Death in the Burren (7 page)

Eventually, realising that his conjectures were unlikely to reach a more profound level, he rose and made his way back to the guest house.

He arrived to find a couple checking in. They were in deep conversation with Patsy who beckoned to McAllister when she saw him. He joined the group and Patsy introduced him to the visitors, who had just arrived from Dublin.

“John,” she went on, “Mr. Tynan here has just given me some disturbing news about a drowning this morning up the coast at Fanore strand. He thinks the woman involved was named O’Leary.”

McAllister frowned. “You don’t mean Eileen,” he said in disbelief.

“Don’t know,” Patsy went on, “ but you might like to make enquiries. You met her recently, didn’t you?”

“Yes, over in Balfe’s place, a beautiful girl. But, hopefully, we’re jumping the gun.” He looked quizzically at Mr. Tynan.

“We stayed in Ballyvaughan last night and, driving down this morning, noticed a commotion at Fanore, past The Rabbit Warren area. There was a Garda car, and quite a few people standing around. An ambulance was leaving. Apparently a dog belonging to a family holidaying nearby attracted them to the beach quite early with it’s persistent barking. When they went to check they discovered the body washed up on the shore.”

“Was there a description of the girl?”

“We heard that she was in a swimsuit and that she was tall and athletic possibly a good swimmer.”

The Tynans completed their check in and went to their room.

“I don’t like the sound of this, Patsy.” said McAllister. “It’s probably too soon to ring, but I think I should have a word with Con Curtis.”

“Yes, John, I’ve had a report about the drowning but no identification so far,” Curtis responded crisply.

“Some holidaymakers who passed Fanore this morning heard it was a swimmer. A tall athletic girl.”

“Yes, it certainly could be Eileen. We’re checking and should have a positive identification shortly. I’ll ring when we know.”

McAllister thanked him and turned to Patsy. “He’ll telephone. I hope my instincts are wrong.”

“You feel it might be Eileen?”

He smiled wryly. “Let’s wait and see.”

He went to his room and lay on the bed. “I hope to Heavens I’m wrong about this.” He thought. “Eileen had a strange aura about her though, something fatalistic. Her playing the other night was haunting, unearthly somehow. She was the sort of person who gave the impression of having a slim hold on life, probably due to the death of her husband. Frank did say that she hadn’t come to terms with it. Sometimes a loss like that makes a wound which won’t heal and the enthusiasm for life wanes into mere existence, it can even lead to a death wish.”

“But not in one so young,” he tried to reassure himself,” …. yet her husband had died of drowning……”

McAllister started when the telephone rang. It was Curtis.

“Bad news, John, I’m afraid. We’ve a positive identification on Eileen O’Leary. I’ve sent a man over to Michael Balfe to let him know. I thought that was best, he was closer to her than anybody to the best of my knowledge.”

“Any idea what happened?”

“Not really at this stage. Just a straightforward drowning I would imagine, but we will go into that. She was known to swim a lot and may simply have gotten into difficulties. It happens all the time, people should never swim alone no matter how good they are.”

“Indeed. Well thanks Con. This is certainly a bolt from the blue. She was a beautiful girl. I think I’ll drive down and see Michael.”

He told Patsy and was driving away when Susan arrived. She was naturally shocked and decided to come with him to see Balfe.

As he drove they spoke of Eileen, and Susan also told him about Frank.” He’s coping quite well, and more annoyed than anything else, claiming strenuously that he was framed. He doesn’t bear any grudge against Curtis and readily understands having to be questioned. Higgins is making his own investigations and seems confident enough about the outcome, although he wouldn’t be specific.”

“Sounds good,” McAllister responded,” but this opens up the prospect of something very sinister going on around here. Murder, framing Frank for it and now poor Eileen drowning.”

Susan looked at him sharply. “You’re not suggesting they’re connected.”

“I really don’t know what I’m saying, but since I arrived here I’ve experienced a feeling of unease. Some people have been acting very strangely. Take Michael Balfe, for instance, in some dispute with that Italian manager. Hyland also, and even that car which nearly killed me at Black Head. Now we have two deaths, one of which was a deliberate calculated murder.”

