REALIZING THERE WAS little I could do to help, I took myself back to Malin after my conversation with Tony and Phyllis. As I drove back along the coast road, I thought again about Stan’s complaint the previous week. Could the noise have had anything to do with the fire? And where had Tony Craig been for the previous few days? He’d made no mention during our chat of being away, and it hadn’t seemed the appropriate time to ask.
I was rummaging in the fridge trying to find something for lunch, realizing that I needed to buy groceries if the best I could do was a stale sandwich from the Oak, when there was a knock on the back door. Guinness, who’d been watching me with interest, leapt down from the windowsill while I went to answer it.
Molloy looked almost as wrecked as Tony and Phyllis had earlier. He closed the door behind him and wrapped his arms around me, burying his head in my shoulder though he had to bend forward to do it. His uniform smelled of smoke.
“Long night?” I said, into his hair.
“You could say that.” His voice was hoarse.
We pulled apart and he followed me into the kitchen. “Do you want some food?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No thanks.”
“Just as well.” I chucked the sandwich I’d left on the table into the bin.
“A coffee would be great, though.”
“Coming up.”
He pulled out a chair and sat at the table while I stuck the kettle on and took two mugs from the cupboard.
“Any developments on the fire?” I asked. “Do they know what caused it?”
He didn’t reply.
“Something electrical? Stray spark from the hearth or something?” I took the coffee pot from the cupboard above the sink and spooned some grains into it.
“It was deliberate.”
I spun around. “What?”
“The fire was started deliberately. Petrol, according to the fire service. They found the remains of a can at the back of the building. Garda forensics will have to do a full report, but they seemed to be pretty sure.”
I exhaled loudly. “Does Tony know?”
“He does now.”
“Lord. Who on earth would do that?”
“God only knows. But it looks as though it’s going to be a criminal investigation. Last thing we need this close to Christmas.”
“What about Carole? Did you find her? Tony said he couldn’t get hold of her.” I poured boiling water into the pot and added the plunger.
He shook his head. “That’s the other thing. Carole is missing. No one has seen her since last night. Not even her husband. She hasn’t been home.”
I crossed my arms. “Seriously?”
Molloy sounded weary. “Her husband said she sometimes sleeps in the spare room when she works late. Then he’ll get up with the children in the morning and she can lie on. He said he only realized she wasn’t home when he heard about the fire on the radio and went in to tell her.”
“Where could she be?” I asked.
“He says he has no idea. He’s worried sick, of course, convinced she might have been in the fire, but the fire service are certain there was no one in there.”
I poured coffee into mugs. “She was on the same flight to Dublin as me on Friday morning, if that means anything. But she must have come back fairly quickly if she was working in the Oak last night.”
Immediately Molloy was on the alert. “Really? Any idea where she was going? Or why?”
I shook my head. “Carole’s never been the most forthcoming. About her own business anyway,” I added.
I handed him a mug. “But she did have some luggage with her. A fairly big suitcase. I saw her collect it at the carousel when I left the airport in Dublin. And she wasn’t on the flight back yesterday afternoon; I’d have seen her – there were only six people on it. Maybe she came back the same day, Friday.”
“But then why would she have had luggage with her?” Molloy asked.
“I don’t know. That’s why I was surprised that she was working last night. I assumed she was going away for a while.”
“I’ll talk to George. See what he knows about it.” He took a drink and briefly closed his eyes. “God, I need this.”
“George is the husband?”
Molloy nodded. “George Harkin. He’s a music teacher at the school. Plays a bit in the pubs too. They live in Culdaff.”
“You mentioned kids,” I said. “How old are they?”
“Four and two,” he said softly.
“Seems odd she would leave them. Especially this close to Christmas.”
“Yes, it does.” Molloy emptied his mug in one long draught and stood up with a sigh. “Anyway, I’d better go and see what George knows. Thanks for the coffee. That’ll keep me going for another bit.”
“Will I see you later?” I asked.
“Possibly. Depends on how the rest of the day goes.”
My expression must have given something away, because suddenly he looked concerned. He touched my arm. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later.” And I pushed him out the door.
After lunch – I found two eggs that were only just out of date, so I scrambled them with some crackers – I needed a walk to clear my head. But when I drove around the green in Malin, I found myself turning east towards Culdaff rather than northwest towards Lagg, my usual walking spot. The power of suggestion, I suppose, Molloy having mentioned that Carole and George Harkin lived there.
Culdaff is a small seaside village with a triangular green, a few pubs, a restaurant, and two lovely old stone bridges. With a sheltered harbor at Bunagee and a beautiful golden beach, it’s popular with summer visitors, but I like it in the winter when there are fewer people about. After the ten-minute drive from Malin, I turned left at the green and drove out along the shore, leaving the Mini in the car park by the beach and wrapping myself up well in scarf and hat before getting out to walk. A vicious east wind stung my face and my scarf blew wildly about my head as I made my way over the marram grass and through the dunes. I was surprised by how many people were on the beach: couples arm in arm, kids with balls, and dogs rolling about, emerging filthy and panting from the dunes. Families out for a stroll after their Sunday lunch, needing a blast of sea air, undeterred by the weather.
