Malarkey (20 page)

Slade Wheeler had been killed outdoors, very probably in
Stanyon Woods, and conveyed to the cottage on a cart of some kind.
The cart had not been found, but garden loam and wood fibers
caught in the fabric of his fatigues suggested a gardener's large
wheel barrow. The Stanyon gardeners had left their equipment by
the cottage over Easter weekend. The crime laboratory was studying
the possibility that one of their barrows had been used.

Post mortem
bruising suggested manhandling
consistent with Wheeler being carried downstairs and, later, to the
shed. The medical examiner could not say how many people had
been involved in transporting the corpse. Wheeler had been a large
man.

The coroner was not happy with the examiner's vagueness
as to the time of death, and there was a fairly sharp interchange
between them, but the doctor held firm. He would not narrow the
time frame. When the coroner dismissed him, he rose and made his
way past me to the back of the hall. He was composed but a bit
flushed.

"Call Thomas Tierney!"

I jumped. Beside me, Jay sat up straight. The hall buzzed.
Everybody craned as Toss made his way from the back of the room
to be sworn in.

Swearing in. Oh, God. I stole a sideways look at my father,
who sat on Jay's left. Quakers do not swear. They affirm. Should I
refuse to take an oath?

I listened through a haze of pointless anxiety as Toss swore
to tell the truth. I was not, after all, a Quaker. I had no reason to avoid
taking an oath, and no desire to create an unnecessary sidebar for
the press either. My mind had engaged in irrelevance in order to
avoid focusing on the here and now.

Why had they called Toss?

"Mr. Tierney, I believe you were the first to discover the
body of the deceased Slade Wheeler," the coroner said, as if on cue.
"Will you tell us why you came to the house known as Bedrock
Cottage?"

Toss was red in the face. He mumbled and had to be
prompted to speak louder. Don't mumble, I reminded myself. He was
explaining about the unfinished shed and our imminent arrival.

When he described the body, it sounded as if it were exactly
as I had found it. The red paint on Wheeler's forehead caused a burst
of whispering. The coroner scowled at the crowd and resumed his
questioning.

"He was stiff, your worship," Toss was saying. "Still and cold
as a dead flounder. And he looked as if somebody laid him out. His
eyes was closed, and the paint had run down over the eyelids. I
thought 'twas fresh blood. 'Twas tacky, like blood. It give me a turn,
your worship."

"I am not a judge," said the coroner. "It's not necessary to
address me in that manner."

"Aye, sorry, your...sir."

"Did you report the presence of Mr. Wheeler's corpse to the
Gardai, Mr. Tierney?"

"No, sir." Toss's eyes shifted, but he spoke in a voice loud
enough to be heard over the murmurs of the audience.

"Did you notify your employers at Stanyon Hall?"

"No, sir. 'Tis this way, your worship, there's me son,
Tommy..." And he went on to outline his reasons for fearing Tommy
would be suspected of the killing.

The coroner, who was in his sixties and looked as if he
suffered from low blood sugar, listened to Toss's chronicle
impassively, though the audience was leaning forward with avid
interest. He rebuked Toss—Toss looked as repentant as a sanctified
and pious bawd—and let him go. Then he called me.

I gulped and stood up. Somehow I made it to the witness
chair, which looked as if it had been borrowed from a very old office.
I placed my hand on the Bible and mumbled the oath. Then I sat. The
chair creaked.

The coroner seemed inordinately interested in how I came
to be at the cottage. He took me, stage by stage, from the airport in
Portland to Dublin Airport, to the car hire desk, and down the
Eastlink. I tried to keep my answers brief and clear. No, I had not
hired the cottage, my father had. I identified Dad by name, and the
coroner made a note.

"And how did you come to enter the potting shed, Mrs.
Dodge?"

Why had I looked into the shed? My mind went blank. My
throat was dry. I cleared it. "I...er, it was ordinary curiosity. The door
was ajar. When I tried to push it open, it, er, struck the body. I peered
around to see what was blocking the entrance and I found, er, the
deceased."

"Did you disturb the body in any way, Mrs. Dodge?"

"I, er, I touched the neck to see if there was a pulse—"

"Did you, indeed. Why?"

