Cruel Winter: A County Cork Mystery Read online

  “And that troubled you?”

  “In the beginning it did. It took me a while to realize that people meant it kindly. They weren’t just being nosy. They wanted to help.”

  Diane turned away, looking at the blank window that reflected only their own images. “Because you were one of their own, you see. I had a bit of that since my grandparents were from here, but the people I spent time with were foreigners, and the local people didn’t quite trust them. I made the choice to side with them, and when this murder happened, I paid for that. Don’t lose sight of the good side of your background, Maura. People do mean well.”

  “I think I’ve figured that out. Listen, Diane—do you still want to talk about what happened?”

  “It’s not important. It won’t change anything now.”

  “But it’s not right!” Maura protested.

  “You sound so American! It is was it is. I’ve come to terms with it. I have a life in England now—I just wanted to say good-bye.”

  Maura couldn’t think of anything more to say, although Diane’s attitude still made her sad. But she had a business to run, and she’d better get back to work. She turned away from Diane and slid behind the bar. The newcomers had all but inhaled their soup, and the older two had moved on to Guinness. Liam and Donal seemed to have taken the younger guys under their wing and distributed soup to them, and they were clustered in another corner. It might be a good idea to hold off on serving them anything else with alcohol until they’d gotten some food into them.

  “So what’s the story?” Maura asked the men at the bar. “How did you end up wandering around the lanes in the dark during a snowstorm?”

  The oldest man spoke up first. He was broad in the shoulders, his hair generously silvered. His clothing was not at all suited to the country, much less to shoving a car out of a ditch. He extended a hand to Maura. “Bart Hayes is the name. I came down from near Limerick for my niece’s wedding in Rosscarbery and somehow ended up looking after these young eejits, since I was one of the few sober folk left by the end.”

  Maura smiled. “I thought they looked a bit the worse for drink. Where were you going?”

  “I’ve friends runnin’ a bed and breakfast outside Drinagh, and they offered to put us up. It would have been an easy shot home from there. But I haven’t traveled those roads for a long time, and I hadn’t counted on the snow—it’s worse here than to the east. I didn’t know how bad the roads were when we started out—my mistake. We’d got near to Drinagh when I missed a turn in the dark and found myself with two wheels in the ditch and no way out. The lads were all for getting out and pushing, but I figgered they’d only make things worse—they weren’t dressed for the snow, and they’d probably freeze their fingers off or get lost in a field. So I was working out a plan when . . .”

  “That’s when I appeared, like an angel from heaven,” the second man said. “Joe Minahane. I’d heard a woman had taken over this place from Old Mick.”

  “And that’s me—Maura Donovan. You’re from around here, then?” Maura asked.

  “I am, near Reavouler. This fella here”—he nodded at Bart—“had gotten himself lost in the dark, and God knows what his fate might have been if I hadn’t happened along.”

  Maura wondered if Joe had started drinking a bit earlier in the day. “So you collected them and came to Leap? Why not Skibbereen or back to Drinagh? Or even to your place?”

  “We’ve no room for five extra, and me wife would skin me alive if I brought this lot home with me, snow or no snow. I was aimin’ fer Skibbereen, fer there’s no place to put them up at Drinagh, and I wasn’t about to turn around and try to find their bloody B and B. I thought maybe there’d be help to get the car goin’ again if I went toward Skib, but the snow kept gettin’ worse, so I ended up here.”

  Maura didn’t know the local geography very well, but she guessed that Joe had gotten himself turned around more than once. At least he and the rest had landed safely at Sullivan’s, even if Bart’s car was still out there somewhere.

  “Well, I don’t think any of you are going any farther tonight in this weather. The rest of this gang is going to spend the night here, so you may as well too. I don’t suppose you have any blankets in your truck?”

  “And why would I have that? Well, there is the one I used last time I delivered a calf . . .”

  Maura suppressed a shudder. “We’ll figure something out. There’s always the floor.”

  “No room across the road?” Joe asked wistfully. “Anne does a grand breakfast.”

