The Lost Traveller Page 3

  “You’ll be fine,” Maura assured her, although she wasn’t sure she believed what she was saying.

  Linda drained her glass as Marvin came over. “I think I’ve got it nailed,” Marv said firmly. “There’s only a couple of turns, and Mick here tells me there’s a sign for the important one. Ready to go?”

  “I am, dear. Jannie? We’re leaving now,” she told her daughter.

  Jannie stood up silently, slipped her phone in her pocket, and waited by the door for her parents. Then they headed out the front door, only a few moments before Sean Murphy came in.

  Maura was relieved there were no patrons so they could talk freely. “What’s happening, Sean?”

  He glanced around but saw only Mick and Billy. Maura could hear Rose clattering around in the kitchen in back. “Well, we’ve made a start. The coroner’s on his way. The photographer’s been and gone. A couple of men are digging through the muck—we try to keep things clean, but a lot blows in or falls into the ravine there. Always has. Could I get a coffee?”

  “Sure. So you’ve gotten a look at—was it a guy?”

  “It was. Somewhere about twenty-five years of age, give or take a few.”

  “Who was he?”

  “Ah, now there’s the problem in a nutshell. No ID on him. No scars, no tattoos—although this was just the first look at him. Mebbe when the coroner’s done we’ll know more. But to go on, his teeth weren’t in the best of shape, but he’d had no work done on ’em.”

  “You have a picture?” Maura slid his coffee across the bar.

  Sean slumped. “And there’s the next problem: when the man fell, he landed on his face, on the rocks below. Or the bridge footings. Or for all we know, someone worked hard to bash his face in before dropping him in. His own mother wouldn’t know him in his current state.”

  “Ew.” Maura grimaced. “So it was the fall that killed him?”

  “Uh, no. A couple of bloody great gashes in his chest did the job.”

  Maura felt a chill. “So it was murder?”

  Sean nodded. “Unless he stabbed himself and then flung himself over the six-foot fence, I’d say so.”

  The room fell silent for a long moment. Finally Mick spoke. “Was he a tourist, do yeh think?”

  Sean shook his head. “I can’t really say. Tourists don’t dress up these days, and he was my age. What he was wearin’ is what I’d be wearin’ on me day off. Denims. A plain jacket. Trainers, not new. His hair was neither long nor short. He was clean, so most likely not a transient. And before yeh ask, no one’s called the station lookin’ fer him. But it’s a main road there—he could have come from anywhere.”

  “What do you do now?” Maura asked.

  “Collect evidence, if there’s any to be had. Check the Missing reports. Problem is, we can’t post his picture without scarin’ all the children in the country, and half the adults, so we can’t set up a countrywide alert for him. We might find some tags on his clothin’ that would tell us something, but there’s so much trade across borders these days that the tags could be all but worthless.”

  “What does Detective Hurley say?” Maura asked. She’d met with the man on several occasions and knew he was both experienced and fair. And persistent and open-minded. She had no doubt that if anyone could solve this puzzle, he could.

  “It’s early days yet. He says we go by standard procedure fer now. Check to see if there’s an unclaimed car nearby. Ask around to see if anyone recalls seeing a young stranger. That’s why I’m here now—fer the purpose of interviewing those people nearest to where he was found.”

  “Not at Ger’s, on the corner? They’d have a good view from there.” She and Rose often bought sandwiches there, so she knew the view well.

  “The timin’s off. Ger’s was closed by the time the man went over the bridge. Might be he was in the place earlier in the day—the coroner will tell us when he ate last. Besides, I’d rather talk to your lot here.”

  “Not a problem,” Maura said. “You’ve already had my story, so why don’t you talk to Mick and the others now? I’ll cover the front. And don’t forget Billy—it may not look like it, but he’s always paying attention when he’s here. Use the back room.”

  “A grand suggestion, Maura.” Sean turned to Mick. “Mr. Nolan, sir, will you accompany me to the back for your interview?”

  Mick swallowed a smile. “Certainly, Garda Murphy. I am at your disposal. Not that I’ve got much to tell yeh.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.” Sean gestured toward the pub’s back room, and Mick led the way.

