LEAH HEADED HOME after the graveyard, but I decided to call briefly into the bar in Culdaff with Maeve. Molloy and McFadden seemed to have disappeared, so I sent Molloy a text to say that I’d love to come for dinner and that I’d see him later. I felt a pleasurable flutter at the prospect.
Two older women on the way into the pub ahead of us made no attempt to lower their voices. One of them shook her head in disgust.
“All about him, of course. Typical man.”
“I don’t think he even used the wee girl’s name, did he?”
A clicking of teeth in disapproval. “I don’t think he did, you know.”
The bar was full and the heat was a welcome relief from the icy wind when we’d first arrived, but quickly became stifling. Two turf fires blazed at either end, but with the body heat of so many people, they just weren’t needed. A table with sandwiches had been set up at the back wall, and people crowded around it; some with cups of tea while others were on to the pints already, starting the New Year’s drinking early. Although there was something jarring about the Christmas decorations and lights that remained around the walls of the pub.
Maeve and I made our way over to Phyllis, who had found a spot by a window, which she had surreptitiously opened. She was chatting to Tony, who shunted over to allow us in.
“Who’d have thought we’d be spending New Year’s Eve at a funeral?” Phyllis was saying.
“Or Christmas Day finding a body,” I added.
Phyllis shook her head. “I’ll never forget you coming back with Fred. The shock of it, and the shock you must have had finding her like that. Although thank God you did. She could have been there for days or weeks if you hadn’t.”
I remembered Molloy’s view that the stones had been placed deliberately to assist in finding the body, and suddenly I had a flashback to the Christmas work night out. I remembered taking the call from Phyllis asking me to bring Fred for a walk, and my suggestion of Sliabh Sneacht. Had someone heard me? Had someone meant me to find her – someone who had been there that night? According to the pathologist, Carole had been dead for a few days at that point. Was her killer getting impatient for her to be discovered? He could hardly just drive into town and dump her in the square.
I tried to remember who had been here that night. I had taken the call in the porch; anyone who passed could have heard me. Before I could work it out, there was a tap on my shoulder.
It was Stoop, the newsagent, with a pint of Guinness in his hand. “Do you have a minute?”
“Of course.”
He glared meaningfully at the others, who looked at each other, amused, and moved away.
When we were alone, I asked, “What do you want to talk to me about, Pat?”
“I’m sorry to bother you here, but I know your office is closed.”
“Just until Monday,” I said.
“I’m not sure I can wait until then.” His head was bowed; he wasn’t meeting my eye. “It’s these things that people are saying about Dominic, my nephew. That he might have killed Carole.”
“Are people saying that?” I was surprised. I didn’t think the fact of the DNA on the belt had been released.
He shook his head dismissively. “It’s because of where she was found. It’s crazy talk; the man is dead three months.”
“Yes. So I believe. I’m sorry.”
Stoop lowered his voice. “I admit Dominic was dangerous. Some say it came from his father; Pete was a cruel man, no denying that. But Dominic wouldn’t have killed a woman in cold blood. People are saying he faked his own death somehow and hid in that cottage.”
I wondered how much of this was Stoop’s paranoia. I certainly hadn’t heard this talk.
“I know he’s dead – I was at his funeral,” he continued, his voice even lower.
“I see.” Somehow I had assumed a family split.
Stoop gazed down into his pint. He’d been drinking it slowly; the head looked old and yellow. “I didn’t tell anyone at the time that he was dead. I should have; there wouldn’t be this talk now if I had. I didn’t want people to know he’d died in prison, especially my children – his cousins. I thought I’d tell them eventually, when the time was right, but I just never got around to it.” He looked sad. “He was cremated; just me and a few prison officers. I don’t know what happened to his ashes. I just told them to do whatever they thought best.”
“I didn’t realize you’d stayed in touch.”
“I didn’t like to talk about him. But when all’s said and done, he was still my nephew.”
“Did you know … ?” I stopped, unsure whether to continue. Stoop rubbed his nose. I glanced in George Harkin’s direction and he caught my meaning.
