Chapter 20
Oran and Padraig McCarthy were waiting for Siobhán and Macdara by the entrance to Turn the Page. A black hearse, no doubt one from Butler’s carrying Deirdre’s body, pulled away just as Siobhán and Macdara showed up. Siobhán crossed herself and sent a little prayer to the heavens for Deirdre Walsh. Then she turned to Oran. She couldn’t help but feel a little smug that the roles of who was allowed into the bookshop were reversed. Maybe she should require Oran to quote from the An Garda Síochána handbook to gain entrance. Not that they would be allowed in today, but they would need to explain to them how to access the secret room.
“We’ll show you,” Oran said. “Do you have extra protective gear?” He stared at their booties, gloves, and gown.
“You’ll have to tell us instead,” Siobhán said. “From out here.”
Oran chewed on his bottom lip. Padraig patted Oran’s elbow, then turned to them with a smile. “Anything at all.”
“How do we open the bookshelf?” Siobhán said.
“The secret door,” Padraig corrected.
Oran’s mouth twitched.
“What?” Siobhán asked.
“It’s a secret door,” Padraig repeated.
“Promise me this will stay between us,” Oran said. “We went to a lot of trouble having it built, and if a secret door isn’t secret anymore, then there’s really no point at all in having one, is there?”
“No,” Siobhán said. “What was the point in the first place?”
“Just a bit of fun,” Padraig said.
“How’s that working out for you?” Siobhán said.
Oran stared at Siobhán. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a difficult person?”
“Not in such polite terms,” Siobhán replied.
Macdara cleared his throat. “I’d like a better explanation for why you think you needed a secret door.”
Oran sighed. “It was a lark at first,” he said.
“A lark?” Macdara asked.
Padraig nodded. “Yes. As in, we had too many glasses of Cabernet one night and were daydreaming about the shop and said, ‘Wouldn’t it be fun to have a secret bookcase that opened into our office.’ ”
“I never knew Padraig would actually follow through with it. But that’s the kind of man he is,” Oran said.
Oran stopped to smile at his husband, and Padraig smiled back before turning to Siobhán. “When you face the bookcase you’ll see a red leather book on the farthest upper-right-hand corner. You’ll see a little notch that marks the spot.”
“Red book, farthest upper-right-hand corner.” Siobhán jotted it down. “Title?”
“You can’t miss it,” Padraig said. “It’s not a real book, it’s a mechanism. Red leather.”
“Pull it out and push on the case,” Oran added. “It will swing inward.”
“What if someone randomly decided to pull the book out?” Siobhán asked.
“That wouldn’t do anything,” Padraig said. “The book would only pull slightly out, then seem as if it was stuck. There is no title on the spine, and it blends in on the bookshelf.”
“But you have to give the shelf a hard shove on the right-hand side precisely where you find the notch,” Oran said. “We thought the chances of someone discovering it on his or her own were slim.”
“Yet the lads who built it are aware, aren’t they?” Macdara said.
A look of worry came over their faces. “Do you think they told someone, and that person is our killer?” Padraig’s voice squeaked.
“Deep breaths,” Oran said. “Can’t have you fainting on the footpath.”
“What’s in the secret room?” Siobhán asked. She didn’t want Padraig to faint on the footpath either, so she kept her voice light and veered away from the accusation that a stranger had accessed their secret door to commit murder. Although it was a troubling possibility.
“It’s our back office,” Oran said. “You’ll find a safe where we intended on keeping rare books. A desk. Inventory and boxes we haven’t unpacked. And a bookshelf shoved against the door to the alley.”
“Why?” Macdara asked. Siobhán remembered them mentioning this in previous conversations but it never hurt to get a suspect to tell a story again. Often little inconsistencies could be dead giveaways that a lie was being spun.
“When we rented this building, the owner didn’t have a key to that door,” Oran explained. “We intended on changing the locks, but until then we didn’t want to take the chance that someone had the key and might sneak in.”
“Did anyone ever try to break in while you were there?”
“No,” Padraig said. “But there’s always rubbish outside the door. Cigarette butts and whatnot.”
“I understand Darren Kilroy brought biros with Michael O’Mara’s name on them to pass out to everyone,” Siobhán said. Oran frowned, but Padraig nodded. “Were there any extras?”