Susan looked pensive as they drove up the short hill to the Orchid Hotel entrance.

“Death in the Burren,” he murmured.

She shivered and recalled how she had done so the evening they passed Cloch an Oilc with Frank.

McAllister was quite taken aback by Balfe’s appearance. He seemed to have aged considerably since the previous day. His eyes dull and sunken in his pallid face regarded them without expression.

“I’m so sorry Michael,” Susan hugged him.

Balfe did not respond and tears welled up in his eyes.

McAllister shook his hand but could find no words. He felt terribly awkward and confused as they stood there. Balfe seemed incapable of reacting. It was as if he was totally numbed by Eileen’s death. He looked at them in silence and McAllister thought he was about to say something, but the moment passed and he just uttered a sigh.

McAllister decided it would be better to leave and say they would call again later.

“Is there anything you would like me to do? Anything at all?” Susan asked.

Balfe just shook his head. “Thanks for calling,” he said in a whisper.

“This confirms to me, Susan, what I was saying earlier.”

They were driving back along the coast road both feeling somewhat puzzled when McAllister first broke the silence.

“Do you mean about Michael?”

He nodded. “Curtis’s man must have called only a short while before we arrived and yet Balfe seemed to me to have been in shock much longer than that.”

“I know what you mean, John. But, on the other hand, the news must have stunned him.

“It’s more than that, Susan. I’m convinced it’s not quite so simple. Did you notice that he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to? I wonder what was in his mind.”

They completed the journey in silence.

“A
ND, FINALLY,
if we are prepared to search thoroughly tomorrow, and, of course, if luck is on our side, we may be rewarded by seeing some examples of Spiranthes spiralis, or, Autumn Lady’s tresses, as this tiny elusive orchid is appropriately named.”

McAllister signalled to Patsy and a new transparency appeared on the screen.

“You will see from this picture that it’s size, merely three inches tall at most, and it’s refined white and green colouring make it difficult to spot. It can be found at Poll Salach only during the months of August and September. “And,” he added, with a mischievous glint in his eye,” only by those who are prepared to search on hands and knees.”

In response to the anticipated groans from his audience McAllister held up a schoolmasterish hand.

“It’s the only way we are going to add this little pearl to our list of discoveries and furthermore it’s the only way you will experience the sweet fragrance of this very strange orchid because the scent is as shy as the plant itself. I say strange because of it’s quixotic reproductive habits which I will describe later on in the course.”

“And now I will be happy to take your questions before we close.”

McAllister was pleased with the response, and the questions and discussions which followed lasted for at least a half hour. He felt that the lecture had succeeded, if the rapt attention of his listeners was a guide.

The Corkscrew Room at Gregans Castle Hotel had been set aside for the lecture and, with some ingenuity, had been temporarily reorganised to suit McAllister’s purpose. It was a most appropriate venue graced as it was by Raymond Piper’s famous oil paintings of some of the Burren’s native flowers and McAllister had Patsy McBride and the hotel management to thank for the idea and it’s implementation.

The audience was an interesting mix. The core consisted of twelve young students, mainly from Limerick and Galway universities, who were attending McAllister’s course as a supplement to their studies.

He noted with interest, but to no particular purpose, that the majority, nine, were girls.

An American family of five, husband and wife, mid to late forties with two girls and a boy, late teens to early twenties, had arranged through a New York travel agent to take the course.

McAllister was to learn later that both husband and wife were freelance authors who syndicated articles on, “…the wonders of the natural world.”, as they put it to him, to magazines and other publications.

Jack Cameron and Andy O’Lochlen also sat in but this did not surprise McAllister as he had heard of O’Lochlen’s particular interest in the flora and fauna of the Burren and hoped he had shed some new light on this endless subject for him.

Four French tourists completed the group, a married couple and two men who had come to the Burren to paint in oils and who were apparently fascinated by Piper’s work.

When formal questions were finished Patsy McBride announced the arrangements for the next day’s itinerary, which included the visit to Poll Salach, and then the group broke up into discussions over tea, coffee and sandwiches.

