Malarkey (14 page)

"You thought of the wargamers and went looking for your
son?"

He nodded. "And a fine time I had of it with the holiday
scattering his mates from Cork to Drogheda. When I finally traced
Tommy to Wexford, I borrowed my cousin Seamus's Fiat, seeing my
van's a bit conspicuous. I winkled Tommy out of a pub near closing
time Monday night and drove him...drove him to a safe place. And
made arrangements."

Jay said, "You've put yourself in an awkward position."

"Aye, accessory's the word." Tierney didn't seem to find the
thought unbearable. "I need your advice, Mr. Dodge. I need to know
how you'd go about it to prove it wasn't Tommy did the
murder."

Jay said, "Supply Chief Inspector Mahon with an
alternative."

"Eh?"

"Find out who killed Slade Wheeler." When Tierney just
blinked at him, Jay went on, "Your son was an associate of the dead
man. He quarreled with Wheeler. He's gone into hiding. Those things
make him the prime suspect. Unless you can prove that Tommy was
elsewhere during the crucial hours, or that he's physically incapable
of committing the crime—"

"How was it done, then? I didn't see a mark on the body,
saving the smear of red paint."

"You'll have to ask the Gardai." Jay took a sip of whiskey. "I
don't think the method has been made public yet."

"But you know."

"Yes. The coroner's inquest is set for Monday, so you'll
know, too, soon enough. Hire a good lawyer," Jay added. "You're not
in the clear yourself, Mr. Tierney."

"Of the killing? True for you." He heaved another sigh.
"Jaysus, what a coil. I can always confess, come to that, but I'd sooner
not. Are yez sure there's no test Tommy could take to prove he's not
guilty?"

"Test? Like a lie-detector test?" Jay shook his head. "They're
unreliable. If Tommy came forward and volunteered to take a lie
detector test, it would be a step in the right direction—"

"But not proof."

"Not iron-clad. You know the war-gamers, Mr. Tierney.
They're more likely to talk to you than to Chief Inspector Mahon. Ask
them what they saw. Tell them if Wheeler was killed as a result of
horse-play, they won't face a capital charge. See if you can trace
Wheeler's movements, who he was seen with, that sort of thing.
Maybe you'll turn something up."

"I won't shop the lads." Tierney's eyes narrowed, suddenly
shrewd.

"You're a hard man to advise, Mr. Tierney. You won't bring
your son in for questioning, you talk about making a false confession,
and you don't want to pressure the other likely suspects. It's a good
bet your son or one of your son's friends killed Wheeler. Everything
points to it. You say Tommy's not guilty. Find out who is. That's my
advice to you."

"'Tis possible one of the lads killed Wheeler, but there's
others might have wanted him dead." He jerked a thumb in the
direction of Stanyon.

Jay gave a slight smile. "At least you're thinking. The staff at
Stanyon or the sister?" He spoke easily, without emphasis, and
Tierney's face muscles eased. Jay slipped his next question in
without a pause. "Who did Wheeler cut out with Grace Flynn?"

"Tommy."

In the moment of charged silence, the Rayburn clanked. Dad
shifted on his chair.

Tierney rubbed his jaw, rueful. "She's—" He shot me a
glance. "She's a friendly lass is our Grace."

"Who else? Artie?"

He snorted. "Him with the ring in his nose? Not likely, but
she's took up with half a dozen boyfriends since she left school."

"Then look to the boyfriends. The lady is pregnant with
Wheeler's child."

"Do you say?" He scratched his jaw again, ruminating. "That
puts a different light on things. Thank you, Mr. Dodge. I'm that
grateful..."

"I think you should turn yourself in." Jay kept his voice
easy.

Tierney stiffened. "Eh? Now?"

"Yes. Call your lawyer first, if you like. The police will arrest
you and question you, but the bail will be lower if you come in of
your own accord."

Tierney scowled. "Did you ring up the polis?"

"No. However, I'll call for you now, if you like, and put in a
good word."

He hesitated.

"Would you prefer to surrender to Mahon or
Kennedy?"

Tierney gave a rueful chuckle. "The devil and the deep sea, is
it? Ah, Jaysus, lead me to it. I'll phone my solicitor. You can ring up
Joe Kennedy for me afterwards. I've never met Mahon."

Better a devil that you know.

To my surprise and intense relief, Tierney was as good as his
word, though he wheedled another drink out of my father. The litre
bottle was almost empty.

