Death in the Burren (11 page)

“Mainly a feeling. At first I thought nothing was missing, even though my things had been very carefully and discretely disturbed. Then, later, as I was going over the incident in my mind, it occurred to me that the knife had been taken. After that I thought of the inscription.”

“It doesn’t mean much to me, I must admit.” Frank mused, staring once more at what McAllister had written.

“It’s the spacing,” said McAllister, “it’s done so crudely. The interpretation which came so vividly into my mind was that the space between the “A” and the “O” wasn’t intended and if that’s correct then we’re left with “90”, which could be the year 1990, and the letters “AOL”, which are the initials of somebody not too far from here.”

They looked at him expectantly, at the same time turning the letters over in their minds, although Ann was at a bit of a loss.

“I’ve thought of one candidate,” offered Frank, “Andy O’Lochlen.”

“Right first time,” snapped McAllister.

“But I don’t see the importance of all this, if it is indeed O’Lochlen’s knife.”

“Somebody thought it important enough to break into my room and grab it.”

“But that somebody must have known it was there and very few people did. Surely O’Lochlen couldn’t have known about it.”

“This is the very point,” said McAllister. “When I showed the knife around at our picnic lunch O’Lochlen was there!”

“Why didn’t he say it was his?” asked Ann.

“I don’t know the answer to that,” McAllister admitted, “but if I’m correct about his initials then he has something to hide about his knife being found at Poll Salach.”

“Poll Salach, isn’t that where you found Des Hyland’s body?” Susan asked.

McAllister nodded.

“It’s as if a whole new dimension of meaning was being added to the name of the place,” she went on.

“Very much at odds, though, with it’s beauty, and it’s value for people like me.”

“It seems that we’ve stumbled into something but I can’t for the life of me think of what it might be,” Frank looked at them expectantly, “ it’s clear, though,” he went on, “ that if we assume the initials on the Swiss knife are O’Lochlen’s it must have been he who took it from your room.”

“That doesn’t necessarily follow, does it?” McAllister asked, “Anybody in the guest house, or anybody who chose to enter my room by the open window could have taken it.”

“I would need a lot of convincing that somebody casually took that risk simply to acquire a Swiss knife.” Frank was very positive. “It would make sense, though, if it was spirited away by somebody who saw more than commercial value in it.”

McAllister had to admit the strength of Holland’s convictions.

“Look,” Frank went on, “the more I think about this the simpler it becomes. You found the knife, John, on Monday when you were at Poll Salach with your botany group. You showed it to them, and O’Lochlen, and said you might pass it on to Curtis. Later that evening you discovered what might be O’Lochlen’s initials on it and then it is stolen from your room. Nobody else knew the knife even existed other than O’Lochlen and your people from Gregans Castle Hotel who were all safely back there.”

“And then somebody tried to murder you when you were out walking.” Ann shivered and put an arm around McAllister.

“Who?” Susan asked.

“O’Lochlen.” Holland affirmed grimly.

“But for Heaven’s sake why?” she pursued him.

“Because John found the knife and was the only person who had an opportunity to discover the initials. O’Lochlen realised he had made a mistake in not admitting ownership at Poll Salach and if the truth of this dawned on John then his suspicions would be aroused.”

“Suspicions of what?” Susan asked.

“This is the puzzle. We don’t know. But if my line of reasoning is correct, then John’s possession of the knife was regarded by O’Lochlen as sufficiently threatening to him to obliterate all traces of the knife and also obliterate all possibilities of John finding the initials and mentioning them to somebody. Curtis, for instance.” Frank was enjoying his role as sleuth.

McAllister was now feeling too tired to take part in the conversation but he was fascinated by the possibilities which Frank was opening up, and his theories about O’Lochlen wanting to obliterate him.

“All of this makes no sense whatsoever until we know why such a trivial item as a Swiss knife and a trivial incident as finding it at Poll Salach would drive O’Lochlen to such extremes.” Susan was equally enjoying her role as “doubting Thomas”.

“It can be only one thing.” Ann said with a strong sense of conviction.

“What’s that?” Susan asked.

