Buried In a Bog Read online

  “I’ll do that.” Maura stood up. “I should go now, so I can get back to the pub later. It’s Friday—will things be busier there?”

  Mrs. Nolan laughed lightly. “Ah, it’s been quite a time since I’ve visited a pub on the Friday. You’ll have to tell me.”

  Maura smiled at her. “I will. And I’ll tell you tomorrow what the police say. See you in the morning.”

  Once outside again, Maura realized that she really could use a map. She had the feeling that there must be a shorter way to Skibbereen than retracing her steps back to Leap, but she was afraid of getting lost in the winding lanes. Back to Leap it was, then, and onto the main highway to Skibbereen and the police. Gardaí. She could only hope they wouldn’t laugh in her face.

  Chapter 12

  Maura drove cautiously into Skibbereen, uncertain of what to expect. This early in the day there was little traffic. The place would be bigger than Leap, no doubt, but certainly smaller than Boston. When she heard the word “town,” she immediately had a mental picture of the towns outside of Boston, at least the few she had seen. As she approached Skibbereen, the transition from open country to town came quickly. Maybe it was smaller than she had thought?

  She navigated the small roundabout Ellen had described, then followed the main road past a school and some sort of official buildings and a church on one side with varied small shops on the other. She came to an intersection of several roads, but there was only one direction she could go, to the left, and she followed obediently in second gear, passing a post office with a brick facade. Once past that she saw the police station, set back from the road. She turned right into the surprisingly large parking lot behind the supermarket, parked well away from any other cars, then locked the car, straightened her jacket, and made her way across the street to the police station.

  She walked inside and was surprised to find the station seemed busy, although she had no way to judge whether the current level of activity was normal or extraordinary. It was smaller than the neighborhood station back home, which she’d been to a couple of times with her gran, usually to report a theft or minor vandalism. She’d never been there as a suspect, though she could name several of her high school classmates who had. She approached the main desk, manned by a young officer in uniform. As she drew near, she decided that he couldn’t be more than twelve. His uniform, while crisp and clean, hung off his slender frame as though he had borrowed it from his father. What was the legal age for police service around here?

  “Uh, excuse me?” Good grief, the kid still had acne.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked politely.

  Maura had to resist the urge to look behind her to find anyone who looked like a “ma’am.” “Can you tell me who is handling the investigation of the body that was found near Leap a couple of days ago?”

  The officer sat up more stiffly in his seat. “And why would you be asking, ma’am?”

  “I have some information that might help,” Maura answered. “Can I talk to someone on the case?”

  She seemed to have stumped the young man. He looked around the room before settling on another officer sitting at a desk at the far side of the room. “Riordan!” he called out. “Can you help this lady, please?”

  Officer Riordan rose and came over to the desk. He might have been five years older than the boy on the desk, so Maura hoped that she was moving up the ranks. “What can I help you with, miss?”

  “I’m Maura Donovan. It’s about that body in the bog in Leap—I have an idea who it might be. Well, sort of an idea. Can I give you the information?”

  Riordan looked around the room; everyone seemed busy, either on the phone or on a computer. “I’m sorry, Miss Donovan, but it’s Detective Inspector Hurley you’d need to speak with, and he’s been called away.”

  “I just wanted to pass on some information,” Maura protested. How difficult could that be?

  “Sure, and that’s kind of you, but it’s not a good time. Could you leave a note, or come back another day?”

  So much for her effort to do the right thing. Maura debated for a moment and decided that her evidence would look foolish if she put it on paper—she’d rather try to explain it face-to-face. She could come back later, when there was someone around who might be interested in what she had to say.

  “I’ll come back, I guess. I’ll be staying in the area for a few more days.”

  As she turned to leave, the atmosphere in the big room changed: everybody suddenly sat up straighter and looked even busier, if that was possible. A man had just come in the front door. Somewhere north of fifty, Maura guessed, and clearly the senior bull in this herd. He was wearing civilian clothes, but he had an undeniable aura of authority. He spoke to two other men in street clothes, and he said something to them that sent them off in different directions. This must be the chief—of something, anyway; or maybe the detective that Officer Riordan had mentioned?

  The man surveyed the room briefly, and his eyes came to rest on Maura, who suddenly felt out of place. I’m glad I haven’t done anything wrong! was the irreverent thought that popped into her mind. I wouldn’t want this man angry at me.

  He nodded politely at her. “Miss.” Then he turned to his officer. “What luck with the phone inquiries, Riordan?”

  The young man stiffened and said briskly, “Nothing yet, sir.”

  “Well, keep at it. Anything else come in?”

  “No, sir.”

  The man gave Maura another brief look, then turned and strode toward a corner office.

  Another young officer had followed the detective in, but he stopped to talk to Maura. “Did you have a problem, miss?”

  “I’m Maura Donovan. I might have some information about that body that was found in the bog on Wednesday.” She looked more closely at the young man. “Didn’t I see you there? Officer Murphy, is it?”

  “Oh, right—you were driving Bridget Nolan’s car.” He extended a hand, and Maura shook it. “And you think you might know something about that poor man?”