  Still no customers in sight. Maura hoped that things would pick up later in the day. If word of the murder got out, no doubt it would, because everyone would want the inside story, and they’d come to assume Maura would have it. Which she usually did, though she still wasn’t sure how that had come about.

  She wandered over to where Billy was sitting and dropped into the chair next to him. “So, we’ve done it again.”

  “Well, yeh’re in thick of it, sure enough. You didn’t kill the man, did yeh?”

  “Of course not. Besides, I have an alibi.”

  Billy smiled. “As does Mick, I’m guessin’?”

  Maura could feel herself blushing. “Yes. And that’s all I’ll say for now.”

  “It’s yer business and no one else’s. But you have my blessin’, if it’s needed.”

  Maura was obscurely touched. “Thank you, Billy,” she said softly. “So, the dead man. Do you know, this is kind of out of the ordinary.”

  “How do yeh mean?”

  “Well, so far when someone’s died near here, somebody knew who he was, or knew who to ask. Even that guy that was found in the bog, who’d been dead, what, eighty years? We found a relative of his not far from here. Or the guy at the hotel—you knew where to look for his family.”

  “Maura, I wouldn’t get ahead of yerself. This man in the ravine, yeh’ve only jest found him, and the word’s not gone out yet. Surely someone will know him or will have seen him.”

  “I hope so. Or the coroner will get his fingerprints and find he’s a criminal somewhere. They do use fingerprints in this country, don’t they?”

  “So they tell me,” Billy said. “You’d best ask young Sean—I’m sure he’s had the trainin.’”

  “I’ll do that, when it’s my turn to talk to him. But let me ask you this, Billy.” Maura leaned forward in her chair. “What if nothing ever turns up? No ID. No fingerprints. Nobody who misses him and is looking for him. No witness who happened to walk by him on the street. What happens then?”

  “That’s an interestin’ question yeh’re askin’, Maura, and I’ve no simple answer. You know that if it’s a murder, the gardaí will keep it an open case for as long as it takes. Mebbe somebody will find a piece of evidence in an old trunk in a ruined cottage fifty years from now and they’ll match the blood on it, if there’s any to be found. Or this DNA stuff. But Sean and his lot are doin’ it right, one step at a time.” Billy looked up to see Sean waving at him from the back. “And it looks to be my turn. Help me out of the chair, will yeh?”

  “Of course.” Maura extricated Billy from his sagging armchair and escorted him to the back room. When Sean had shut the door, Maura joined Mick behind the bar. “Anything interesting?” she asked.

  “I couldn’t tell him anythin’ he didn’t already know. But then, we weren’t busy here, so there wasn’t much to tell.”

  “I, uh, told Billy we shared an alibi. You have a problem with that?”

  “Billy’s a wise man,” Mick said, smiling.

  “And I guess I’ll have to tell Sean? Or did you?”

  Mick smiled. “About last night? Yes. But Sean’d be bad at what he does if he hadn’t noticed that we’re more than friends.”

  “I guess. I wish he had someone. He’s a great guy.”

  “Leave him be—he’ll sort things out in his own time. As you did yerself.”

  Billy came out after only a few minutes, and Rose escort
ed him back to his chair before going into the back and taking her turn talking with Sean. She too emerged quickly. Maura was forced to deduce that no one from her staff, man or woman, old or young, had seen anything that would help to identify the dead man. Finally Sean came out, looking depressed, and Maura went over to meet him. “Nothing?”

  Sean shook his head. “More than nothing. Your lot identified everyone who came in and knew all of them by name. Not a stranger to be seen.”

  “What do you do now?”

  “Go and do it all again with every other place that serves food or drink in the village. I might even talk to the priest—maybe the man went in to pray before whatever happened.”

  “The priest wasn’t in yesterday,” Mick told him, “so he couldn’t’ve seen anything.”

  “Grand,” Sean said glumly. “Well, cross yer fingers that the coroner finds something that will help us. Otherwise I’ll be talkin’ to every shopkeeper in Skibbereen.”

