IT TOOK ME forever to get to sleep that night, and I was awake by six. Maybe it was that one glass of wine – I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had only one – or maybe it was the fact that I had agreed to go out for dinner with Simon Howard.
I knew it made no sense but I couldn’t help but feel that I was being disloyal to Molloy. Yes, we had had a moment, and yes, I was pretty sure it was the culmination of something that had been building between us for a long time. But that moment had happened nine months ago. Since then we had been friends and colleagues, nothing more. And he had never given me an explanation as to why he had pulled back. So why then did I feel I was betraying him by going out for dinner with another man?
It wasn’t as if my intentions in doing so were romantic, whatever I had let Maeve think. Simon knew Marguerite far better than he was admitting. I was sure of it, and not just because of my encounter with David. I needed to work out why he was hiding it. Of course, I realized I was doing exactly what Maeve had warned me not to do: I was trying to play detective. But Molloy had left me no choice. If he had kept the investigation open, I would have no need to interfere.
Molloy had been a good friend to me during some of my toughest times in Inishowen. His pulling back from me romantically had not changed that. I had kept so much of my life from him for so long, he could have been hurt by that and it would have been justified. But instead, when I had finally broken down and told him the full story about my sister’s death, he had stayed with me all night, watching over me from an armchair in my sitting room while I slept on the couch. And he had given me some very good advice, advice that had helped me to repair my relationship with my parents.
I owed him the same generosity of spirit that he had shown me. I knew that the decision to close the investigation into Marguerite’s death hadn’t been his, that it had been made elsewhere, which meant I probably owed him an apology for my behavior towards him at the funeral. So I decided to call in to the garda station on the way to the office. Also, I knew it was a long shot, but it did occur to me that if there had been a change of mind about the investigation into Marguerite’s death, I wouldn’t have to go to dinner with Simon after all.
McFadden was on his own at the desk.
“Morning, Andy. Is Molloy about?”
He shook his head. “He’s away.”
“Away? Where?”
“Dublin, I think. He went away on Saturday, said he’d be back today some time. No sign of him yet.” He looked at his watch. “It’s early though. I reckon he’ll be back this afternoon.”
“Okay. Thanks, Andy.” I pulled at the handle of the door.
I heard a chuckle and turned back.
McFadden grinned. He placed his hand over his mouth in a mock whisper. “Between yourself and myself, I think there’s a woman involved.”
“You look wrecked,” Leah greeted me cheerfully when I walked in the door of the office.
I couldn’t return her smile. “Thanks. I actually had a very good night’s sleep,” I lied. “It’s obviously not good for me.”
“Your half nine appointment is here. It’s Iggy McDaid. I’d swear he’s pissed,” she added in a low tone.
“Ah no. I’m applying for his driving licence back at the court on Wednesday. How the hell did he manage to get drunk at half nine in the morning?”
Leah grinned. “Maybe he never went to bed or maybe he just topped up last night’s for breakfast. Rather you than me anyway. He stinks!’
I stuck my head into the waiting room and was greeted with an enthusiastic wave from the corner. “Five minutes, Iggy.”
I returned to the desk. “God, you’re right. He looks hammered.”
“Didn’t he find Marguerite’s body?” Leah said.
I nodded and sighed. “Give me a few minutes to get myself organised.”
My limbs felt heavy as I climbed the winding staircase to my office. I sat down, glanced through my list of appointments and looked despairingly at the stacks of files and correspondence on my desk. Although maybe it was no bad thing that I wouldn’t get time to think today.
Five minutes later, I headed back down to reception to collect the post.
“I’ll take Mr. McDaid up with me now,” I said as I flicked through the envelopes.
Leah shook her head. “You can’t. He’s wandered off again. Probably too long for him to go without a drink.”
“You’ve plenty of people to take his place though.”
She was right. The waiting room was packed. “Who on earth are all those people?”
“It’s the Concerned Parents Community Group. They have an appointment at ten.”
“All of them? Do they all need to be here?”
“God knows. And,” she said as she handed me a file, “Mr. Dolan and Mr. Gallagher want to have a quick word with you first.”
It was hard to miss the two men I knew weren’t part of any Concerned Parents committee standing by the door of the waiting room.
As I led them into the little front office, I remembered what Liam had said about Gallagher owning Marguerite’s cottage. Had he bought the house after Seamus Tighe had died, picked it up for a song because no one else would buy it? Was that how these two men made their money: buying from desperate people at desperate times? I shook myself. I was being ridiculous. I had no reason to think that the Malin Head deal was anything other than a straight-up business transaction, with a willing buyer and a willing seller.
We didn’t bother with seats. “Yes, gentlemen, what can I do for you? I’m still waiting for contracts, I’m afraid.”
As usual it was Gallagher who spoke. “We’re aware of that. But we’re both going back to the States tomorrow for a few days, so we thought we’d better have a word with you before we go. Can you act as agent for us in signing if we’re not in the country when they come in? We don’t want to waste any time in getting the deal finalised.”