He lowered his voice to a whisper. “That Dominic was married to Carole? Aye, I did. God knows what they’d be saying if they knew that. I’m not sure why he told me – he warned me to keep it quiet. They didn’t even tell the prison. She left England and didn’t give the prison any contact details, and he didn’t enlighten them.” He looked down. “I didn’t even tell her he was dead. Maybe I should have, but George has a bit of a temper on him and I didn’t want to cause her any trouble.”
“Did Dominic know she’d married again?” I asked.
“He chose to let it go, wanted her to have some wee bit of happiness, and I respected his wishes. Dominic had one love only: his cause. He couldn’t see anything beyond that. It was like some kind of mania. He didn’t even care …” Stoop stopped suddenly, as if he feared he had said too much.
“He didn’t care about what?” I asked.
He looked away. “I was just going to say that he didn’t care about anything else.”
“Not even Carole?”
He shook his head sadly. “I don’t think so.”
“So what is it you want me to do?” I asked.
“I want you to administer his estate,” he said firmly. “It’ll stop the crazy talk. I’ve never done anything about it, but maybe it’s time I did. If there’s one thing people around here understand, it’s property. Land.”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t say so.” He gave a sad smile. “He wasn’t what you’d call a conformer. The only thing he’d have owned would be the cottage. He had nothing else. Always lived from hand to mouth, running with that wild hippy crowd of his.”
“And he had no brothers or sisters?”
“He was an only child.”
My mind raced ahead as I tried to work out the chain of inheritance. If Carole had died after Dominic, as his legal spouse she would inherit everything, assuming they had no children. Which meant that their marriage and Carole’s subsequent bigamous one would be exposed if I administered Dominic’s estate, since Carole’s own beneficiaries would have to be informed. I wondered if Stoop knew this. Maybe he didn’t care now that Dominic and Carole were both dead.
I was about to ask him when I realized he was no longer looking at me. He was distracted by something at the back of the pub, where raised voices could be heard over the general chat. I turned and followed his gaze. George and Ian Grey were involved in yet another altercation, and Ian was backing away, his hands raised in surrender. People close by stared into their drinks, embarrassed.
“Just as well the wee boys aren’t here.” Phyllis appeared at my shoulder as Stoop drifted away saying he’d give me a call, having clearly decided the practicalities could wait now that he’d made the first move.
“Where are they?” I asked. I remembered seeing them at the funeral, two little boys in coats and scarves, clutching toy cars designed to distract them from the reality of the occasion.
“Emma’s taken them home. I think she’s coming back later.”
Ian strode past us and out of the pub, Abby in his wake. I took the opportunity to go to the bathroom, and when I came out again, they were both in the porch. They didn’t see me, and I’m ashamed to say that I stood behind the large Christmas tree in the hall and listened to what they were saying.
Ian was pacing up and down, clearly stressed, while Abby hissed at him furiously. “How could you try to open all of this up again? It was bad enough with Carole.”
“I told you. I didn’t say anything to Carole. I wouldn’t have until you were happy about it.”
“I don’t believe you,” she snapped. “I thought you were wrong to do it then. But now? What possible good could it do? How could you even think of it?”
Ian slumped down onto a small bench, and I took a sudden step back, afraid that he might see me. But he was too upset. He seemed helpless and sad but he wasn’t backing down. “I was only doing what I thought was right. I couldn’t have known what was going to happen.”
“But now? Why now?”
“You know why. He should have been here. It’s his right.” He waved towards the pub in disgust. “Anyway, that ignorant man wouldn’t even listen to me, so there’s nothing lost. Our secret is still safe.”
Abby gave him one last furious look and stormed out. Ian sighed deeply before dragging himself to his feet and following her.
I returned inside with the same thought I’d had in the church. Could Ian Grey have been the man Stan saw with Carole in Derry? He’d said he hadn’t recognized him, but it might be worth asking again. I scanned the pub for the hairdresser. It was only then that I realized I hadn’t seen him in the church, or in the graveyard either. Was it possible he hadn’t bothered to come? It seemed unlikely.
Spotting Róisín and Eddie in the corner, I tapped her on the shoulder as discreetly as I could. She turned with a smile.
“Have you seen Stan?” I asked in a low voice.
She looked around her. “Isn’t he here?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t see him at the church either.”