“The association of the knife with the place. Poll Salach.”

“I’m sorry I don’t follow you , Ann.”

“I think I do!” McAllister was suddenly roused from his torpor. “I don’t know why I’m saying this but if the story is true so far, then the whole business has some connection with me finding Hyland’s body there!”

At that moment they heard a car stopping outside. They could see, through the elliptical window, the beams of the headlights pointing out to sea, and then being switched off. A heavy footstep approached on the gravel surface followed by a ring on the bell.

Holland went into the hallway and they could hear a muffled conversation. Then Frank entered the restaurant with Con Curtis.

“Well I’m glad to see you up and well again.” He said to McAllister, who thanked him and introduced him to Ann.

“I already met this lady in Galway when you were enjoying your slumbers.” Curtis laughed.

“Coffee or a glass of wine, or something stronger?” Susan asked.

“Coffee would be very welcome, thanks.” Curtis looked around expectantly. “It’s very quiet here tonight.”

“We decided to have a short rest after the excitement of the past few days.” Holland said, somewhat pointedly.

“I’m sorry about my part in that.” Curtis confessed.

“Oh no hard feelings really, I understand you had to do what seemed right at the time. Anyway, everything worked out well as we had only a few bookings and these were reallocated in the area to everybody’s satisfaction. The staff didn’t complain at getting some free days and Patsy McBride, who held the fort while I was otherwise engaged,” he couldn’t control a brief knowing smile, “has gone back to Gregans Castle Hotel to hold the fort there, looking after John’s study group until he gets well again.”

“So here we are,” Susan chipped in, “ and I hope you haven’t come to take Frank away again.” She put her arms around Holland and held on tightly.

It was Curtis’s turn to smile. “Obviously I’ll never live this down. I can only hope you’ll forgive me in time.”

“Sorry Con, I didn’t mean that. But you have come at a good time because we have been speculating on all the strange events of the past week and have come up with some good theories which are really quite frightening if they’re even half true.”

Curtis listened very carefully as Holland outlined their analysis of what had been happening.

“This is remarkably near the truth, as I understand it,” he agreed, “but the whole thing goes much deeper than that and we’re only coming to grips with a very complex set of circumstances which I won’t speak about now. My purpose in calling was to see how John was getting on and to say that you should all exercise a degree of caution while he is here as he could be targeted again.”

McAllister sat bolt upright. “Oh come on Con, that’s a bit melodramatic, surely.”

“My professional instinct, John, and naturally I hope I’m wrong. I wouldn’t get paranoid about it, but just lie low for a while until we sort this whole thing out.”

As he rose McAllister asked if Eileen O’Leary’s death had been resolved. “Yes indeed. We know now that she was heavily sedated, put into the ocean some distance from shore and left to drown. In a word, murdered.”

“C
ON WASN’T GIVING MUCH AWAY,
” Holland commented when he returned to the dining room, having seen Curtis to his car.

“At least we now know there have definitely been two murders.” Ann looked pensive.

“I cannot imagine why anyone would murder Eileen, and in such a cruel and calculating way.” McAllister was quite sickened by what Curtis had told them. “I’m thinking back to the last time I saw her. When was it? Thursday. Yes, last Thursday at the Orchid Hotel. It was such a beautiful evening, with the Italians playing on the lawn. They dedicated their playing to her and then they asked her to play for them, which she did willingly. It was a strange choice, though, a piece by Debussy a lament for a dead nymph. It was incredibly beautiful, haunting, but I found it quite disturbing. I probably romanticised the incident too much by thinking she was using the music as a channel to express her own sadness.”

“Tell me about that, John. I didn’t know the girl.” Ann asked.

“She was a sculptress who lived and worked alone in a studio just beyond Michael Balfe’s hotel, not far from Poll Salach. Her husband had been drowned accidentally at Fanore last year and I thought it a sad coincidence that she had drowned there also.”

“Suicide had crossed my mind,” Susan interjected, “taking into account her possible mental state.”