  “At the inn? No, they were full up before the storm. I think you’re stuck with me. There’s hot soup if you’re hungry, although I think we ate all the bread. So, Bart, did the wedding go on as planned?”

  “It did. A lovely couple they made. Good thing they didn’t plan to leave for a honeymoon any time soon.”

  “How far did you come for this?” Maura asked, mainly to make conversation.

  “I’m stationed in Limerick these days.”

  “Stationed? Are you in the military?”

  Bart shook his head. “I’m a garda. Used to be in Bantry, but my wife’s people came from up Limerick way, and she wanted to be closer when the kids started coming. I’ve no complaints.” He took a long swallow of his stout. His eyes sought out Diane in the corner and nodded toward her before asking Maura, “You know the story there?”

  Oh, crap. Maura wasn’t sure how to answer that to a garda, but Bart didn’t look angry or hostile, and he hadn’t blown the whistle on Diane as soon as he recognized her. “Only the bare outline. Were you part of that?”

  “I was, back in Bantry. I was there when it happened.”

  Maura looked quickly at Joe, who now seemed to be deep in conversation with Seamus a few feet away. She leaned across the bar toward Bart. “Do you think she did it?”

  “We had no proof,” Bart said carefully.

  “But what did you think?”

  “I was younger then, and none of us had much experience with murder.” He took another swallow. “But my gut said no.”

  “From what I’ve heard here tonight, the press was all over her.”

  Bart looked disgusted. “Ah, they’re always after the story. That one had everything—money, sex, foreigners. There’s still talk of it.”

  “Did you ever hear her side of it?” Maura asked.

  He shook his head. “I was new on the job then, although we all talked. Never met the woman myself.”

  But you recognized her. Maura thought hard for a moment. “Listen, Bart. When you guys showed up, Diane was ready to tell the story from her side. There are some others here who remember it, even this long after it happened. None of us are going anywhere tonight. What do you think about letting her tell us what happened?”

  Bart leaned back on his stool and studied her face. “And why would we be wantin’ to do that?”

  “Because we’re all stuck here, and she’s here. And I guess because based on what I’ve been hearing, she was tried and convicted without even being arrested. People just assumed she was guilty. It changed her life. What if she didn’t do it?”

  “You’ve been watching too many of those detective shows on the telly, Maura Donovan, where everything is wrapped up neat and tidy in an hour or less.”

  “I’ve never had time to watch television shows,” she said sharply. “It just seems to me that she got branded as a killer, and that was that. It’s not right.”

  “And you come along from America, and you’re going to fix things in a night, when the gardaí and the newspapers have been tramping all over it for the better part of two decades?”

  “I never said that. I just think that someone should listen to her.”

  “Are you sayin’ the gardaí didn’t do their jobs?” Now Bart seemed to be getting angry.

  “No, I’m not saying that. Look, I don’t know the whole story. I didn’t know there was a story. You all just happened to end up here tonight. She’s willing to talk about it.”

>   “She might be less willin’ if she knows I was a garda who was on the case then,” Bart pointed out.

  “So we’ll ask her. And Bart? Think about it. If she didn’t do it, then someone else did. Someone killed whatever her name was and got away with it for twenty years. That’s just wrong.”

  Bart sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’ve been celebrating all day, and then I’ve driven into a ditch with a bunch of bumbling eejits, and now you want me to talk about a crime that happened a long time ago. You don’t ask much, do yeh?”

  “Hey, I didn’t think this up—it just happened. Maybe it’s a sign or something that you’re all here now.”

  Bart drained his glass and stood up stiffly. “Yer blamin’ fate now? Let me talk to the woman, see what she says. No promises. And I could use another pint.”

  “Coming up,” Maura said.

  Nine

  Maura watched as Bart Hayes made his way over to where Diane sat. He paused when he reached the table, said something to her, and then she gestured toward the chair across from her at the table. So at least she was willing to listen to him.