She frowned. “Come to think of it, neither did I. I came with Eddie straight from the house, but I haven’t seen Stan since he left the salon yesterday afternoon before your appointment.”
“Where was he going?”
“He said he was going to visit his mother and he’d be back this morning.” She shook her head. “He wouldn’t have missed Carole’s funeral.”
“That’s what I thought.” I went back to the porch and rang Stan’s number, but it went straight through to voicemail.
I decided it was time to leave. The pub was beginning to clear and I wanted to go home before heading to Molloy’s. I went over to Phyllis and Maeve to say goodbye before taking my leave of George.
“What are you doing tonight?” Phyllis asked.
I looked at her, confused. “Why?”
She smiled. “New Year’s Eve. I know it doesn’t seem much like it. Tony’s having a few people round to his house. He’s just left, but he asked me to mention it. I think he misses hosting New Year’s Eve at the Oak.” She raised her eyes to heaven. “And Susanne has a new boyfriend she wants him to meet. I don’t think he has the energy to face it on his own. He thought a bit of a gathering might cheer people up.”
“It’s a nice idea,” I said. “But I have plans for dinner, I’m afraid.”
Phyllis nudged Maeve. “No need to ask who with—”
She broke off as Ian Grey burst back into the pub, breathless, as if he’d been running.
“It’s Stan,” he said. “He’s hurt on the beach.”
Róisín and Eddie were the first to react, racing out of the pub after him, followed by a crowd that included Maeve, Phyllis, and myself. We ran along the shore road and made our way down to the beach over the dunes. It was early dusk and the sea was a strange shade of blue and purple, like a bruise. Stan was lying on his back on the sand in an area below the playground, with Abby leaning over him. Blood was oozing from a cut on his forehead.
“I’ll call an ambulance,” Phyllis said, her phone in her hand.
“I’ve already done it,” Abby said. “The one from Glendara hospital will be here in half an hour – it’s up at Malin.”
A voice sounded from the car park above, making us all jump. “Is everything all right?”
“There’s someone hurt down here,” Phyllis shouted back.
We heard the rustling of someone clambering down through the marram grass and a man appeared beside us, a concerned look on his face. It was the taxi driver from Glendara who had driven myself and Leah to our work night out and picked Susanne up from the Point Inn.
He took one look at Stan and exclaimed, “Oh Jesus. He doesn’t look too healthy. I can take him to the hospital in Glendara if you like?”
Maeve, the closest thing to a medic we had, shook her head. “We shouldn’t move him; we can’t take the risk with a bang on the head. We’ll have to wait for the ambulance.”
I kneeled down beside him. The sand was freezing. “What happened, Stan?” I asked.
His voice was slurred, as if he had been drinking. “I fell. Should have been looking where I was going.” He attempted a smile, but there was fear in his eyes. “God knows what I look like.”
It was clear that whatever had happened to Stan, he hadn’t just fallen. There was no way that the sand he was lying on could have done such damage to his head. But it wasn’t the time for questions; it was far more important to get him to the hospital.
Despite the half-hour estimate, the ambulance arrived in ten minutes and Róisín went with him. Watching the red lights disappear along the shore road, I found myself standing beside the taxi driver, who had waited with us in case the ambulance didn’t arrive.
“That’s a nice wee girl,” he said.
“Róisín? Yes, she is.”
He lowered his voice. “I gave her a lift back into Glendara the night of the fire. Dropped her in with her friend.”
In light of what he had said about taxi drivers being like priests, I was surprised he was sharing this with me. “Back to her house?” I asked.
He glanced around, but the rest of the crowd were already making their way towards the pub. “No, back to the Oak. When I heard it had burned down, I did wonder if there had been a lock-in – a careless cigarette or something; you know what the young ones are like. So I was glad to hear it was deliberate.” He flushed. “Well not glad exactly, but you know what I mean.”
“Did you tell the guards about dropping the girls back?”
He shook his head, a little sheepishly I thought. I got the feeling that telling me was getting something off his chest.
“I didn’t want to get them into any bother. I mean, it wasn’t as if I saw them go into the pub. I just left them off outside.”
“Eddie wasn’t with them? Carole’s brother?”
He shook his head again. “No, it was just the two wee girls.”