Sunday 25th September – 6.30 p.m.
James couldn’t miss Nell bursting into the pub. She halted at the doorway, gasping in air and looking disorientated. The lively pub was packed – babbling conversation and loud music engulfing you. He stood, and Rav immediately turned from the table they were sitting at to follow James’s gaze.
Her walk towards them was wobbly.
‘What’s wrong?’ Rav asked, his face creased with worry.
‘Nothing. Not really.’ She shivered. ‘I think I just spooked myself.’
‘What do you mean?’ James was instantly serious, alert.
‘I just had the strongest feeling that someone was following me.’ She shivered again. ‘But I must have imagined—’
‘Nell, don’t play it down.’ James tutted. ‘Who do you think it was?’
‘No idea. I didn’t see anyone or hear anything. It was just a feeling.’
‘Then no splitting up from now on,’ Rav said. ‘Whatever happens. OK?’ His tone was fierce.
James clasped Nell’s arm, making her look at him. ‘I agree. And I think it’s also time I got some drinks in.’
He fretted as he went to the bar. Nell’s instincts were usually on the money. If someone was following her, maybe it was Siobhan’s killer, wondering what Nell knew … It was clear by now that Conor confided in her. And that she was … curious.
Perhaps someone had even heard Conor’s request? James didn’t want to think where this could lead. But if he and Rav could make sure that Nell was always near one of them, then at least she wouldn’t be alone.
He was roused from his thoughts by the two older men next to him, heckling the bar staff. ‘Aoife’ll tell us, eh? What’s been up with the Garda these past days? Around your beloved bog?’
‘Was it peat cutters again, Aoife?’ The second man shook his head until his cheeks wobbled. ‘No one had a problem with that in our day.’
‘Oh, I … don’t know. Yet.’
James recognised the young woman from the graveside today, clearly doing her best to fend off further questions. A pink curl fell across her cheek as she glanced up from filling one glass with ice to poured tonic into a second, then passed the drinks to a customer and quickly turned to the next to avoid any more questions.
Beyond her, James saw Brandon hunched over a pint of Guinness at the far end of the bar, an empty whiskey glass beside him.
As the barman handed James a couple of menus printed on thick cream card, he added, ‘Our special Delaney gin cocktails are listed up there.’ He nodded at the blackboard, artfully decorated and bearing luscious descriptions of juniper-based concoctions between stencilled folklore about hares – all of which distracted him enough to make the barkeep say, ‘So come and order when you’re ready, yeah?’
At the table, James shared out the menus. ‘Looks like Brandon had the same idea of taking refuge in the pub.’ He tilted his head towards the bar.
‘So did Maeve,’ Nell said, and her eyes flicked to the right, where Maeve sat alone at a table, texting furiously, an untouched plate of food in front of her. ‘Those fish and chips look good.’
As Rav agreed and returned the menu to James, Shannon decided, ‘Goat’s cheese salad please. No dressing. Well, dressing on the side.’
James went up to order, checking the local ales out of habit – Mad Marchers and Harebrained being the pub’s specials. But he decided to embrace his new-found gin appreciation and ordered the table four different gin cocktails. ‘I feel like we should get into the spirit of the festival,’ he said, smiling.
‘Another gin pun!’ the barman called out, and Aoife added a chalk tally to the scoreboard behind the bar.
With a grin, the barman twirled his cocktail shaker before adding ice, setting it on the bar, pouring liquid into it from two bottles at an impressive height, slamming on the lid and shaking it with a bone-rattling vigour over his shoulder. He produced the four different drinks with such skill, speed and dexterity it might have been an Olympic sport – the glasses variously seasoned with chunky limes, a skewer of crystallised ginger, blueberries and blossom, like he was trying to bribe a judge on MasterChef.
Taking the clinking tray to the table, James heard Nell say, ‘I can’t imagine how Maeve must be feeling.’
She’d come to the farmhouse before they’d left for the pub, and she’d been freezing, hungry and full of fury. Her parents’ focus on Siobhan’s wake was rousing further frustrations. As was Sean when he tried to insist on looking after her.
‘It must be so awful. After all these years of hoping Siobhan would get in touch, to find out she never left, and she was …’ Nell swallowed, glancing at him as he sat down.
‘Yeah.’ Rav let out a long sigh. ‘Dreadful. For the whole family. It’s the worst answer – and it raises even worse questions.’
‘The ground crew are coming back tomorrow,’ Nell said.
James didn’t envy Sergeant Baptiste’s job. This search must be weighing heavily on him.
Reaching for the blueberry gin in the Art Deco glass, Shannon glanced at him. ‘You always say the first hours are crucial, James. That must still hold true for a cold case. Reactions to the situation, looking for people who appear shocked at the news but, really, they’re acting and hoping they’re not giving the game away that the secret they thought was safely buried has come to light. I mean, that’s a big deal, isn’t it? After twenty years, you’d believe it was pretty secure. You’d stop looking over your shoulder. You’d relax a bit. And now. Boom!’
As if she’d been thinking the same, Nell nodded. ‘The reactions have been interesting. What do you make of them, James?’
He puffed out his cheeks. ‘Well, Conor and Maeve are obviously distraught. Sean had pinned his hopes on it being an accident or someone outside the family. Maeve seems certain it’s Brandon. And Brandon isn’t even denying anything.’
Shannon squinted at Nell. ‘Was Siobhan in an unhappy marriage? Was she leaving? But … someone stopped her?’