  “Uh, maybe. But if you all are busy, I can come back some other time. That guy’s been dead for a while, so I’m sure this will keep.”

  Officer Murphy scanned the room, then looked back at her. “I can spare a few minutes, since you’ve made the trip to town and all. You’re staying around here?”

  “Yes, in Leap. I’m, uh, kind of working for a bit, at Sullivan’s.” Suddenly she wondered if she was breaking any laws—at least she hadn’t been paid anything yet. “And everybody at the pub has been talking about the body.”

  “No doubt they are. Was it something you heard there you wanted to tell us?”

  “Uh, not exactly. It’s something I found at Sullivan’s, but I don’t know if it’s important,” Maura said dubiously.

  The door to the corner office opened, and the detective gestured toward Officer Murphy, who nodded, and turned quickly back to Maura. “Sorry, turns out I can’t talk to you now. Will you come another day?”

  “I guess.”

  Sean Murphy grinned at her and said quickly, “Grand. I have to go now.” And like that, he turned on his heel and headed for the corner office. Maura wondered what on earth could be going on. Her small piece of information would have to wait.

  She retraced her steps out to the front of the building and stood indecisively at the entrance. What now? She didn’t have to be back at the pub for a few hours. Maybe this would be a good time to explore Skibbereen—on foot. The town didn’t look that large. Her car was safely stowed in a lot, and she could see it from where she stood. She also noticed someone leaning against the fence, not far from the car, and he looked familiar. It took her a moment to place him—one of the young men who’d nursed a pint at the pub yesterday. She gave him a tentative smile, but she wasn’t sure he’d seen it, as he had turned away and was walking briskly toward the opposite end of the car park. Not exactly a friendly guy.

  Anyway, now she could walk around a bit and see whatever there was to see. Fi
rst, though, she had to find a road map. Would there be a tourist office somewhere nearby? Surely she wasn’t the only clueless tourist to find herself in Skibbereen. She walked back toward the intersection she had navigated, which was labeled “The Square,” though it was anything but square, with a small traffic island in the middle and roads sprouting off in all directions. Standing in front of the post office, she surveyed the scene: a rather ornate town hall occupied one corner to her right, and she saw a bright blue sign just beyond it: OIFIG FÁILTE/TOURIST OFFICE. Perfect! She crossed the street cautiously, looking both ways more than once, and headed for the office.

  The building was painted a cheerful blue, and the windows were plastered with brightly colored posters advertising upcoming events. Inside she found carousels of brochures and pamphlets, and a girl about her own age beaming at her from behind a wide counter. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  Maura came up to the counter. “Uh, I need a map.”

  “Would you be driving or walking?”

  “Driving mostly, I guess. Unless the walking map shows what’s in town here?”

  “I’ll give you the both of them, shall I? Are you looking for something in particular?”

  “Nope, just trying to figure out where I am.”

  “American, are you? Where do you come from?” the cheerful young woman asked as she shuffled through a stack of brochures.

  “Boston, in Massachusetts,” Maura said.

  “Ah, grand. Well, fáilte romhat. That means ‘welcome.’ I’m sure you’ve seen signs that say cead mille fáilte—that means a ‘hundred thousand welcomes.’”

  Only in every cheesy Irish pub she’d ever worked at in Boston. “Yes, I have. Maps?”

  “Here you go.” The woman spread out one brochure. “This is for County Cork, as far as Cork City, and over to the Beara Peninsula. This other one”—she fanned out the second map—“this one gives you some more detail about our local roads.” She pulled out yet another one. “And this one’s for the town here, if you’re walking. You came in from the highway?” When Maura nodded, she continued, “Here’s the square, where we’re standing, and that’s the main street there.” She traced it with her finger. “The river makes a loop on the one side. The heritage center is down at the other end, if you’re looking for your family’s history. And between there are shops and some lovely restaurants.”

  Maura was overwhelmed. “What I really need right now is a place to buy some basic clothes—jeans, maybe a sweater.”

  “Then I’d go down the main street—there are some small shops that would do. It’s not tourist stuff you’re after?”

  “No, just ordinary clothes.”

  “Well, then, I’m sure you’ll find what you need. Can I help you with anything else? Are you fixed for a place to stay? Petrol? There’s a couple of stations out on the highway, back the way you came. Would you be looking for some live music? There’s some pubs that have it, although not so much this time of year.”

  “Sorry, I’m busy nights.” Maura hesitated before adding, “I’m working at Sullivan’s, in Leap.”

  “Oh, are you now? Is it still in business? I suppose it must be, if you’re working there.”

  “True.” Although Maura wasn’t going to place any bets on how much longer that would be true, given its current state of confusion. “Thanks for the information.”

  As she turned to leave, the woman said, “Come back if you need anything else. It was grand to meet you!”

  Out on the pavement, Maura breathed a sigh of relief. How did the girl do it, stay so relentlessly cheerful, cooped up in a tiny office, apparently alone, day after day? But at least Maura had her maps, and now she needed a place to sit down and study them so she could figure out where she was and where she was going. It was lunchtime, and she was beginning to get hungry, despite the tea at Mrs. Nolan’s, so maybe she should find some place to eat and then look for something to supplement the meager wardrobe she had brought with her.