  “Why would someone from Skibbereen have dumped him in Leap?” Maura asked.

  “I cannot say, Maura. I’m plumb out of ideas.”

  Chapter Four

  A glum silence settled over Sullivan’s main room, and Maura found herself torn between hoping for a crowd to arrive to distract her and hoping there would be no crowd so she didn’t have to repeat the same information again and again. It boiled down to “I found a body, dead, by the bridge. Young male. No, I don’t know who it was. No, the gardaí don’t know who it was. Are you missing anybody?” She’d have to cut that last line, plus skip the part about his face being smashed, but she was pretty sure she’d want to say it before the night was over. So why don’t the gardaí post his picture, eh? Because he had no face. Sean and the gardaí had better come up with a miracle.

  What she did finally see was Gillian fumbling her way in. Young master Henry was three months old now, but he couldn’t seem to do much beyond drool and eat and fill his diaper. Well, to be fair, he could produce a lovely smile when he felt like it, which luckily was often—it made up for the rest. Gillian had him strapped into some kind of infant carrier on her front, and she was juggling all the extra stuff that babies seemed to need, but her entrance was further complicated because she was carrying a bulky flat package that Maura guessed was a painting. She hurried over to open the door.

  “Hey, stranger!” she greeted Gillian. “And little man. It’s good to see you. Both of you, that is. Come in, sit down, let Henry entertain us—we’re easy to please.”

  Gillian took a quick scan of the room. “Not much of an audience today, is there.”

  “Nope. We’re hoping the crowd is waiting for later. But since we’re short on staff, it’s just as well. Can I get you anything?”

  Gillian sighed. “Still no caffeine, as long as I’m feeding the young master. Juice? Ginger ale? Whatever you’ve got that’s cold. I’m not picky. It’s good to get out now and then.”

  “Coming up.” Maura signaled to Rose. “And can I guess that our package is—”

  “A painting, duh. Yes, I have finally managed to complete a painting, while Henry naps, which is rare. I brought it along so you all could look at it critically and tell me if it’s as awful as I think it is.”

  Maura studied Gillian. She looked tired, although Maura had heard that dealing with a small baby was exhausting. Her face was thinner, but she was still a bit thick through the middle. Her clothes, which once had been cheerful and colorful, were now sort of limp, and Maura spied a few splotches she’d rather not identify. “Harry’s not around much?”

  “No, not that I blame him. He’s spending most of his time at his new job at Crann Mor, going through the documents and budgets and such for the hotel. At least he doesn’t have far to travel these days. And he’s happy as a pig in … you know. He loves to feel useful and keep busy, and I can’t complain. Except that I do. Which is why I got out my paints, but I’m having trouble finding my way back to where I was before. Here”—she passed the bundle wrapped in brown paper over to Maura—“stick this up over the fireplace and you can all tell me what you think.” When Maura hesitated, Gillian said, “Go on. I need to know.

  Gillian had hung paintings in the pub before and even sold a couple. She had a standing order for more at the same hotel where Harry was now working, but she had been slow to start painting again, after the baby arrived, so Maura figured she was probably hard up for cash, especially with the necessary repairs to their new home. Maura peeled off the sticky tape, propped the new painting on the mantel, and then stepped back to look at it. Billy got up from his chair and wandered to the opposite end of the room so he could see it well. Mick leaned against the bar, and Rose stood behind it. All eyes were on the painting.

  After a long minute of silence, Gillian said loudly, “For God’s sake, somebody say something. I’m dying here!”

  “Well,” Maura began, but Gillian burst out, “I knew it. You hate it. I’m fit only for illustrating comics, or maybe painting funny pictures on the walls in the gents’.”

  “Oh, shut up and stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Maura said firmly. “Here’s what I think. It’s not the same as your style before, so we kind of have to refocus. It’s … softer, somehow. Rounder. The colors are about the same, but you’re using them differently.”

  “Next you’ll be telling me I should be painting flowers and lambs. Mick, what do you think?”

