Chapter 15
Gloves and a black marker. A dark horse was right. Had Shane been the one to mark the playing cards? And what about the gloves? It was spring. Why did a visiting poker player need gloves in the spring? They were going to have to get him back in that interrogation room. Liam thought he was done, but Siobhán had more questions. “What kind of gloves?”
“Workman gloves.”
That was odd indeed. “Did he say why he wanted them?”
“I don’t pry into the lives of my customers,” he said. “Unlike some people.”
“And I don’t sell hammers,” she said. “Unlike some people.”
He blinked rapidly. “Fair enough.”
“I’m going to need a photocopy of that page from your ledger. And do you mind showing me the kind of gloves he purchased?”
Liam sighed. “Are you going to tell him I told you? That’s bad for business.”
“This is an official investigation. I can only promise I won’t hire a little plane flying a banner announcing your cooperation.”
Liam frowned, and then gazed out the store window like a wild animal trapped in a cage. “I used to play the trumpet in a traveling band. Did you know dat?”
“Must have been some craic.”
“Compared to this, I’d say it was.”
At a loss as how to respond to that, Siobhán was saved by the ding of her mobile. She glanced at the text. It was from Macdara. Drop what you’re doing and meet me at the inn.
Liam never looked so happy as when he watched her go. She sighed and wondered if she’d ever get used to that side effect of her new job.
* * *
Once again Margaret O’Shea took her time making her way up to Eamon Foley’s room, where Siobhán and Macdara waited. With each step she pounded her cane.
The suspense was killing Siobhán. “Why are we here?” Macdara nodded to Margaret. “She just gave me a bell. Turns out Rose and Eamon Foley asked for separate rooms.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
“Apparently, Rose asked Margaret to let her into Eamon’s room this morning.”
Interesting. “Did she now?”
“Aye. Margaret called me instead.”
“Good woman.” Margaret was a pill, but in this case it worked in their favor.
“Would you be wanting me to open his room or her room?” Margaret shouted down the corridor.
“His room,” Macdara said. “It would be illegal to go into her room without a warrant.”
“It’s me inn, I don’t need the gardai to be telling me what to do. There could be all sorts of shenanigans that require me to go into a room, don’t you know.” Margaret finished her trek and then took her time unlocking the door.
“Did they say why they wanted separate rooms?”
“I asked, alright. Given they were married and she was with child.” Margaret’s eyes shone with mischief.
Given that Margaret is like a vampire and gossip is her lifeblood. “What did they say?”
“They said he was going to be staying out until all hours of the evening with those card games of his and she needed her beauty sleep.” Margaret rolled her eyes. “If you ask me, there’s something in here the widow doesn’t want you to see.”
Siobhán’s ears perked up. “Why do you think that?”
“She was hissing and spitting when I wouldn’t let her in.”
Siobhán sighed. “That’s her normal state.”
Margaret flung the door open and began pounding the pavement back to her office. “You’ll be wanting to return the key to me office when you’re finished.”
Siobhán put her hand on Macdara’s arm. He turned. “What?”
“Remember what Rory told us?”
Macdara frowned. “Which time?”
“He said he let Eamon spend the night because Eamon claimed he didn’t want to disturb Rose.”
“Good memory. Maybe Eamon just said that because he was too langered to go home.”
“Or maybe Rory Mack is lying.”
“Write it down. We’ll circle back to it.”
They stepped inside. The furnishings were always sparse in the inn, a single cross hung above the bed, a small rendering of the Virgin Mary hung above the door, and the Bible and phone rested on the end table. The bed was tidy. “We’ll have to ask when it was cleaned. We know he didn’t sleep here Saturday night, so my guess is whatever time he left the room on Friday was the last time he had been here.”
Siobhán nodded and scanned the room as they both donned gloves and booties. A bag was tossed on a chair, clothes and a carton of cigarettes tumbling out of it. Near the sink a cup was filled with a toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste.
“Bare bones,” Macdara said, going through the clothes in the sack.
Siobhán approached the nightstand. She had been in Margaret’s rooms before. The Bible was always tucked inside the drawer. Was Eamon a man of faith? She slid the drawer to the nightstand open. She registered a flash of black metal. A firearm sat squarely in the drawer. From purely an aesthetic point of view, there was something beautiful about its compact but deadly curves. She wouldn’t touch it, not even with her gloves. “Dara,” she said. “We’ve got a firearm.”
* * *
Rose Foley agreed to answer their questions, but only if they went for a walk. “I cannot sit still,” she said. “Not until my husband’s killer is found.” They took the road hugging the medieval walls surrounding the town. Rose kept a good clip. For a few minutes Siobhán allowed herself to drink in the rolling green fields and feel the soft warm breeze on her cheeks. It was hard to compute such violence when you looked out at the Irish fields. How had man made such a mess of things when the earth was so bountiful? Rose’s harsh voice cut through Siobhán’s moment of gratitude. “I heard the girl has been found. I want my horse. Are you going to get him for me?”