“Certainly. As long as you authorise me properly in writing. I’ll email you an authority to sign. I’ll also have to go through the special conditions when the contract comes in before you commit yourselves to it, but we can do all that by email and phone.”
“Any idea when that’ll happen?”
“I’ll see what I can find out.” I reached for the phone on the desk.
The solicitor for the seller had a client with him so I left a message. When I hung up, I glanced at Dolan, and he looked at me expectantly as if I was some kind of performing seal he’d paid good money to see and was determined not to leave until he had seen at least one decent trick. His moustache was twitching.
“I’ll call the auctioneer,” I said.
Liam bellowed into the receiver as if he was using a megaphone to shout at me across the square. “McLaughlin and Son Auctioneers. Hello?”
“Liam, Ben here. Any news on that land in Malin Head? I’m still waiting on contracts. Any chance you can chase them up?”
“Aye. No bother. The old man who’s selling wouldn’t be the speediest mover in the world. I’ll remind him to call in to his solicitor and give them instructions.”
I replaced the receiver and smiled. “You probably got most of that.”
“Yeah. That’s okay,” Gallagher said. “Let us know the minute you receive anything. We’ve lodged our planning application so we don’t want the planning to issue until we have a water-tight agreement.”
“Understood. It may take them a while to get maps, but I’ll contact you immediately I get something in.”
I worked through lunch and Leah brought a sandwich and some takeaway soup to my desk. She could tell I was distracted, but thankfully she didn’t ask me why. At one point she had to lift my arm to pull my sleeve out of the soup and it was impossible not to notice the concerned glances and the extra cups of coffee that made their way to my desk during the course of the afternoon. By five o’clock my head was pounding.
At half past five I heard Leah’s shouted goodbye up the stairs followed by the door slamming behind her, and I was alone. I’d dreaded this moment all day since my visit to the garda station that morning. I was alone with thoughts I didn’t want to think and images that lurked like shadows at the edge of my consciousness. I was ashamed of how I’d allowed myself to come to rely on someone again. Ashamed of how I’d allowed my feelings for Molloy to go unchecked despite all evidence to the contrary.
There was a knock on the door. Reluctantly I went downstairs to open it. Molloy was standing on the doorstep. He looked odd, not himself, which didn’t help the way I was feeling.
“Could we have a chat?” he said.
“Okay.”
He followed me into reception. For some reason I remained standing and I didn’t offer him a seat either. Maybe I wanted him to feel as uncomfortable as I did.
“What do you want to chat about?” I asked, knowing even as I heard myself say it, that the word chat was all wrong as a description of whatever was to come.
“Did you call into the station looking for me this morning?” Molloy asked.
“It doesn’t matter.” Just say what you have to say and get it over with, I thought.
He looked down.
“That’s not what you’ve come to talk to me about, is it?”
“No, it’s not.” He paused.
I glanced at the stairs to my office. “I have work to do, Tom.”
He sighed. “Okay. I’ll just say it,” he said. “I was in Dublin this weekend.”
My tone was sharp. “I know. McFadden told me.”
Molloy looked at me, his eyes pleading with me to understand. “I went to see Laura. Laura Callan …”
I didn’t need a biography. I knew damn well who Laura was. Laura Callan was a forensic pathologist who had come to Inishowen to look at some bones that had been discovered some months before. And in a rather unpleasant coincidence, she had also been the pathologist who gave evidence at the trial for my sister’s killing. Maybe not so much of a coincidence – it’s not as if there are many pathologists in Ireland. When Marguerite’s body had been found, it had crossed my mind that Dr. Callan might be about to reappear. When I had first spotted Laura Callan in Inishowen, she was one of the last people on earth I wanted to see again, but it was her presence that had prompted my opening up to Molloy – and so I had come to believe, in the long run, that her reappearance had been a good thing. At the time, Molloy had told me she was an old college friend of his.
“Go on,” I said.
He examined my face. “Laura is my ex, Ben.”
I felt my stomach turn over. “Ex-wife?”
He shook his head. “Ex-girlfriend. Ex-partner, I suppose. We were together for a few years a long time ago.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that before. It just didn’t seem …”
I cut across him. “You’re back together.”
“It’s not quite as simple as that.”
“Congratulations.” My voice was ice.
“Ben, if you’d let me explain something …”
I picked up a stack of files from the reception desk, with no idea what they were or who they related to. “I’m sorry but I’m up to my tonsils here. I have a ton of work to get finished before I go home.”
“Ben …”
“Look,” I snapped. “I’m not entirely sure why you’ve singled me out especially to give me this good news. I mean, it’s not as if I wouldn’t have heard it eventually through the small-town grapevine. But I’m very happy for you.”
Did I imagine the flash of hurt in his eyes or did I just wish for it? I walked towards the front door, files in hand, leaving Molloy no choice but to follow me, and I held it open for him. I just managed to close it behind him before the tears came.
