fifty-nine

Danny paused outside a storefront labeled Gentlemen’s Grooming, Peter Enright, bearbóir. After O’Neil’s call that morning about Cedric Gibson, Danny had sped from Nathan’s bedside to the station, and from the station to this barbershop.

O’Neil pointed through the window into the shop. “That’s Gibson.”

A brown-haired man sat on one of the barber’s chairs. He wore an ill-fitting sport jacket with jeans and slouched in relaxed fashion with a half smile aimed at his reflection. The beginnings of a double chin bunched up beneath his jaw.

Peter Enright, the barber, glanced at them when they entered. “How are you keeping?”

“Hanging in there, anyhow,” O’Neil said.

Cedric Gibson smiled at them through the mirror. Danny hung back, letting O’Neil approach first. “’Allo, Sid, was it?” O’Neil said. “We met over in Doolin.”

“Nice to see you again. Simon, yes?”

Merrit’s assessment of Sid was spot-on: dull as bricks. Danny wouldn’t clock him, if he did at all, as anything but an unassuming bloke who worked an office job, the first generation off the farm, and who enjoyed the little pleasures such as a professional trim and a yearly trip to Dublin.

Sid’s smile remained when Danny asked the barber to switch the shop sign to “Closed” and take a break. They didn’t have to worry about gossip out of him: he kept his and his clients’ confidences to himself.

“I’ll be next door at the pub,” Peter said. “Fetch me when you’re done, sonny.”

“Ay, will do.” Sid pulled out his wallet and paid Peter. The bell chimed above the door as Peter pulled it shut. Sid glanced at himself in the mirror. “He does a fair job, doesn’t he?”

“Your name is Cedric Gibson, is it not?” Danny said.

Sid swiveled his chair to face them. “It is. I go by Sid. How may I help you, officers?”

“Your name has come up in relation to the suspicious death of Annie Belden.”

What looked to be genuine sorrow wilted his smile. “I saw the news in the papers. I’m not surprised you were looking for me, but I am surprised you found me so fast. How did you manage that?”

“You come here every day for a shave,” O’Neil said. “Plenty of people have seen you about.”

“There’s nothing like a professional shave.” Sid swiveled back and forth a few times. “How did good Annie die?”

O’Neil raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. Gibson may or may not be guilty, but the guilty often forgot to ask this question. Danny considered whether to answer. Cause of death hadn’t made the news yet, but it would soon enough. “Insulin overdose.”

“Ah, right. She was diabetic. I knew that.”

Danny pulled up one of the stools and perched on it. O’Neil remained standing with his notebook in hand. “What brought you to Clare?”

“Annie.” His half smile turned apologetic. “You don’t need to tell me the timing looks too coincidental. I know.”

He knew many things, did Sid Gibson.

“Why visit Annie after all this time?” Danny said. “You had an unorthodox relationship with her that ended her career. So why contact her?”

“To apologize,” Sid said. “To close the circle on the past. Annie was a brilliant practitioner of the psychiatric arts, and I like to think that I’m out here functioning in the world thanks to her. I didn’t behave well under her care, and I wanted to perform my own version of making amends.”

“What were your plans for this reunion?” Danny said.

He shrugged. “I hadn’t thought it through. A pint and a laugh?”

“I imagine more along the lines of another cozy writing retreat.”

“Bloody hell, that?” Sid rubbed the back of his neck with a wry chuckle. “You get used to being on the inside, you know. I didn’t know how to handle my freedom.”

The man had all the answers. “Where were you on the night of Thursday, the twenty-fifth of March?”

“My alibi, you mean? I suppose I was in a pub.” He pulled a pocket-sized date book out of his jacket pocket and flipped the pages. “Nothing written for that day, but the next night I listened to music in Doolin.” He nodded to O’Neil. “You saw me there with that bird, Zoe Tate. I’d met Zoe the night before, which makes her my alibi on Thursday. She can tell you which pub.”

“How long were you here for by then?”

“A few weeks.”

“Why take your time to make amends to Annie? Why not be done with it and on your way?”

“Good question.” Sid puzzled over the answer for a moment. “I suppose I needed to gear myself up for it.”

“How did you find out she’d moved to Clare?” Danny asked.

“That was easy enough. I got it from her mum. Clare is the last place I’d expected Annie to land.” He nodded more to himself than to Danny. “People are too fascinating for words.”

“Her mother gave you Annie’s address as simple as that?”

Sid shrugged yet again. The gesture annoyed Danny, which may have been Sid’s goal. “She’s in a memory-loss home. Annie has a brother, did you know? I used his name to gain access. Annie’s mum went right along with it, happy as could be. I could have been the Easter bunny for all she cared. Now you’ll ask me how I knew about Annie’s mum. The answer is that after I was discharged to a high-support hostel, Annie used to visit to help me run errands, look for a job, and so on—she was very helpful. One day we visited her mother together. She’s a nice old bird.”

“Odd behavior for a professional.”

“True, but I considered us friends by then.”

“Meanwhile, she fell in love with you and sabotaged her own career to support your move to freedom.”

Sid didn’t respond.

“Where did you find Annie’s address?”

“In the night table. Her mum had an ancient address book. At some point, Annie had updated her own address and phone number, not that the information does the old girl any good these days. Be lucky if she can read a toothpaste label.”

“Do you know Joseph Macy?”

For the first time, Gibson’s easy-going composure shifted. His head recoiled, turtle-like, further enhancing his doughy chin. His voice turned haughty. “Like I said, I read the newspapers. Are you looking to solve all your crimes in one go?”

“Do you know him?”

“No.” He kicked out his foot, almost landing a blow to Danny’s shin. “This is a bore now that you’re shooting questions in any direction. Do you have anything meaningful to ask me?”

“We have it from someone close to Annie that you frightened her. You must have known this.”

“I’d never hurt her. Not a hair on her head.”

“You have killed before. What’s to stop you from killing again?”

“I didn’t kill the diplomat’s daughter.” His smile returned. “And I think you know that. It was a tragic accident, but I also don’t want you to think I’m hiding anything. You might as well know that I drove past Annie’s place a few times. A neighbor might have seen me, and I know that, and now you know that I know that. See, I don’t want anyone to assume I’m off my rocker. I’m not. This isn’t a repeat performance. The first time I drove past, I wanted to see where she lived. After that, she wasn’t home when I dropped in, so I couldn’t make amends.”

Jesus, the man was making it up as he went. Danny decided to play along. “Did you see anything unusual as you were passing by?”

“It wasn’t as if I were stalking her.” For the first time, he bared his teeth in a wide smile. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Did you happen to pass by her house the night she died, too?” Danny said.

“I wish I had passed by at the right time. Maybe I could have prevented her death.” Sid stood along with Danny and O’Neil. After adjusting a black mourning armband, he buttoned his jacket over his paunch. He stood aside to let Danny and O’Neil exit the barbershop ahead of him. In silence, he followed them out, shut the door, and ambled into the pub next door, just another bland man going about his bland business.