  “What Maura said, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s not as edgy as what you did before, but it’s more, say, smooth. Together.”

  “Interesting,” Gillian said. “Sounds kind of boring, though. Billy? How about you?”

  “It’s pretty.”

  “Ah, God, that’s what I was afraid of. My brain has turned to mush after having this child. I’ve gone all gooey.”

  “Stop whining, Gillian,” Maura told her. “It has a different feel to it, that’s all. That’s not wrong. The light’s from the lake, isn’t it?”

  Gillian seemed to relax just a bit. “You can tell? That’s good to know. But it’s not too, well, dull, is it?”

  “I’d call it peaceful. Is that because you feel peaceful now, or because you’d like to and this is what you’re looking forward to?” Maura asked.

  Gillian stared at her for a moment. “You’re scaring me, Maura. When did you become an art critic? Or a psychologist?”

  “I run a pub and I talk to people. Peaceful is not a bad thing. And no, you’re not selling out, just because things like this would look great in hotel bedrooms. Just relax and see where it goes.”

  Gillian finally smiled. “I knew there was a reason why I came here today. Thanks for cheering me up. So, what’s going on in Leap?”

  Maura, Mick, Billy, and Rose exchanged a flurry of glances. Finally Maura said, “I found a body under the bridge this morning.”

  Gillian laughed, then looked more closely at Maura’s face. “You’re not kidding, are you.” When Maura shook her head, Gillian asked, “Who was it?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Who’s we? Your crowd here? The gardaí?”

  “Nobody knows.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “Man. About my age.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Very dead. Before you ask, it was impossible to make an immediate identification because the man’s face had been damaged beyond recognition.”

  “More than I wanted to know,” Gillian responded. “So of course you called your garda friends. What are they doing?”

  “Investigating. Which at the moment means talking to anybody who might have seen the man after midnight and before first light this morning, anywhere in the general area. Based on a very vague description.”

  “Oh dear,” Gillian said. Then she was distracted by a short squawk from her son. “Excuse me, I think it’s suppertime. Can I use the back room?”

  “It’s all yours,” Maura told her.

  When Gillian retreated to the privacy of the back room, Maura turned to the others.
“Well, that will no doubt be the first of many explanations that won’t please anybody. I was saying to Billy earlier, most of the time someone who dies has some connection to someone else around here. Sometimes it takes a while to dig it out or put the pieces together, but that’s how we’ve found out what happened in most cases. Think that’s going to happen this time?”

  Billy had been making his slow way back to his favorite chair, and when he settled in it, he said, “Give it time, Maura. It’s been less than a day.”

  “I know, Billy, but as long as he isn’t identified, I’m going to have to try to answer a lot of questions.”

  “And yeh’ll be sellin’ a lot of pints along the way,” Billy reminded her.

  “True, but I don’t want to be called the Murder Pub of Leap, now, do I? Or the Music and Murder Place? Damn, when Seamus shows up, is he going to want to start another betting pool to see who can come closest to guessing who the poor man was? That seems kind of, well—”

  “Disrespectful of the dead, yeh might say,” Mick finished the sentence for her.

  “Exactly. Talking things through with Seamus and his pals last time something like this happened was useful, but to do it as a regular thing is rude, and I don’t want him to get used to playing detective.”

  “He does buy his share of pints, yeh know. And yeh wouldn’t want to keep Seamus and his pals from talking about who the man might be, now, would yeh?” Mick said.

  Maura had to stop to think about that. “You’re saying they might know something, or have heard something from somebody, about a fight or someone who’s gone missing or someone who had a grudge. And they’ll be all in one place. Should I call Sean if they show up together? It would save the gardaí from having to track them down at their homes, if they want to speak with them.”

  “That was my thinkin’.”

  The tide seemed to turn after three, and people, mostly middle-aged men, started drifting in in two and threes. Just as it started, Gillian came over to Maura. “I think I’ll be heading home now. Thanks for the talk. Do you mind if I leave the painting here? Maybe someone will notice and say something, or say it looks too girlish for Sullivan’s. I still need some more reactions.”