This time they both frowned. “I believe they were all snatched up,” Padraig said. “If you really want one you can have mine.”
“What color is it?”
“Red.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Siobhán said. “Why don’t you two head to Naomi’s Bistro while you wait,” she added. “My brother Eoin is the chef. Tell him your lunch is on me.”
“We’ve been meaning to try Jade’s,” Oran said quickly.
Jade’s was the Chinese restaurant at the other end of the street. She couldn’t argue with that—their food was delicious. But what did they have against her bistro? One day, she would get to the bottom of it, but for now she put it out of her mind as she stepped into the bookshop.
It was strange to be back in a place that first brought her so much excitement, and just as quickly, a deadly shock. Macdara and Siobhán would go through the scene first and then the forensics team would collect any evidence and dust for fingerprints before turning it back to Oran and Padraig. Siobhán was horrified that her cake was still there, drawing annoying little fruit flies. It would be boxed up and sent to Jeanie Brady, probably not the sweet surprise she’d want it to be. The chances that it was poisoned and Deirdre had just happened to lick the icing were small. But still, it had to be done. They stood in front of the shelf, staring at the books scattered on the floor. Siobhán glanced up at the top shelf. She could reach the red book on her tiptoes.
“If one accessed the secret room from this side, they would have to be tall,” Macdara said.
“They’re all history books,” Siobhán said. “Long and heavy.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Someone could have fashioned a stepladder.”
“I hate it when you blow my theories out of the water,” Macdara said.
“I’m anxious to see if the door to the alley is still barricaded,” Siobhán said. “If not . . .”
“It opens up our suspect pool to the entire village.”
“I’m afraid it does.”
“Go on, so,” Macdara said. “I know you want to do the honors.”
Siobhán stepped up to the bookshelf, stood on her tiptoes, and removed the red book. Then she found the notch, leaned into the right-hand side, and gave it a shove. The entire case swung open with a creak. Books jiggled on the shelf, but none of them fell. Impressive. Even though she was expecting it, Siobhán emitted a squeak of excitement and she heard Macdara chuckle behind her. She stared into a dark abyss.
“We forgot to ask them where the light switch was located,” she said. “Do you have your torch?”
“I can run and get one, but I didn’t think to bring it either,” Macdara said. “Paw around for it.”
It took her several attempts, but she finally located a switch and soon lights flickered, then stayed steady, revealing, as promised, a back office. Unlike the pinewood floors of the bookshop, this back room was made of stone walls and a concrete floor. It was colder in here, with a slight odor of mildew. Cobwebs gathered in the corners and the lights emitted a soft whine. The safe Oran and Padraig mentioned was in the corner next to a large desk piled with papers and books. There were numerous cardboard boxes piled against the right wall. A large bookshelf had been shoved against the back door, just as Oran and Padraig said. But instead of being shoved all the way against the door, it stood on a diagonal with a foot gap between it and the back door. There was enough room for a person to squeeze in from the alley. Siobhán and Macdara stared at the door. Specifically the lock. It was not engaged. Macdara cursed, something he rarely did on the job.
“Anyone could be the killer,” Siobhán said as he turned the knob on the door and it yawned open. “Absolutely anyone.”
“Technically,” Macdara said. “But a random person did not go to this kind of trouble to murder Deirdre Walsh.”
“Someone needed not only the motivation, but access and knowledge of the bookshop,” Siobhán said. “Would Oran or Padraig be so obvious?”
“Maybe they would. Hoping we would think it was preposterous they would do something so obvious.”
Siobhán exhaled. “If one or both of them is guilty, this was planned far in advance, starting with this secret door.”
“Let’s check out the boxes and the desk, and then the alley,” Macdara said with a nod.
The boxes, all twelve of them, held books. They were stacked up against the back wall, and given some of them looked old and rare, unless he was the one who opened it, she was pretty sure Oran was going to be outraged that the back door was open. The desk was crammed with the usual office detritus, and folders. A particularly thick one was labeled: DESIGN. It held wallpaper swatches and sketches, and sheets ripped out of magazines. Siobhán felt a twinge of pity for the pair. This had been their dream shop. It was obvious that months, maybe even years had gone into imagining it. And the final product had been spectacular. She hoped they were innocent and could keep the shop going, put this behind them. But right now, justice mattered the most. “Do we need any of this?” Siobhán asked.