"I thought perhaps he had fainted or suffered a heart attack.
I thought I might have to give CPR."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Er, cardio-pulmonary resuscitation."

He stared at me, and a rumble in the hall underlined his
apparent surprise. "Are you medically trained, then?"

"I've taken CPR courses three times over the years." I was
not going to explain that when I coached women's basketball at
Monte Junior College the school required all the coaches to have CPR
training.

"And have you used this emergency procedure?"

"Yes, but I didn't use it on Slade Wheeler," I said bluntly. "He
was quite dead, as Mr. Tierney said. Cold and still stiff, as far as I
could tell. I didn't try to move him, but I did touch his forehead." I
raised my right hand and touched the center of my brow. "The mark
looked too red and shiny to be blood, and it was dry when I touched
it."

The coroner's eyebrows shot up. Murmurs from the
audience. The seats nearest the exit had been reserved for the press,
and I could see reporters scribbling away. The camcorder had not
been allowed into the auditorium.

"Dry," the coroner repeated. "Thank you. That is a useful
observation, taken with Mr. Tierney's testimony. You were
remarkably cool and collected, Mrs. Dodge."

I said, "I was horrified. Still, I had to be sure he couldn't be
revived. And the paint puzzled me. It looked...theatrical."

Several gasps from the crowd.

"Ah." The coroner was regarding me thoughtfully. "You're a
woman, Mrs. Dodge. Did you feel no inclination to scream or
faint?"

I saw the drift of his questions but remembered in time that
I was in a different culture. The coroner didn't intend to be insulting.
I said carefully, "I was upset, of course, but my father was resting
within earshot. He suffered a stroke last summer." I glanced at Dad,
and he gave me a small smile. "He has made an excellent recovery.
Still, I didn't want to startle him. And I, er, don't make a habit of
screaming. When I was sure Mr. Wheeler was dead, I reentered the
house, went upstairs, and called the Killaveen Garda station at
once."

"You didn't dial 999?"

I drew a breath. "The number of the Garda station was on a
list beside the telephone because of the cottage's security alarm
system. People are always setting off their own alarms by accident. If
they call the station immediately they can save the police an
unnecessary trip."

"You seem very knowledgeable."

"The alarm system was explained in the detailed printout
my father received from Mr. and Mrs. Stein when he hired the
cottage from them. He had just read me the printout, so I knew about
the Killaveen station. Sergeant Kennedy responded, and I told him
what I had found in the shed. I then called Mrs. Stein who very kindly
came to the cottage at once. Sergeant Kennedy arrived shortly
afterwards, and I showed him the body."

"That's very clear. Did you know the deceased, Slade
Wheeler?" He shot the question at me out of a clear blue sky.

"No." I clamped my mouth shut. I was explaining too
much.

The coroner stared at me over the top of his glasses then
nodded. "Very well. You are to be commended for your coolness in
an emergency, Mrs. Dodge." He made a point of thanking me for
public-spirited behavior, glared at Toss to drive the point home, and
let me go.

Relief left me a little dizzy, but I found my way back to my
seat. Jay took my hand and gave it a squeeze. The coroner was calling
Chief Detective Inspector Mahon.

Like Joe, Mahon spoke officialese. He explained briefly that
Kayla Wheeler's murder had complicated the questions raised by her
brother's death, that Kayla's death removed any thought that the
first death might have been an accident followed by a cover-up
attempt. He announced that the Gardai were pursuing the
investigation as a case of murder against person or persons
unknown.

"Then you request that I adjourn this inquest?"

"I do, sir." Mahon's eyes were shadowed with sleeplessness,
and he looked edgy, but his voice was calm.

The coroner scrutinized the jury. The mostly male faces
seemed mildly disappointed. He dismissed them, adjourned the
session, and stood to go, clutching the printout. Mahon stood and
stretched, wriggling his shoulders. The crowd rose, milling. Maeve
reached over to me and patted my hand. "Bravo!"

"Thanks," I muttered. "I suppose there's no way out the
back."

She leaned across Dad and Jay. "I've parked my van on the
far side of the old church. Wait a few minutes until the door over
there is clear, and I'll drive the three of you home."

She was as good as her word. She whisked us out past the
ruined church to the van. Toss Tierney's daffodil yellow vehicle was
parked beside hers. As we approached, a faded woman in a good
wool coat got out and greeted Maeve.

