The Lake (5 page)

‘But I thought I saw the top of a building in the distance today? Out in the middle of the lake?’ he said.

‘You might well have, the water is so low.’ Coleman pushed another empty glass away from him across the bar. ‘Part of the mill remains. It didn’t all fall like they had wanted it to.’ He slapped his hand down on the counter and brandished his toothless grin at Frank. ‘Them army boys didn’t have it all their own way, Detective Sergeant.’

Peggy came back behind the bar, empty pint glasses in her arms. ‘Now, now, Coleman’, she said, glancing up at Frank, ‘there’s no need to frighten the customers. You need a drink, I see.’

She went to refill his glass, while the old man sat back into himself, growling something about not being made into a sheep farmer by any army hoor. Frank was thinking of how best to approach the subject of the body with him, when the phone rang loudly on the wall. Peggy turned to answer it, and Coleman eased himself off his high stool and shuffled off towards a door that led out the back to the toilet. Peggy turned in towards the wall and covered her ear with her hand.

‘Hello? Casey’s?’ The line crackled. She could tell someone was there, but the connection was so poor, she couldn’t make out what they were saying. ‘Hello?’ The static stopped, and her ear was assaulted by a man’s voice, booming through the receiver.

‘I know she’s there. Hello? Just let me speak to her. Please. I know she’s … ’ The last part of the man’s plea was drowned out by a particularly loud burst of static and Peggy put some distance between her ear and the handset. Something made her notice Carla, who was still sitting with her three admirers, but who was staring at Peggy with an accusing look on her face. Peggy tentatively brought the phone back to her ear.

‘Hello?’

‘Just let me talk to her. Please. Just for a minute.’

The man’s speech was slurred, as if he were crying, or drunk, or possibly both. But the line was clearer and Peggy recognized Tom Devereaux’s voice, pleading. She glanced back up at Carla, who was stalking across the room towards her, eyes burning. The handset was snatched from her hand and she was met with the back of Carla’s head. She hesitated for a moment, before moving away from her sister, and back behind the bar. Coleman had returned and was hoisting himself back up onto his stool.

‘You’re drunk.’ Carla spat the words into the receiver; her head bowed low, her back to the bar. Peggy hovered, moving glasses unnecessarily around on a shelf beneath the bar. She caught Frank’s eye, but his face was expressionless.

‘You’re full of shite, Tom.’ The tirade continued behind her. ‘Off home with you now. I’m sure she’ll have your dinner waiting.’

Peggy wasn’t shocked at her sister’s tone exactly, more at the fact that some other person could be on the receiving end of it. She’d assumed that Carla only spoke to her siblings like that. She almost pitied Tom Devereaux. He might be an adulterous ass, but she couldn’t wish Carla’s ire on anyone. She looked at Frank who seemed to be concentrating on looking disinterested. Coleman was busy muttering nothing good into his pint glass.

‘Don’t you dare Tom.’ Carla’s voice was getting louder. Peggy looked anxiously around the room, but no one seemed to be taking any heed of her.

‘It’s bad enough I’ll have to look at you on Monday morning. Go to bed. Sleep it off. With your wife.’

The handset was slammed up against the phone and Carla stood staring at it for a moment. Suddenly, she swung around and glared at Peggy, her eyes blazing.

‘What?’ she spat at her. ‘What are you looking at?’ Then she seemed to notice Frank watching her, and she turned and walked through the door leading to the house. Peggy watched her go. She considered following her for a second, but quickly decided against it. Turning back to the bar, she looked at Frank.

‘That’s Carla. She’s the quiet, reserved one.’

Frank smiled at her. ‘So how many of you are there?’

‘Four.’ Peggy lifted a mineral glass from the little draining board next to the sink under the bar and started to polish it dry. ‘Two brothers, Carla, and me.’ She smiled. ‘I’m the baby.’

‘I see.’ Frank twisted his pint glass on the bar. Peggy noticed his eyelashes. They were long and fair. Not blond, but fair. Funny, she thought. She’d never noticed any man’s eyelashes before.

‘So you and Carla run the place?’

Peggy jumped as the eyelashes suddenly flicked upwards and Frank was looking straight at her again.

‘Eh, no. Well, yes. Well, she helps.’ Peggy put the glass down and lifted another. ‘She helps out. At the weekends. She’s a schoolteacher,’ she said. Frank just nodded. ‘It’s really me and Jerome. Who run the bar. My brother. He’s here most of the time. Well,’ she gave a little laugh, ‘not as much as he should be. He’s in Dublin. A lot. I mean, at the moment.’