  What the heck did she think she was doing? Her job was to serve up drinks and make sure nobody at the pub got out of hand before closing time. Make sure they were out the door by closing time too—or close enough. But this snowstorm had kind of thrown a wrench into the whole normal pattern. Now she had her entire staff here, which didn’t make a lot of sense, to take care of—she did a quick count—fifteen people. Rose had done a great job of seeing that they were fed, and Mick and she had supplied light and heat. She checked her watch: damn, it was barely eight o’clock, but with no electricity, it was pitch dark outside. Too early to tell people to settle down and go nighty-night. No way she would send them out into the storm. So now what?

  Diane came back to the bar, followed by Bart. “Maura, can we pick up where we left off? Unless you have other ideas?”

  “I’m willing, Diane. Bart told you . . .” she left the question hanging.

  “That he was part of the original investigation? Yes, he did.”

  “And you’re okay with him being here?”

  “As I told you, I have nothing to hide,” Diane said almost impatiently. “Let him ask his questions, give his facts. Let’s find out what the others here think. They can be the jury—it’s the only one I’ll ever get.”

  “All right, then,” Maura said. She scanned the crowd: would they want to stay to hear this? Would they veto the whole idea? “Go for it, Diane.”

  Diane stepped to the center of the bar, found an empty glass, and banged it on the counter top until everyone else stopped talking and turned toward her. “My name is Diane Caldwell, but I was born Diane Wolfe, from out past Schull. I know some people here have already recognized me because twenty years ago, I was accused of killing a neighbor, Sharon Morgan. Not arrested, not put to trial, not convicted. No more than accused, but people assumed I was guilty, and I’ve had to live with that ever since. Well, I’m sick of it. We’re all stuck here this evening, and I want to tell my side of the story just this once. I’d ask if you’re willing to listen, but to tell the truth, I really don’t care anymore. Listen or not, and in the morning, you can all go your separate ways.”

  Bart stepped up beside her then. “You won’t know it, but I was part of that investigation then, so I know the history. Diane here is right: we shined a light on her, but no one could prove she’d done anything, and that’s where the matter has rested all these years. No one else has ever been arrested or charged with the crime. It’s a blot on the record of three garda jurisdictions, and I’d like to see it laid to rest. Will you hear her out?”

  If the topic wasn’t so serious, Maura might have laughed at the variety of reactions from the people in the room. From their expressions, it was clear that some knew the whole story, some knew bits and pieces, and some knew nothing at all. Jimmy looked pleased by the ruckus he’d stirred up, and she really wanted to wipe the smirk off his face. Mick looked angry. The others looked confused or worried or even happy that the question of how to pass the evening had been answered: a fireside chat with an accused murderer.

  Maura moved to stand alongside Diane. “You don’t have to do this. You’re my guest here.” She turned to glare at the crowd. “And I expect you lot to be polite.” Only a few looked ashamed.

  “Thank you, Maura,” Diane said, “but I want to. It’s been twenty years since my life was upended, and the questions just won’t go away. People are still avoiding me, which is why I haven’t been back here often. There’s no evidence, no proof, but they still assume I killed her.”

  “A woman died,” Jimmy protested feebly. “We only want to know who killed her.”

  Maura turned to him. “What’s it to you, Jimmy? Was the dead woman a friend? A relative? Did you know her at all?”

  “It’s wrong, is all,” Jimmy said stubbornly. “Nobody was ever tried fer the death, see? So there’s still a killer out there. All we know is that the woman didn’t fall down and stab herself in the middle of the night out in the cold.”

  Maura still didn’t understand why Jimmy could be nursing a grudge about a killing that took place when he was no more than a teenager, but maybe he was just looking for a fight. Or trying to get back at her for finding out about the oil he’d stolen. She studied the faces of the others in the room. “How many of you were here in the area when it happened and remember it?”

  It was not surprising that nobody apart from Bart raised a hand. “That’s what I thought. You were kids in school or maybe my age. So all you ever got was the stories passed along, and probably mangled along the way by journalists looking for a juicy story.”

