seventeen

Two hours after talking to Merrit at Fox Cottage, Danny barricaded himself in his tiny office to stare out the window at the parking lot. The rainclouds had drifted away, leaving a sharp blue sky and a rainbow. He’d lifted his self-imposed ban on visiting Liam, and by association Merrit, and felt nothing but ambivalence as a result.

He tossed his pen toward the pen holder. Ambivalence would have to satisfy him because he had more pressing things to think about. Like Nathan. His comment about perceived and actual danger intrigued Danny. Some fact—or some perceived fact—scared him. The question was whether his fear was related to EJ’s death.

A knock sounded on the door and O’Neil poked his head into the room. “We’re ready for you.”

The door clicked shut. Danny leaned back in his swivel chair and stretched out his legs. Think about it logically. Nathan lodged at Elder Joe’s house for a short while, and they were decent friends as far as that went for loner types. Nathan had spent the afternoon with EJ fishing. Maybe they fought.

Nathan wasn’t a likely candidate for murder, but then, he hadn’t explained his injured hand either. Not to mention his twitchy, spacey behavior when Danny talked to him at his house. And Zoe’s statement about his secretiveness.

He rocked the swivel chair backwards and forwards. What about Zoe? He had trouble reconciling the conventional young woman he’d met with her claims that she was a healer. The notion disturbed Danny, although he understood the temptation to believe in such things.

Another knock. To Danny’s surprise, O’Neil entered and closed the door behind him. “A word before the meeting?”

“Have at it.”

“It’s like this, between us, man to man.”

Danny straightened. “‘Man to man,’ for the love of Christ? This should be good.”

“I don’t know about that, but I’m after your opinion about Merrit. Since taking her statement I’m thinking she might be fun for an outing or two. Get the lay of it, so to speak.”

Christ almighty. Only O’Neil would take Merrit’s statement and come to the conclusion that she’d be good for a night out. Couldn’t keep his prick to himself.

“Seeing as how you have a relationship with her—” O’Neil continued.

Danny held up a hand. “I have nothing to do with her social life.”

“Brilliant. I wanted to satisfy myself, is all.”

Danny heaved himself out of his chair. “What she does, what you do, is your own business, except that she’s connected to the case. In other words, leave off with satisfying yourself for now.”

O’Neil leaned against the door in a relaxed pose with his hands in his pockets. He jiggled loose change. “She’s not all that connected. Found the body, wrong time, wrong place, that was all.”

“Know that for a fact, do you?” Danny said.

“Don’t you?”

“As your superior officer, I’ve told you what I think. Enough said. Whatever you do, don’t talk about the case—and she’ll ask you, believe me.”

Danny had no illusions about Merrit’s promise not to meddle. He followed O’Neil to the office where the DOs worked, trying not to think too hard about O’Neil’s “man to man” reveal. Before Ellen’s coma, Danny had been separated from her long enough that some eejits had assumed he was interested in acting the bachelor, satisfying his needs. He wasn’t immune to the temptation, but with Merrit?

He adjusted his thoughts for the impromptu meeting, thankful that Superintendent Alan Clarkson was on extended Easter holidays into April. With luck, they would solve EJ’s murder before Clarkson’s return. He had a brilliant way of destabilizing their good working order when he decided to oversee a case himself.

“Where are we?” Danny said as he entered the office.

Detective Pinkney picked lint off his jacket as he spoke. “Plenty of people saw EJ at the Plough on Friday night, sunburned and waxing on about the trout he hadn’t caught.”

“Where did he fish? Did anyone see him with Nathan Tate? How did he get home from the pub?”

Pinkney wrote a note on his pad to follow up on these questions.

“Where’s the list of people who were at the pub over the weekend?” Danny said. “Since the Plough was EJ’s local, we can hope someone has an insight or two. His regular crew were useless.”

Pinkney handed over a sheet of paper. Danny scanned past the names of the usual Guinness-drinking regulars, and stopped at one name in particular. He tapped it. “I’ve got this one.”

He handed back the list and Pinkney made another note.

“On with the canvassing then and fun for all,” Danny said to the sound of groans. “Have Cecil Wallace’s kids deigned to appear yet?”

“As soon as they heard their dear da was out of danger,” Pinkney said, “they decided to take their time.”

“I have an update on Elder Joe’s daughter,” O’Neil said. “Róisín. Met up with her again today.”

“I bet you did,” Pinkney said, along with various snickers and catcalls. “Took a little ride up around Galway yourself, eh?”

“Sod off, youse-alls.” O’Neil grinned and cracked his knuckles as if readying himself for a bare-knuckle knockout. “Lucky’s the girl who ever called me her boyfriend.”

“O’Neil?” Danny said.

O’Neil mock-glared around the room. “Where was I? Right. I showed Róisín the paperwork we found that detailed Elder Joe’s wee side business. She recognized a few names but couldn’t tell us anything. She didn’t recall any troubles with the few she’d met. I confirmed her alibi, too. In Dublin partying with her hen friends.”

“How far did EJ go to take over their finances?” Danny said. “Was he the beneficiary for any of them? Any suspicious deaths under his care?”

“Don’t know yet. He was clever. Kept it small and transferred most of his lodgers to hospitals when their health worsened.”

Pinkney tapped his pencil. “Maybe he accidentally on purpose let some of his lodgers die. Could be he was a—what’s the bloody name—an angel of death?”

“Hey ho,” O’Neil said. “Mention that outside this room and next we’ll see it headlined in the Irish Times.”

“I’m interested in whether he’d been made beneficiary,” Danny said. “First priority would be those who died under his care.”

“Speaking of which, I’ve left the best for last,” O’Neil said. “Cecil had mentioned the adjacent lodger who died and hearing an argument after that death. The deceased’s name was Frances Madden.”

Danny raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Get on with your fair self,” Pinkney said.

“Frances Madden is none other than the other Joe’s—Joe Junior’s—beloved auntie.”