Outside the mist had coagulated in a dense fog. Kennedy and
the lawyer arrived simultaneously to escort Tierney to the Killaveen
station. Tierney drove his daffodil yellow van, the lawyer followed,
and Kennedy brought up the rear in his white patrol car. All three of
us stood on the gravel in front of the door and watched as the
procession disappeared, tail lights turning the fog as red as venous
blood.

Jay and Dad had gone downstairs,
hors de combat
,
and I was putting the last of the dishes away when the phone rang. It
was Maeve Butler inviting Jay and me to a concert of folk music, a
ceili
, the next evening. It was clear she had no idea of the
latest development in the Wheeler case. I didn't enlighten her. I did
accept the invitation. Jay hates folk music.

Jambalaya and a crawfish pie...

Hank Williams, "Jambalaya"

"A what?"

"A
ceili
," I repeated, passing the marmalade. "Folk
music."

Jay groaned.

"A hooley."

Both of us stared at my father.

He took another spoonful of virtuous porridge. We were all
eating porridge for breakfast. "In the early sixties there was a fashion
for folk music." His spoon clacked on the bowl. "My students called
their impromptu concerts hooleys. I wonder if that's an Irish
word."

"I thought they were called hootenannies." I cut three more
slices from a loaf of soda bread and took one. I was not crazy about
Irish oatmeal, but I did like the bread. I lavished my slice with butter
and reached for the bitter-orange marmalade. "It was thoughtful of
Maeve to invite us. I said yes."

Jay grimaced. He had lately returned to drinking coffee after
a ten year abstinence, but he liked it strong, so I was fairly sure his
grimace was not a comment on the brew.

"No doubt the inquest will be a truly Irish experience." I
brushed crumbs onto my plate. "But I'd like to witness a more typical
happening. And we should do something social. Saturday night is
Saturday night."

"How kind of Miss Butler." Dad finished a nibble of bread.
"I'll look forward to it."

I was disconcerted. Maeve's invitation had not specifically
excluded my father, but I thought she was expecting Jay and me
sans
papa. "She says it's held in a pub in Killaveen," I offered,
thinking that might discourage him.

Dad beamed. "All the better."

I looked at Jay.

He shrugged. "I know when I'm outnumbered."

Someone knocked.

Jay was nearest. He rose, coffee cup in hand, and opened the
door. "Good morning, sir."

I heard the rumble of a male voice.

"I see," Jay said. "Come in. You're at it early."

I stacked dishes until the kettle hummed. When it shrieked, I
unplugged it and stuck my head through the door arch. "Coffee or
tea, inspector? I have both."

Mahon said, "Tea, Mrs. Dodge, if it's no trouble."

"None at all." I looked at the other men and they nodded.
Tea. Following the leader.

Mahon was taking Jay through the events of the previous
evening and sounded rather stiff. I wondered if the inspector's nose
was out of joint. Sgt. Kennedy's absence was conspicuous.

When I brought three mugs on a tray with sugar and cream,
Mahon gave me a faint, approving smile, but he continued to direct
his stiff questions at Jay. I served the three policemen tea and sat on
the fireplace ledge to listen. After all, Dad and I were witnesses, too.
Dad was playing solitaire with the computer, but I thought he was
also listening.

"Have you questioned Tierney?" Jay asked when Mahon had
finished the second run-through.

"Not yet," Mahon said bleakly. "His solicitor arranged bail
last night, after I'd driven back to Dublin."

"Quick work. Then he's free?"

"Yes." Exasperation tightened Mahon's face muscles.
"Tierney has political connections, you see."

"I gathered that when he told us he'd arranged his son's
disappearance."

"The old network. It's still in place." Mahon took a swallow
of strong sweet tea and set his mug on the tray. "If the boy's guilty
we've seen the last of him."

Jay was standing by the fireplace. I twisted my neck so I
could see his face. He frowned. "Tierney believes his son is innocent,
inspector. That was my impression. He was looking for a magic
bullet."

"I don't follow you."

"He came to me because he imagined I'd know of some new
technology, some 'test' Tommy could take that would exonerate him.
I told Toss that was nonsense, of course, that what he needed was
another plausible suspect. I suggested the other wargamers."

"They've been questioned."

"And?"