McAllister, a perfectionist by nature, circulated through the room to assess in more detail how his talk had been received, to answer individual questions, and, frankly, although he would not readily admit it, to enjoy being the centre of attention for a while.

Finally he found himself talking to O’Lochlen and Cameron, who were very complimentary.

“I was particularly interested in your classification methods,” admitted the former, “naturally many of the plants you mentioned are very familiar to me but the scientific approach to their study must be most absorbing.”

“That’s true,” agreed McAllister, “ and your interest is all the more fascinating to me as you are essentially a man of the sea, as I understand it.”

O’Lochlen’s eyes narrowed momentarily and he and Jack Cameron exchanged a glance.

However O’Lochlen noted McAllister’s quizzical expression and quickly recovered.

“A man of the sea, yes but I do spend some of my time on land.”

He laughed uneasily and went on, “Like you I have laughed at ants as they raced about the stems of the twayblade orchid mindlessly helping in the pollination process.”

McAllister couldn’t resist a smile. “One of the more bizarre jokes of Nature I must admit. Have you seen this happening?”, he turned to Cameron.

The steely grey eyes regarded him intently, “No, I regret I’m not a great observer of ants and plants,” the Scot replied with dry humour.

“Talking of the sea, how have you been managing to fish since Des Hyland’s death?”, McAllister enquired of O’Lochlen, who seemed rather taken aback by the change of subject.

“Oh managing well enough,” he said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. “By the way,” he went on, “how is that Garda friend of yours getting on with his investigation? Haven’t they charged Holland with Des’s murder?”

“Yes, on the face of it things looks bad for Frank but I suspect the situation is not as straightforward as it seems on the surface.”

“Really!” O’Lochlen was keenly interested. “Why do you say that?”

“Just my opinion. I’ve known Frank Holland for a long time and he’s simply incapable of such an act.”

“Maybe so.” O’Lochlen replied. “But there’s been something going on between those two ever since Holland opened up his business here last Spring. Des wasn’t a great talker but I knew him well enough to sense a problem. Last Monday’s incident wasn’t the first time they exchanged words. I’m not so sure that your theory about Holland would convince somebody who saw how he behaved on that occasion.”

McAllister had to admit that O’Lochlen had a point and nodded soberly.

“It would be a short step for his anger to drive him to do something more drastic given the provocation.” O’Lochlen went on, “Ask your Garda friend what he thinks about that next time you see him.” He added with emphasis.

As he listened to O’Lochlen, McAllister was reminded of Patsy McBride’s remark that morning at Gregans Castle Hotel. He recalled her words, “It’s not good losing one’s cool like that. Anger can lead anywhere you know. Very hard to control once it escapes out of the bottle” and somehow began to doubt the certainty of his feelings about Frank.

“Indeed, it would be difficult to dispute what you say, on the face of it.” McAllister responded to O’Lochlen.

“More than difficult given the new evidence I’ve heard about.” O’Lochlen added with some vigour. “I have more than a little interest in this murder you know. I’ve lost a colleague, my work has inevitably been compromised and I want a clearer explanation as to what exactly happened and why it happened. Des had no family to speak of and I feel as the person closest to him that I owe him that much at least. I’m sure you will understand that I have more than a passing interest in seeing justice done for him.”

Patsy loomed. “Sorry to break up this cosy chat but Monsieur Lautier from Cherbourg and his companion Monsieur Noir are just bursting to speak to you, John. I’m sure you won’t mind.”

She beamed at O’Lochlen and Cameron, and whisked McAllister away before they could react.

“Now, here’s Mr. McAllister for you at last. These gentlemen have come from France on a painting trip and are so excited by your lecture tonight, and what is to come later in the week, that they simply have to meet you personally. Monsieur Lautier assures me that the studies with you will have an inevitable effect on their work here in the Burren.”

McAllister shook hands and was greeted warmly by the two young French artists who assured him that they were finding their whole experience in the Burren quite overwhelming. The natural beauty of the place had enchanted them and seemed to offer endless prospects for their work. Now having been drawn into close study of the flora by McAllister’s opening talk, in the presence moreover of Raymond Piper’s oil paintings, had pushed their Gallic susceptibilities almost beyond breaking point.