  Traffic had picked up a bit now, so Maura carefully crossed the road and strolled down the main street, which curved gently to the right. Most buildings were two or three stories tall, and painted in a range of bright colors, with no two quite alike. She passed a bank with an ATM—good to know, even though there was not much money in her account. Further along there was a bridge, and through the gap in the buildings there she could see a fair-sized river, with open ground—marshes?—nestled in its broad loop. At that point the street name changed to Bridge Street, and she continued to follow it, ignoring the rumblings of her stomach, until she came to the heritage center the woman at the tourist office had mentioned. Certainly at this end of town the buildings were drabber, and more clearly residential. She crossed and retraced her steps on the opposite side of the street, noting a bookstore and many more small shops. Finally she stopped at a pub that had tables in the window and a menu posted. It looked affordable, so she pulled open the door and hesitated in the doorway a moment, until the lone waiter noticed her and waved at the array of empty tables. She picked one nearest the window on the street, so she could watch people go by. Once again she had to wonder, how did places like this stay in business? Could they all survive on the proceeds of the tourist season alone?

  “You’ll be wanting lunch?” the waiter said, handing her a short menu.

  “Sure. What’s good?”

  He clearly was not very interested. “The stew’s the special today.”

  Maura scanned the menu quickly. “I’ll have the stew, then, and a coffee.” She hoped the Irish stew didn’t come from a can, since this would be her first meal in a restaurant since she’d arrived in Ireland.

  The waiter quickly returned and deposited coffee in a thick mug, along with a plate of sliced brown bread and wrapped butter packets. At least the bread looked fresh and locally made, and Maura finished one piece before the bowl of stew appeared. When she tasted it, she was happily surprised: wherever it came from, it was delicious, and the cook hadn’t skimped on the chunks of lamb. She finished it quickly, as well as a second slice of bread, and accepted a refill of her coffee before pushing the now-bare plate away and spreading out her maps on the tabletop.

  She started with the larger regional map, tracing the road from Leap to Skibbereen. She was surprised at how far inland she was. Leap was also well inland, but opened on the broad harbor she had seen from the Keohanes’ house. She tried sounding out in her mind some of the names of what must be townlands marked on the map, and gave up quickly—they all had so many letters, and none of them sounded like anything she’d heard anyone say. Not that she really needed to give voice to them. She knew the way to Knockskagh and back, and people could tell her how to get from one place to another.

  She turned to the tourist map for Skibbereen, whose pamphlet included a few facts about the town. The population was only slightly over two thousand, but the labels on the map showed a surprising number of public amenities—a sports center, something labeled “Winter Wonderland,” a couple of “Industrial Estates,” which she interpreted to mean factory sites. Whatever the town’s size, it seemed to be thriving, at least on paper.

  She sat back, feeling unexpectedly content. Her stomach was full, and she had some spare time to…be a tourist. Something she’d never really had a chance to do. She didn’t even know downtown Boston well, beyond the occasional school field trip and a couple of jobs in the swankier areas. Here she had the chance to get to know an unfamiliar place, and it was small enough that she could actually accomplish that. It was a nice feeling.

  The waiter ambled by and deposited her check on the table. Maura fished in her bag, pulled out some bills, and looked up at him. “Hey, can you tell me where I can buy some clothes?”

  “There’s a couple of shops down the street that might do, if you’re not looking for high fashion,” he said, pocketing the bills. “If it’s fancy tourist stuff you’re wanting…”

  Maura held up a hand. “Just stuff I can wear around here.”


  “Then try Donovan’s. Ta.” He wandered off again, leaving Maura to gather up her bag and maps and venture forth in search of blue jeans.

  Chapter 13

  After a modestly successful shopping foray that left her bank account less depleted than she had feared, Maura arrived at Sullivan’s to find both Rose and Jimmy at work. Rose looked up when Maura walked in. “Ah, there you are. I came in to finish up what we started yesterday—easier to do when it’s bright.”

  “You’re right. I see your father’s here.”

  “He’s brought in supplies, and I think he’s swapping the barrels below.”

  “There’s a basement here? I haven’t seen it.”

  Rose shivered. “Dark and damp it is, so close to the water and all. But it keeps the beer cool, for free.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” Maura hesitated a moment. “I reread that letter last night.”

  “Oh?” Rose answered, but with little interest.

  “When I read it again I realized that Denis Flaherty had mentioned an uncle who disappeared in the 1930s, and I found myself wondering if the dead man in the bog could be connected.”

  At least she’d captured Rose’s attention. “How strange would that be? Him gone so long, and he pops up just as this letter appears?”

  “I agree,” Maura said. “It would be a heck of a coincidence. But I decided that the police should know what was in it, just in case it turned out to be true.”

  “Did you now? Did you take it to the gardaí?”

  “Well, I tried, after I talked to Mrs. Nolan.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “They were very busy and told me to come back another day. I got the feeling there was something going on, but of course they didn’t tell me what it was. I saw the head guy walk in, and everybody jumped.”

  “Will you be going back?”

  “I guess, if I can find the time. Anything else going on here?”