Macdara gently steered her in a new direction. “We have other matters to discuss.”
Siobhán kept her lecture in her head. That was not a sanctioned poker game. Understand? It was illegal. You don’t have a legal right to the horse. It was true that poker games went on all the time and the men usually honored their bets, even if they lost a truck, or livestock, or in extreme cases the family farm. It was also true the guards normally stayed out of it. But this was anything but normal. If the widow was innocent, Siobhán felt for her, but that didn’t mean she was going to take a racehorse away from a sixteen-year-old girl. Not if Siobhán could help it. They stopped as they neared Saint Mary’s Church, ancient graves visible in the distance. The widow leaned against the wall, gazing out at the churchyard. Siobhán gave her a moment of peace and then broke it.
“What had your husband so spooked?”
“When you’re as good as he was, everyone wants a piece of ya.”
“This goes beyond that,” Siobhán said. “And earlier you said he had some trouble in Dublin. We need to know exactly what kind of trouble.” Had someone followed the Octopus here from Dublin? Maybe it had nothing to do with their poker players. It would be easy enough for someone to slip into the festival crowds.
Rose stared off into the distance. When she spoke, her voice was quiet for the first time. “Somebody was asking him to do something he didn’t want to do.”
“Something he didn’t want to do?” Siobhán echoed.
Rose nodded. “That’s all he would say.” She turned her back on the cemetery. “He said one more thing.”
Siobhán leaned in. “Yes?”
“He told me to stay away from Shane Ross.”
Siobhán felt the back of her neck prickle. “Did he say why?”
“He said he’d learned something about him.” Rose pushed off again. “Something dark.”
Something dark . . . “What does that mean, ’something dark’?” Given the way Eamon Foley appeared to live his life, Siobhán was leery of discovering what he considered dark.
Macdara had no such qualms. “What was it?”
“He didn’t say,” Rose said, picking up her pace. “That’s how I knew it was bad.”
“You didn’t press him for details?”
Rose stopped, turned, and leaned against the stone wall. Siobhán was grateful for the rest, and ashamed she was having trouble keeping up with the pregnant widow. Rose tucked strands of her hair behind her ear, battling as the breeze whipped strands around her cheeks. “You didn’t know my husband. He had a hardness to him. You’d be sorry if you pressed too much.”
“Was he violent?” Siobhán asked. “Toward you?”
Rose flinched. “We had our fights. Sometimes he would throw things and I would duck. Sometimes I threw things back.”
Siobhán dropped the last piece of news. “Did you know your husband owned a firearm?”
Rose stared at Siobhán. “What are you talking about?”
“We found a firearm in his hotel room,” Macdara said. Some facts had to be kept hidden during an investigation. Others they were forced to use to get suspects to talk. In this case his message was meant to hit on two fronts. The gun, and the fact that they had separate rooms.
A look of worry crossed Rose’s face. “I hope you’re not trying to make something of our room arrangement. I don’t sleep well at night anymore.” She rubbed her belly. “Eamon knew he’d be drinking, and gambling, and staying out late. That’s the only reason why we had separate rooms. My husband is gone. Do you intend to take away my dignity too? Spread nasty rumors?”
“No.” Siobhán was telling the truth. “We’re only interested in finding out the truth.”
“Then find out what my husband had on Shane Ross.” Her eyes landed on them. “What if Shane found out that Eamon knew his deepest, darkest secret? He could be my husband’s killer.”
“What about the firearm?” Macdara asked.
Rose shook her head. “Someone must have planted it. I’ve never seen my husband with a gun. Never ever.”
“Margaret said you were anxious to get inside his room. Why was that?”
“I wanted to wear one of his shirts. I miss his smell.”
It was plausible, but Rose certainly didn’t seem like the sentimental type. As far as the six stages of grieving were concerned, she seemed deeply entrenched in the anger phase.
Macdara jumped in. “If he was afraid of Shane, isn’t it possible the gun was his and he didn’t tell you?”
Maybe that explains the bulletproof vest and brass knuckles. Protection. Fear. Is Rose telling the truth? Is Eamon Foley terrified of Shane Ross? What kind of secret could Shane be hiding, to scare a man like the Octopus?
Siobhán recalled how he strolled into O’Rourke’s that Friday evening, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He was wearing those mirrored sunglasses. She was obsessing on those. What happened to them?
Rose shrugged. “I don’t see why it matters. He didn’t shoot anyone and no one shot him. Why are you chasing your tails over a gun found in a nightstand?” Her pretty cheeks flushed red. “What?” she barked.
Siobhán stared at her long enough to make her squirm. “How did you know we found the gun in his nightstand?”