Frank just kept smiling. Listening. Saying nothing.

‘He’s getting a television. For the bar.’ Peggy pointed up towards the corner of the room where she intended getting one of the local lads to build a shelf for the non- existent television. She knew there’d be no point asking Jerome to do it. They’d be another year waiting for that.

Frank’s eyes didn’t move from her face, even to appraise her choice of situation for the proposed new television. ‘And the fourth?’

Peggy squinted at him. ‘Fourth?’

‘You said that there were four of you.’

‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed. She realized instantly how unusual it was to have someone actually listen to her. Really listen to her. ‘Hugo,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders, ‘the eldest. He’s … he’s in London. He doesn’t have much to do with us at all, really. He left after Daddy died. Wanted out of Crumm. Understandable, I suppose.’ She smiled at Frank. ‘It’s not exactly up for any village of the year awards.’

Frank just smiled and took a swig from his pint.

‘He’s the one I’m most like,’ Peggy said suddenly. ‘Hugo. We have the same … ’ she lifted a strand of hair and looked at it before flicking it back over her shoulder. ‘We look more alike. Not like … ’ she gestured with the tilt of her head towards the door Carla had disappeared through. ‘Herself and Jerome are more … well, they got the long legs. My mother used to say, if you stood still for a minute, that you could see Carla growing in front of your eyes. She was always a bit of a … a beanpole.’

Peggy realized then that she had been gabbing, and that Frank hadn’t said a word. Even Coleman was looking at her as if she was giving him a pain in his head. She clamped her mouth closed and continued drying glasses.

‘Is your mother still living?’ Frank said after a moment.

‘They’re both dead.’

‘Lord have mercy on them,’ Coleman muttered into his glass.

At that moment, the door opened and five young men came into the bar, their presence washing the place with life. They each acknowledged Peggy in turn. Frank noticed the colour of her cheeks deepen as she greeted each man by name, standing a little straighter behind the bar, ready for action. The volume had been raised in the room with the arrival of the group, who seemed to be familiar to most of the regulars drinking there. The last of the men approached the bar, leaving his friends to pull some stools together around one of the tables.

‘Ms. Casey,’ the man greeted Peggy, who had already lifted five pint glasses onto the counter from the shelf below. His cheeks matched Peggy’s for colour. The countenance of a man who spent his day outdoors.

‘Fergal,’ she replied. ‘Five pints?’

‘That’s the one.’ He beamed at Peggy, before noticing Frank looking at him.

‘Hello,’ he said. Frank nodded at him.

Fergal turned his head. ‘Coleman,’ he said.

Coleman grunted without looking up from his pint.

‘I’ll drop these down to you, Fergal,’ Peggy smiled.

‘Thank you, Peggy. Lads.’ He saluted Frank who watched him stalk over to where his friends had congregated. The little bar almost felt full with the addition of their long limbs and loud lilting voices. Then the door opened again, and a man Frank recognized walked in. He too stopped to chat to some of the other customers before approaching the bar, his cap in his hand.

‘I’ll just be a second, Enda,’ Peggy said to him as she set the five pints of stout on a tray. ‘The usual?’

‘Aye, good girl,’ the man said. He stood looking about him for a moment before noticing Frank.

‘Ah, Detective Sergeant,’ he said, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘You had a message, sir. A … ’ he held the piece of paper at arm’s length and squinted at it. ‘A Garda Molloy from Dublin Castle. Phoned to inform you that Doctor … ’ he brought the paper closer to his eyes before holding it out away from him again, ‘Dr. McKenna will be at the station in Crumm at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’ He looked up at Frank with a slightly concerned expression on his face. ‘Does that make sense to you, sir? A Dr. McKenna?’

Frank nodded. The state pathologist. ‘That’s grand. Thank you, Enda.’

Ten o’clock. At least that meant he had some hope of being back up to Dublin tomorrow evening. He might be early enough to take Rose out. Make up for today. He should phone her now. He glanced up at the clock and noticed Enda O’Shea still standing there, looking at him.

‘So I should have your breakfast ready what, at half-past eight, sir? Full Irish?’

Frank almost laughed until he realized that the man was serious. ‘That would be fine, Enda, thank you.’

Peggy came back around the bar with an empty tray. ‘Here you are, Enda,’ she said, topping up a settled glass.