“Mine also,” McAllister admitted, “but the truth is even worse. She seemed quite friendly with Balfe and I thought they might have some future together. There was something peculiar going on between Michael and the Italians, or their manager to be more accurate. I caught a glimpse of the two arguing that evening, and in Ennis Cathedral at the concert. I didn’t think anything of it at the time but I wonder now what could possibly have been going on.”

“Do you remember, John, the evening we drove to see Michael when we heard that Eileen had drowned?” Susan asked.

“He was very cut up I remember.”

“And you had some idea that her death and Hyland’s might in some way be connected.” Susan went on.

“It was just the beginning of my astonishment at the number of extraordinary happenings since I arrived in Derreen. My mind was simply in overdrive at the time, I didn’t know what to think.”

“Do you remember we spoke about Michael on our way back here?”

“That’s right Susan. Even though he was obviously distraught his whole bearing didn’t seem to be natural, somehow.”

“You felt it was more than simple grief.”

“Yes,” McAllister agreed, “there was something more to it. Do you remember as we were leaving Michael looked at us strangely and appeared for a moment to want to say more? Then he changed his mind.”

“This is really all beyond me.” Ann brought them back from their musings.

“Me too.” Frank was equally puzzled.

“But tell me about your experiences, Frank,” McAllister changed the subject,” you’ve been through a hell of a time. We never got around to finding out why Curtis released you so suddenly.”

“Oh, I would be just as grateful to forget the whole thing, John,” Holland smiled wanly, “it was all a dreadful mistake and Con is really embarrassed as hell over it. He fell for the bait.”

“You mean you were set up over the Hyland affair?”

“So it would appear. Somebody worked very hard to pin his death on me. I don’t blame Con one bit. There was so much circumstantial evidence built up around me at the time that he had no option but to take me into custody.”

“But what changed all that?” McAllister asked.

“I simply don’t know. Con was very tight-lipped about it. He apologised profusely, of course, but said my misfortune was just part of a larger web of events about which he wasn’t in a position to speak at the time. Or even now, judging by what he said, or didn’t say, tonight.”

“Yes, what were his words?” Ann tried to recall, “it was a very impressive phrase…… “coming to grips with a complex set of circumstances” …..”

“A very complex set of circumstances.” Susan emphasised.

They sat in silence for a while.

“Let’s have something to celebrate. At least, we’re all together again, safe and sound.” Holland suggested.

“For the moment.” McAllister said glumly.

“What do you mean, John?” Ann looked concerned.

“Don’t you remember? It’s not that long ago since Curtis told me to lie low in case I’m targeted again.”

“Yes…well…,” she reluctantly agreed, “… a little caution won’t do any harm until Curtis wraps this whole thing up. I can’t imagine anybody risking a second attack on you.”

“I sincerely hope not.” McAllister wasn’t reassured.

“Ann is right.” Frank was more positive. “That shot at you was opportunistic and now that the hunt is on it’s going to be a far more risky affair to try again.”

“I’m really fed up with this whole business.” McAllister was by now showing considerable annoyance.

“Now John, it’s not like you to be pessimistic. I think the problem is exhaustion, You’re only out of hospital, remember? A good night’s sleep now, and a few days rest will get you back to normal.” Ann did her best to reassure him.

“I’ll take your advice straight away, Ann. Actually I’ve been feeling shaky on and off and would love to sink into bed. You don’t mind?” He looked at them pleadingly.

“We’re going to call it a night too.” Susan said. “Now that none of the guest rooms are occupied we’re going to grab a little luxury and take one over. It’ll be a little more comfortable than our usual cramped room down the corridor.”

McAllister delayed a little longer over a last glass of wine and then made his way gratefully to his room. His head was beginning to ache and he took some painkillers.

Despite the reassurances he couldn’t shake off the onset of gloom. Both Frank Holland and he had been subjected to some very cruel treatment, the motives for which, if they made sense at all, only did so within some mysterious larger context, as inferred by Curtis.

But what could that possibly be?

He was in no doubt that Andy O’Lochlen was a central figure in that larger context and he was pretty certain in his own mind that O’Lochlen had been behind the attempt to kill him.

It was while he grappled, yet again, with the search for an explanation that McAllister drifted into an exhausted sleep.