I watched two small boys playing at the edge of the water and thought about how Carole’s husband must be feeling, trying to keep his children distracted while hiding how worried he was. My heart went out to him, though I’d never met him. Until now I hadn’t even known Carole was married, had never given it any thought. I’d simply known her as Carole Kearney, Eddie’s sister. Was her disappearance connected with the fire? I was shocked by Molloy’s pronouncement that the Oak had been deliberately torched. Tony Craig was a decent sort of publican, the kind who would refuse you the last drink you didn’t need and then drive you home. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to do him harm. The only complaint I’d ever heard about him had come from Stan last week. Molloy hadn’t mentioned Stan, I realized suddenly. I wondered if he’d returned to Glendara yet.
As I battled the biting wind, Luke Kirby was in my thoughts too, although he’d been pushed to the chorus line today, which was no bad thing. I was beginning to wonder if I should mention him to Molloy at all. He had enough on his plate.
About halfway down the beach, I looked at my watch. It was four o’clock and dusk; the hills in the distance purple, the line between land and sky a blur. I needed to pick up my pace if I wanted to make it back to the road before dark. I turned in left with Bunagee pier on my right and followed the shoreline to the small inlet, passing the mudflats and making my way up onto the road just in time. With the street lights I’d be able to complete the circuit and reach the car in safety, but the temperature was dropping and I was very cold. I pulled my gloves from the pocket of my coat and put them on, grateful that they happened to be there.
A black Mercedes passed on the road, then slowed down, stopped and reversed until it was alongside. The driver’s window rolled down and Liam McLaughlin’s head and elbow appeared. “You look as if you could do with a good strong hot whiskey.”
I replied with difficulty. “You’re not wrong there. I can’t feel my face.”
“Do you want a lift back to your car?”
“Absolutely.”
Liam pushed open the passenger door from the inside and I walked around the car and climbed in.
“I presume you’ve heard the news,” he said as he pulled away from the curb.
“The Oak?” I nodded. “I was in town this morning and saw it. Awful.”
“I hear it was started deliberately.”
It never ceases to amaze me how quickly news travels in Inishowen, but I made no comment, unsure if Molloy would want me discussing it at this stage. Liam didn’t seem to notice. His mind was on something else, his gaze fixed on the road ahead as if he was on some kind of mission. I asked him what he was doing in Culdaff.
“I’m heading out to George Harkin’s house,” he said. “You heard Carole didn’t come home last night?”
I nodded. “Is George a friend of yours?”
“We used to fish together.”
“You fished? On a trawler?”
I realized I sounded like a right city slicker, but it was too late. Unusually, Liam let me away with it.
“Most people around here would have done it at one time or another. George stuck it longer than I did. I wasn’t really cut out for it.” He shot me a crooked smile. “I did the cooking.”
“I thought George Harkin was a teacher?”
“He is now. The fishing was a long time ago, when we were young fellas with no sense. All we wanted was a few pounds in our pockets to go out at the weekend. Anyway, I thought I’d call and see how he’s doing. See if there’s anything I can do.”
“I’m sure he’s worried sick.”
Liam nodded. “Poor wee ones must be missing their mother. I don’t know what George has told them.”
We passed the football pitches on our left, floodlit, with some hardy souls in shorts kicking a ball about.
I paused. “Liam, have you any idea why Carole was in Dublin on Friday?”
He looked at me askance for a second before his expression cleared. “Oh Jesus, that’s right. She was on the same flight as you down from Derry, wasn’t she? I’d forgotten that. The one that was late. I’ve never seen her on that flight before. I wonder what she was doing?”
“She wasn’t very forthcoming when I was talking to her. But whatever it was, she obviously came back up again, because she was working in the Oak last night, according to Tony.”
He looked thoughtful. “That’s right, she was. I was in there for a quick pint myself before I went home.”
“How did she seem?”
“Wee bit distracted, now you mention it. I had to call the pint twice.”
We arrived at the car park, and Liam pulled in beside the Mini, dwarfing it with the Merc. He pulled a face. “When are you going to get yourself a decent grown-up car?”
I feigned indignation. “How dare you. That is a decent car.”
He winked. “Hardly fitting for the local solicitor.”
Meeting Liam reminded me of all the work that remained to be done at the office. So much of my energy the previous week had been concentrated on the Greys that other work had been left to the wayside. The office was due to close on Wednesday, the day before Christmas Eve, which gave us three days to get everything done. It was going to be tight. Watching Liam drive away, I knew I should go in for a few hours, but I couldn’t summon either the energy or the enthusiasm. I decided to go home and head in early in the morning instead. Light the fire and curl up with the latest Kathy Reichs, that was my plan.
