”

Mick smiled. “Which probably are far more important to yer average customer than a quick robbery, and which may more often lead to bloodshed.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that. Guys care about sports teams and get pumped up, and then they take it out on each other, and then they buy a round for the house. Jimmy pointed that out. But I’m serious—do I need to be worried? I mean, there’s a guy who may be a killer roaming around, and he still thinks we have something he wants so he may come back. And he’s not from around here—and Billy insists that this is a really, really peaceful part of the country—but from Cork city, which I’m betting is not exactly a peaceful place. Am I right?”

Mick considered her question seriously. “Maura, are yeh really worried?”

“You mean, am I freaking out? You should know by now that I’m not like that. But I’m not exactly prepared to defend myself if some thug comes in, you know?”

“Give him what he wants and he’ll go.”

Maura snorted. “Oh, yeah, right—it’s that easy?”

“I can’t say what it’s like in Boston, but around here, we don’t attack people for the hell of it. And most of those who do are the fellas with no money and no job and no education and nothing better to do with themselves than make trouble. If one of those punks shows up and asks for money, just give it to him, will you?”

“That sounds nice, but this Donal Maguire wants his big wad of money back, and we don’t have it. Then what? Am I supposed to tell him, ‘Sorry, but the gardaí took it away. Would you like a note for your bosses explaining that?’”

Mick’s mouth twitched. “I’d leave off that last bit, if I were you. Just tell him the gardaí found it and confiscated it in the course of their investigation of Aidan Crowley’s death. You don’t need to say anything more. Once he knows that, he might clear out.”

“So you think I don’t have anything to worry about?” Maura said dubiously.

“No. But if it makes yeh feel better, I’ll stick around ’til closing. Look, Maura—thanks to Tim and his photo the gardaí know who they’re looking fer now. At the very least they’ll spread the word to their Cork pals and let them know that this Maguire man is not welcome here. That should cover it.”

“If you say so,” Maura muttered. A shout from Jimmy in the front reminded her that they had a pub to run. “Thanks, Mick—we’d better get back to work.”

Back behind the bar, Maura noted that Rose was now collecting the empty glasses and Tim was nowhere to be seen. After Rose had deposited the glassware at the sink, she turned to Maura. “Sorry I’ve not been much help lately.”

“Could it have something to do with Tim?” Maura asked mildly.

“Could do. Look, I hate to ask, but would you mind if I had supper with him tonight? He won’t be around much longer, maybe ’til Sunday.”

“I think we can probably handle it, if your dad stays here. Look, Rose . . .” Maura paused to choose her words carefully. “I know Tim’s a nice guy and all, but you know he’s going back to Dublin, and . . .”

“You don’t have to say more, Maura. I won’t be trailing after him like a lovesick calf. Only it’s nice to spend a bit of time with someone near to me own age, yeh know?”

“I do. And I won’t stand in your way. But keep your mobile on, will you? There are still some . . . loose ends here, and I don’t want you to get caught up in it. Okay?”

“It is. Thanks fer lookin’ out fer me, Maura. Oh, I’ve already seen to me da’s supper, and I’ve told him where I’m goin’, so you needn’t worry on that account.”

Maura was beginning to think that Rose was altogether too good for Tim, at least until he grew up. But she’d said her piece and she could go back to worrying about her own problems, real or imagined, with Donal Maguire.

The rest of the day held no surprises.

Until closing.