“Anything financial in nature we’ll have to take,” Macdara said. “It could go to motive.” Siobhán nodded and placed evidence stickers on the folders that contained financial information. She held up a business card. CONSTRUCTIVE BUILDS.
“I bet this is the contractor who built the secret door,” Siobhán said.
“Good work,” he said. “We’ll contact them.”
Once they were finished with the interior, they exited the building and came around to the back alley. The lock had not been damaged, it was simply unlocked, which meant either Oran and Padraig hadn’t engaged it in the first place or noticed it was unlocked, or someone out there had a key. Or someone had picked the lock. Or they were lying. “What if Padraig and Oran do have the key?” she said.
“We can check with the landlord,” Macdara said. “But walk me through it.”
“Padraig left the bookshop that evening and returned soaking wet just as the lights went back on,” Siobhán said. “What if instead of returning home, he ran around the back of the shop, entered, waited for the blackout, then snuck onto the floor and killed Deirdre?”
“But he forgot to put the bookshelf back in front of the door? And he left the door to the alley open?”
“There wasn’t time to shut it. Once we discovered the body, we ushered everyone out the front and secured the building.” She stared at the partially opened back door. “The guards secured this alley. They wanted to leave the door as they found it.”
“I wish they’d brought it to our attention earlier,” Macdara said. “It’s possible someone could have snuck past them and entered our crime scene.” He rubbed his face. “Whoever our killer is, I do believe this is the point of entry.”
Siobhán scoured the alley. Cigarette butts, packets of crisps, and mineral cans dotted the landscape. They had bigger things to worry about than polluters, but Siobhán loathed anyone who would toss their rubbish anywhere but a bin. She pointed at the cigarette butts. “We should see if we can determine the brand. See if it matches the cigarettes found in Deirdre’s room.”
“Good thinking,” Macdara said. He put an evidence marker near the cigarette butts. “I’m going to have the team collect the safe as well. Oran and Padraig claim it’s empty. We’ll need to verify that.”
Siobhán nodded. “Hopefully they’ll give us the combination.”
“It won’t look good if they don’t. I have a department meeting,” Macdara said, glancing at his watch. “Will you shake down Oran and Padraig for the digits to the safe?”
Siobhán grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”
* * *
“I swear it was closed and locked and the bookshelf was in front of it,” Padraig insisted.
“Not a doubt,” Oran repeated. “We never unlocked that door.” He licked his lips.
“And yet the door is unlocked,” Siobhán said. “Are you sure the bookshelf was flush against the door?” Siobhán had ambushed them at Jade’s and was now sitting across from them in a booth, eyeing their stir-fry and spring rolls.
“Positive,” Oran and Padraig said in stereo.
“I need to go through our boxes and make sure nothing has been stolen,” Oran said, stabbing into a spring roll with his chopsticks.
“I’m afraid that is going to have to wait. When was the last time you were in there?” She glanced at the spring rolls again. Perfectly crisped on the outside. Were they ever going to offer her one?
“Opening morning,” Oran said. “I haven’t been in since.”
“Neither have I,” Padraig said.
“We’re going to need the combination to the safe,” Siobhán said. What if she just took a spring roll? Casually, as if it was totally proper? Anyone else would have offered them straightaway.
“Our safe, our books, our files,” Oran said. “This is so invasive.”
“So is murder,” Siobhán said.
“Of course,” Padraig said, taking out a biro and jotting down the combination on a napkin. It was one of Michael O’Mara’s biros. Another green one. Siobhán had been hoping that only one of each color had been passed out.
“I thought you said yours was red,” Siobhán said, pointing to the biro.
“It’s mine,” Oran said. “What is with you and the biros? Is there a problem?” Oran eyed the biro. “Is it poison?”
Siobhán arched an eyebrow. “Why would you think that?”
“Sounds like something from an old detective novel, doesn’t it?” Oran said. “The poison pen.”
“Yes, it does.” Did he know a pen was found near Deirdre’s body? How? It had been dark in the bookshop for the most part, and after the body was discovered and the lights came on, she couldn’t imagine anyone breaking through his or her shock to notice a biro on the floor. It had mostly been hidden underneath Deirdre’s left leg. Was Oran the killer, or was he just taking a stab in the dark?