It was not to be.
I expected to see Guinness sitting on the doorstep demanding his dinner when I parked the car, but there was no sign. Then, walking up the path, I heard a faint mewling in the shrubbery. It was dark, so I turned on the light on my phone. I heard the mewling again, but still couldn’t see anything. Convinced that it was Guinness, I poked about under the shrubs, trying to follow the sound and getting soaked in the process. Eventually I found him curled up under a laurel bush, looking absolutely filthy. I reached in and touched his head. He looked out at me, his eyes showing pain, seeming unable to move. With difficulty, I managed to gather him up in my arms and bring him into the house. I found an old blanket and placed him gently down on it, and immediately, he struggled to his feet, disoriented as if drunk. Suddenly he lurched forward and began to retch, but nothing came up.
I grabbed my mobile from my bag and rang Maeve.
She heard the panic in my voice straightaway. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Guinness, he’s sick. I think he’s eaten something. He’s weak and retching, but nothing’s coming up.”
“Okay,” she said calmly. “I’m in the clinic. Can you bring him in here? I might need to pump his stomach.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I placed the cat and blanket in a cardboard box on the passenger seat, and drove into Glendara as fast as I could without causing him any more distress than necessary. It was strange to have him lying beside me, unresisting. Usually if I had to take him anywhere in the car, he leapt about like a lunatic, causing havoc. He steadfastly refused to get into a cat basket.
I’d had Guinness since he was a tiny kitten. On my way to a Bar Association meeting in Letterkenny, I’d caught sight of a little black shadow in the center of a main road with cars whizzing by on both sides. I’d driven on for a couple of minutes before convincing myself that I’d seen the shadow move, at which point I’d executed an illegal U-turn and driven back to where I’d seen it. Once there, I’d risked my neck to run into the middle of the road and scoop a frightened little kitten into my arms. He had been hit by a car and was bleeding with a broken leg. He was so terrified that he scrambled onto my shoulder, where he stayed, clinging on to my neck, while I drove around frantically trying to find a vet. It occurred to me now that perhaps that was why he hated cars so much. When finally I’d succeeded, I’d left him at the clinic and driven on to my meeting in my bloodstained shirt, happy with my good deed but confident that was the last I would see of him. I certainly didn’t want a cat – I could barely take care of myself at that point. But a few weeks later I had a call to inform me that despite recovering beautifully from his injuries, no home had been found, and of course I adopted him. I’d had him now for five years. Guinness was temperamental and spoiled, but I knew I would miss him dreadfully if anything happened to him.
I pulled into Maeve’s clinic and lifted the box from the passenger seat as gently as I could. The cat was listless now, depressed and barely moving. Maeve met me at the door and took the box from me, and I followed her to the small animal examination room at the back of the clinic, where she lifted him out of his box and placed him gently on the table. I watched as she examined him, looking into his mouth, feeling his stomach and checking under his tail while he lay limply to one side.
“You’re right,” she said. “It looks as if he’s eaten some kind of poison. I’d guess antifreeze.”
“Where would he get that?” I asked. “And why in God’s name would he want to eat it?”
“Antifreeze is sweet and cats drink it because they like the taste of it. If it is that, let’s hope we’ve got him early.”
My heart sank. “Could he die?”
“Antifreeze acts quickly and usually it’s not noticed till too late, by which stage the cat is in acute renal failure.” Maeve’s brow was furrowed until she caught my expression. “Don’t worry, I’d say we’ve got him in time. But you’re going to have to leave him with me.”
She pulled on some gloves.
“What are you going to do?”
She gave me a half-smile. “I’m going to put him on a drip with fluids and vodka.”
“Vodka?”
“Medical ethanol or vodka. We don’t have ethanol in the clinic, but vodka works just as well. He’ll need to stay on the drip for three days, until all the antifreeze is cleared from his system.”
I touched Guinness on the little white patch on the top of his head. He looked utterly miserable.
“Don’t worry,” Maeve said again. “If we’ve got him within three hours – and I suspect we have or he’d be in a much worse way – then the prognosis is good.”
“Okay,” I said slowly.
“Now go on and leave me to it,” she said. “I’ll give you a call later on.”
I walked reluctantly towards the door. “Thanks, Maeve.”
“Oh, and you’ll need to do a proper search around your house to make sure there isn’t anything left of what he ate,” she called after me. “Check to see if there is any meat or fish lying around that would have tempted him, and get rid of it.”
“In case he finds it again?”
She nodded. “Cats are pretty smart; it’s unlikely he’d go back for seconds, but just in case.”
“Okay.” I turned to go, then turned back. “Oh, what do I owe you?”
She waved me away. “Don’t be an ass.”