  “Not true!” Jimmy was quick to answer. “The gardaí kept lookin’ fer the killer. They took her in”—Jimmy nodded contemptuously at Diane—“for questioning more than once, but they let her go. Isn’t that right?”

  Maura turned on him. “So you do remember it, Jimmy.”

  Jimmy nodded. “I was young, in school, but it was quite a story back then. You wouldn’t know, being from away, but murder’s a rare thing in this part of the world—even now.”

  “It’s all right, Maura. What he says is true,” Diane answered. “Jimmy, is it? They let me go because there was no evidence—not then, not now. But people have gone on assuming that I did it—which doesn’t say much for their respect for the gardaí. You think I really outsmarted them? Not just the gardaí in my backyard, but those from other stations too?”

  Nobody answered. Maura considered her options. “Diane and the rest of you, we’re stuck here for the night, unless one or more of you wants to freeze out there by leaving now. I’m guessing that most of us here don’t know the story. Diane, you can tell us what happened from your side.”

  Diane squared her shoulders. “It would be my pleasure, Maura. Like I said, I’m tired of hiding and pretending, and I’m damn tired of people thinking I’m something I’m not. I’ve got a jury of my peers here in front of me. So let’s hold our own trial, shall we? Of course, I don’t have any witnesses or evidence on hand, but then neither do you—well, perhaps Bart here can stand in for all that. All you’ve got is rumors and what you remember from trashy journal articles, which sold plenty of papers but were a bit short on truth. So we can talk it all out. Isn’t that what the Irish are good at?”

  “Yer not Irish,” Donal said.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, young man. My grandparents were born here, and so was my father. Maybe I married an Englishman, but I’ve kept the family house all these years, haven’t I?”

  “Afraid to come back to it, mebbe,” Danny said. Maura mentally put a black mark against his name.

  “No! I loved that place. It had plenty of happy memories for me, before . . . My husband and I, we came back most summers and sometimes for short trips during other parts of the year. So don’t you try to say I’m not one of you. My roots here go as deep as any of yours.”

  “It were Iris
h gardaí that took yeh in,” Joe said.

  “For questioning, because I was a neighbor. And they let me go,” Diane shot back. “They got it wrong, and they admitted it.”

  “Mebbe,” he muttered. He didn’t sound convinced.

  Maura tried to gauge the crowd. They weren’t enthusiastic about hearing Diane’s “real” story, but they had nothing else to do this long night. Except drink, which could get messy.

  Maura was surprised when Billy spoke. “I’m old enough to remember that time. The tabloids, they were quick to jump on a headline, and the worse, the better—if you catch my drift. To be fair, mistakes were made in lookin’ into the death, but our lads had little experience with investigatin’ murders and no fancy equipment and the like, the way they do these days. They were caught with their pants down, yeh might say. I fer one would like to hear what the lady has to tell us. Let’s see if she can convince us, like we was a jury.”

  “I’m with Billy,” Maura told the others. “Are you in?”

  “Will yeh make us leave if we say no?” Seamus asked plaintively, although there was a twinkle in his eye.

  “No, because you’d probably freeze to death, and that would end up being my fault. But I might cut off your drink.”

  “And yeh’ll be asking us to pay for it?” Seamus said in mock dismay. “While you keep us captive here?”

  That at least brought a reaction from the crowd. Maura swallowed a sigh: this could turn out to be an expensive evening. “Yes, if you’ll listen,” Maura told them. “And be fair. Deal?” Most people nodded. Billy smiled at her, apparently pleased. “All right. Do we have enough chairs for everyone? You all want a pint, or would you rather have coffee so you can think straight?”

  “I’ll take the pint,” Liam said. “I think better with it.” Some of the others nodded.

  “Fine. Everybody get what you need and settle down.”

  Diane was still standing in the middle of the bar, looking startled at the turn her challenge had taken. “I didn’t mean to barge into the middle of it all. And I half expected them to turn me down.”