"Young Tommy is still the likeliest bet. There's one other lad
with no alibi for the relevant times, but he also seems to have no
motive."

"Whereas Tommy was challenging Wheeler's leadership."
Jay nodded. "There's the girl, too."

"Grace Flynn," Mahon said without joy. He rose and his
subordinates followed suit, the constable with a mournful look at his
half-full mug. "The case against young Tierney seems clear-cut, but I
don't like this business about the key to the cottage. You say Toss
insists he didn't enter the cottage, yet the body was here, inside, for
six or eight hours."

"Have you accounted for all the keys?"

"There's a set at Stanyon on a whacking great board in what
used to be the butler's pantry. The keys are in place, labeled Bedrock
Cottage for the convenience of passing burglars. Apart from
Professor Dailey's keys, which Alex Stein posted to him in Dublin last
week, Tierney's are the only other set."

"Besides the Steins, who has access to the pantry?"

"Easy access?" Mahon shrugged. "Murtagh, the chef, and the
kitchen staff." He turned to me. "Refresh my memory. You're sure the
outside door downstairs was locked?"

"I tested the handle. It was locked."

Mahon sighed. "I'd best tackle Tierney. He has to be
lying."

"Does he?" I thought he was telling the truth most of the
time. Not that I'm an expert.

Mahon's brows snapped together. After a moment, he said,
"It's the daub of red paint on the dead man's forehead, d'ye see, Mrs.
Dodge? If it weren't for the paint I'd take a closer look at the Stanyon
lot and the sister. Wheeler was a heavy investor in Stonehall Limited,
and he liked to throw his weight around. What's more, he was on bad
terms with Miss Wheeler. She admits that. But the paint is plainly
symbolic. The man was killed because of his game-playing."

It seemed silly to point out that anybody can shoot a squirt
gun at an unmoving target, or make a wax copy of an ordinary Yale
key, so I didn't say anything. The Gardai were professionals.
Whatever Mahon's favored theory, I was sure they were following all
leads in the methodical way of police investigators.

Shortly thereafter, Mahon took his leave. He had an
appointment to interview Toss Tierney—with the solicitor present.
When the police had gone I told Jay and Dad to clean up the kitchen,
lest they imagine dishes were women's work. I took a run into
Arklow to buy Sunday supplies.

It was still misting out, and I drove with paranoid care. I had
anticipated that everyone in County Wicklow would be shopping at
the same time, so the congestion at the High Street roundabout
didn't surprise me.

At Quinnsworth I ran into Maeve. I told her my father
wanted to come to the concert and warned her that he tired easily.
She nodded, smiling. Though she was perfectly courteous, she
seemed preoccupied, so I disengaged and went on my way. As I was
drooping over the cabbages in the produce section, however, she
came up to me again.

"Is it true Toss Tierney surrendered to your husband at the
cottage last night?" She kept her voice low because we were
surrounded by shoppers, male, female, all ages, alone and in family
clumps. Every cart in the store was in use, most of them in
produce.

I said, "He wanted to talk to Jay. He surrendered to Joe
afterwards. Didn't Joe tell you?"

Spots of color burnt on her admirable cheekbones. "He did
not. I shall have words with that man."

"I imagine Chief Inspector Mahon is leaning on him. We had
a visit from the Dublin contingent this morning."

"Even so..." Maeve's eyes flashed.

"Do you mind?" An impatient housewife gestured to the
cabbages.

"Sorry," I murmured, moving my cart out of her way.

"I'll come for you at half eight," Maeve hissed.

"We'll be ready to go." I picked one of the leafy green
cabbages at random and tossed it into my huge cart.

Maeve darted off, swifter than I because she was
unencumbered by a cart. She was carrying a small basket with a loaf
of bread in it. I drifted over to the potatoes. They were interesting
colors—purple and tan and red, varieties I hadn't seen at home. I took
a fancy to the purple kind.

A customer among the oranges pointed out to me that I was
supposed to weigh my produce choices at a clever little computer-
scale device. When I pressed the right buttons, it emitted a bar code
on a sticky label. I fiddled with the machine for a while—a technology
that hadn't yet reached the Pacific Northwest. It would save the
clerks time and memory when it worked. Sometimes it didn't. Before
I took my laden cart through the check stand, I found a replacement
bottle of Jameson's for my father. It seemed odd to be buying
whiskey in a supermarket. The state of Washington confines hard
liquor to government stores.