Maeve said, "Is he home yet, Teresa?"

"Tonight, God willing." She turned to us. "You'll be the
Dodges, then, and Professor Dailey. I'm Teresa Tierney, Toss's wife. I
must thank you for talking sense into Toss." She blinked and gave a
watery smile. "And now my Tommy's coming home, too."

We shook hands, and Dad murmured something
sympathetic.

"Ah, you're that kind," she said in her soft, lilting voice, "and
your poor daughter, having to speak out like that in front of all them
reporters." She turned to Jay. "Mr. Dodge, thank you. 'Twas grand
advice. Toss swears by you. And Mrs. Dodge." She shook my hand
and gave me a look that was warm with compassion. "Ah, the
creature."

We escaped with Teresa Tierney's blessings raining down
on us. Maeve jolted the van through the departing crowd rather like
a tank driver edging through a friendly infantry column. I spotted
Alex and Barbara in a clot of reporters.

Maeve zipped down Suicide Lane and took the Stanyon turn-
off.

"Hell, I forgot my computer," Jay muttered. "It's in the
Toyota."

"Never mind. Walk up to the church in an hour, and it'll be
there waiting for you. That lot won't hang about long." She steered
through the rhododendron arch, and the cottage came into view.
"Bloody hell."

A patrol car sat on the gravel by the front door. As we
neared, we could hear the alarm sounding.

What's the news, what's the news, O me bold
chevalier

Irish song

Maeve rolled down her window. The uniformed Garda, a
fresh-faced kid who looked sixteen and was probably twenty-five,
walked over to the van. She raised her voice over the raucous alarm
bell. "Hullo, Declan. What's the trouble?"

He bent down, the better to be heard, and gave her a two-
fingered salute. "I don't know yet, Miss Butler. I just got here. The
front door was ajar. When the alarm lit up at the station, I hopped in
the car and called for the lads at Stanyon. They'll be here in a pig's
wink."

Jay got out, and I followed. Dad stayed in the van. The bell
continued to clang. Jay introduced himself to the constable, whose
surname was Byrne, and they shook hands.

The Garda touched his visor when Jay said my name. He
turned back to Jay. "D'ye see, sir, the burglar may still be
inside."

"And you want back-up? I don't blame you." Jay approached
the front door from the side, walking with care along the grassy edge
of the gravel. He didn't step up onto the small stone porch or touch
the door handle, but he did peer through the window. "No sign of
movement. Have you gone down to the back door?"

"No, then. Was it locked?"

"We locked both outside doors, checked the windows, and
set the alarm before we left for the inquest."

The constable nodded. "Right, sir. I'll just go in— Ah, that'll
be the boys from the Hall."

A marked car approached rather too rapidly, slewing on the
gravel, and pulled off onto the turf on the far side of the van. The
light was revolving. It stopped, the door opened, and Joe Kennedy
emerged. He was still in uniform.

Byrne stiffened to attention. I thought he looked
dismayed.

Joe gave Jay and me a nod and took Constable Byrne aside
for a low-voiced consultation.

The alarm bell was driving me nuts. I tugged Jay's arm.
"Have you got the code?"

He drew the slip of paper from the breast pocket of his
jacket. "Yes, but I can't..."

Joe came over to us. "It's a fine day for the guards. The lad
took off in such a flurry he forgot to bring the keys and the
code."

Jay's mouth eased in a smile. He flapped the paper. "Lark
wrote it down for me."

"What it is to have foresight." Joe didn't return the smile. I
suppose he was embarrassed for his subordinate whose ears were
bright red.

Jay said, "I think there's a shoe print on the porch."

"Let's hope it's not Declan's. He churned the gravel in front
of the door with his great heavy boots. At least he didn't dash in over
the evidence and thrust himself into the villain's arms."

I forebore to mention that Byrne had been ready to dash
into the cottage when we arrived. It seemed unkind. "The
alarm."

"In a minute, missus. I think our bird has flown, but I'd feel
easier if you got into the van."

I opened my mouth to protest, closed it, and crawled back
inside the van. To my surprise, Jay followed me.

Joe was giving Maeve directions. I could tell from the set of
her jaw that she was not happy. She revved the engine, and Joe
stepped away.