‘God bless you, Peggy,’ Enda leaned across Frank to leave some coins on the counter. ‘I’ll see you in the morning so, sir,’ he said. ‘Herself has an early appointment, so ’twill be myself looking after you.’ He turned to walk away with his pint, before stopping and looking back at Frank. ‘I wonder, will the Doctor require breakfast, or will we see him at all?’

‘No, Enda.’ Frank noticed the defeated, tired look in the man’s eyes. ‘Just myself.’

‘Right, so,’ he said turning away again and wandering off through the tables and stools like someone looking for a place to belong, hoping someone would include him somewhere. Frank saw some benevolent man half-heartedly push a stool towards Enda who bowed his head in greeting before sitting down.

‘There’s only one person wearing the trousers in that household, and it’s not poor Enda,’ Peggy said to Frank in a low voice. ‘Have you met Mrs. O’Shea? Bernie?’

‘I did have the pleasure,’ Frank smiled at her. ‘She went to great pains to inform me when I arrived that I was being given the best room in the house. Apparently, a Monsignor stayed there in 1968. Imagine.’

‘Hah,’ Peggy snorted. ‘You’d think it was the Ritz the way she goes on. Anyway, at least you’re spared her conversation over your sausages and eggs in the morning.’

They both laughed, but Frank felt a little uncomfortable and looked away first. He should really ring Rose. He pointed to the phone on the wall. ‘Can I use it?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ Peggy lifted his empty glass and he stood down from his stool. ‘Do you have change? You’ll need five pence coins.’

‘I do.’ Frank dug his hand into his pocket. ‘I suppose I’ll get another pint. And,’ he looked at Coleman who suddenly seemed to be interested in their conversation, ‘you’ll have another?’ Frank asked.

‘Oh, well, if the Garda Síochána is buying, I suppose I’m drinking,’ came the reply.

Frank nodded at Peggy who rolled her eyes and shook her head, but said nothing.

The phone rang for almost a minute before she answered.

‘Rose? I’d almost given up.’

‘It’s after nine, they’re all in bed,’ her tone was unapologetic. ‘I was upstairs myself.’

‘Sorry.’ Frank glanced over at Peggy who seemed busy behind the bar. He turned his back to her a little. ‘I haven’t had a chance to call until now.’ He hoped Peggy couldn’t hear his lies.

‘Where are you?’ Rose was accusing. ‘Are you in a pub? You sound like you’re in a pub.’

‘I’m just using the phone. Listen, I might be back up tomorrow. I thought, maybe, if I got back by six, well, we could do something.’

‘I’ve plans tomorrow night.’ The reply was firm. ‘I’m meeting Sheila and the girls.’

‘Right.’

‘Right.’

‘Look, Rose, I’m sorry … ’

‘I have to go now, Frank. Careful on the roads. I’m sure I’ll see you. Whenever.’

‘Look, Rose … ’ He heard the receiver being hung up and the silence on the line. He waited a moment to see if she would pick up again. But nothing. She was so bloody stubborn. He sensed Peggy standing closer to him at the till.

‘Ok, so. I’ll see you Sunday,’ he said loudly into the handset. ‘Bye so.’ He hung the receiver gently back on the cradle. Shit. He was going to have to do something about Rose. He knew she was disappointed about the weekend, but he needed to work. And he needed someone who could understand that. Support. He needed a little support. He turned to walk back around to his stool, when he noticed another man, arm stretched out before him, leaning heavily on the bar next to Coleman. His head was bowed low, like a priest listening to Coleman’s confession. Coleman appeared to be talking slowly, importantly, basking in the audience. Peggy set his pint down on a coaster and shrugged her shoulders in apology.

‘Ah now, Doctor. This is the man himself,’ Coleman said as Frank sat back down on his stool. ‘Detective Sergeant, this is Doctor. Doctor, Detective Sergeant.’

Frank regarded the man who was of Coleman’s own vintage, although darker in complexion and with a full head of greasy, liquorice-like hair. He noticed that their clothes might have been got from the same bin bag, although the second man’s shoes were of black leather, polished to a sheen that Frank’s superior officers would have been proud of. The man stuck out a grubby, wizened hand to Frank, who shook it tentatively.

‘The Detective Sergeant is looking for assistance with the discovery down at the lake,’ Coleman said slowly. ‘You might find that Doctor here is a good source of local information, Detective Sergeant, he being of a family that goes back four generations in the area.’

Doctor smiled dreamily, his eyes closed, his arm leaning on the bar all the while. Frank thought that one local nutter’s opinion was quite enough in any investigation, but he could see what was going on.