‘Yes, I think that’s exactly Maeve’s theory.’ Nell reached for the floral gin.
‘So did Maeve know she was planning to leave?’ Rav asked.
‘No,’ Nell said. ‘And let’s not get ahead of ourselves, we don’t know Siobhan was leaving. But if she was, Maeve didn’t know. She’s been devastated that Siobhan hadn’t confided in her. Now, all that is being thrown into question again.’
‘OK, but if we follow the theory that she was leaving, she may have made a deliberate choice to not tell Maeve. It may have been too risky. For both of them.’ James sipped his refreshing limed gin. ‘Siobhan might not have confided in Maeve in case anyone got it out of her, or in case that confidence was a danger to her, too.’ He sighed. ‘Now, grief is ripping through the family. I feel for Sean. Maeve’s emotions are perfectly natural, but I don’t think any of this is his fault.’
‘Oh? Ruling suspects out already?’ Shannon swirled her drink.
‘Never!’ James said. ‘Because, if he is guilty, he wouldn’t be the first perpetrator to suggest a murder was just a tragic accident. And it’s possible other things were at play, too. Siobhan may have had postpartum depression. Or maybe someone outside of the family had a fixation with her. But I think Sean’s clinging to anything that won’t paint any of his brothers as a murderer.’
He gave a sad shrug. ‘It’s classic denial of someone who, in the back of his mind, is certain someone he cares about is guilty.’ James knew the overwhelming likelihood was that Siobhan knew her murderer. And he couldn’t bear to speculate about the child.
His concern only increased as the door swung open and Sean weaved in with Finn, the two brothers already the worse for wear. Sean raised his hand to the barman, and with a knowing – if slightly appraising – nod, two Delaney G&Ts were prepared and placed on the bar. The brothers quickly downed the drinks and ordered more.
But then, Finn spotted Maeve. Taking his second drink with him, he wandered over and nudged her arm. As he towered over her, another warning prickle shivered over James. He watched them closely, straining to hear their words.
‘Can’t bear seeing such a beautiful face so sad.’ Finn sat down heavily and stole a chip with a grin. ‘Can’t I cheer you up a little?’
‘Sure. If you leave.’ Maeve’s eyes held challenge.
Finn clutched his heart and slumped back in his chair. ‘You’re killing me, Maeve.’
She leaned forward, forearms on the table, her voice steady as she stared him right in the eyes. ‘Yeah. I just might.’
But Finn just smiled and stole another chip.
‘I don’t want you sitting there, smiling at me, Finn Kennedy. Right now, I’m losing an argument with my parents about Siobhan’s wake. They want to have it tomorrow. Even if I’d rather wait.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘But I’m starting to think that if I can keep them busy hosting that, then maybe they won’t be out at Ben Portach waiting to see if their tiny baby granddaughter is getting dug out of the ground.’
Finn at least looked shamefaced.
‘So, I’d be obliged if you’d take yourself away, Finn, while I invite folk and convince my parents they need to find photos this evening, since they can’t even have Siobhan there in her casket.’
But Finn didn’t move.
Behind them, James noticed Brandon watching, glowering, and he wondered if Finn had spotted that, too, and if baiting Brandon was more important to him than respecting Maeve’s request. With a huff, Maeve glanced at the next table, like she was about to move, but a beep on her phone made her read, then speed-text.
Beside Brandon, Sean was gazing at the back of Maeve’s head like a lovesick puppy. But the view of Finn’s smiling face gave him the wrong impression of their conversation, and he slumped on his seat.
Drawing her chair in, Shannon whispered, ‘So which brother do you think is the culprit?’ The others followed suit, huddling their heads together. ‘Brandon? Or Finn? Conor, perhaps? Or Sean himself, in an elaborate double bluff?’
‘Any of the above, at this stage,’ James reasoned.
‘Except Conor,’ Nell said archly.
James shrugged and sneaked another glance at Maeve. A couple had taken the table she might have moved to, and she’d reclaimed her meal, though she wasn’t eating it as she stared Finn down. It was only making him lounge back in his seat, appraising her.
‘What about the things Brandon said to Finn on the boat, when we were coming back from the distillery?’ Rav asked James. ‘It sounded like he was accusing Finn of pursuing Siobhan, after they were married.’
James glanced at Finn. He was still maintaining his one-sided banter as he sat opposite Maeve. With her back to the bar, neither Sean nor Brandon could know she was ignoring Finn and reading something on her phone. Finn meanwhile gave every impression of flirting, and Brandon was glowering.
‘Hmmm …’ Shannon mused. ‘He acts like a charmer but he’s more of a baiter, isn’t he?’ She shuddered. ‘You think there was something going on between Siobhan and Finn, and Brandon killed her? To stop her leaving him?’
‘Possibly,’ Rav said.
‘Might Siobhan and Finn have been planning to run off together?’ Nell asked. She glanced at James. ‘Maybe a romantic notion of rescuing her from an unhappy marriage?’ But she shook her head. ‘Finn doesn’t exactly seem distraught enough for that …’
‘No. Although, it was a long time ago,’ Rav countered. ‘And if he thought they were leaving together but she went without him, that’s a lot to carry for twenty years, isn’t it? They’d have been in their early twenties. Maybe making pretty spontaneous decisions …?’
James glanced at Rav, then Nell, and leaned forward. ‘I think you’re on to something. But I’d suggest you don’t limit your suspicions to one brother.’