Death in the Burren Read Free

a door at the rear of the lounge, probably from another part of the hotel. Both were quite young. The taller of the two was in his early thirties and an Irish speaker as his lapel Fainne showed.
    The other was a few years younger. Both were used to the outdoors judging by their complexions, and probably local.
    They sat at the bar and McAllister could see that the younger of the two had been drinking for some time. He sat crouched with his elbows on the counter and his head in his hands.
    Eventually looking blearily around the room he caught sight of McAllister ,Holland and Susan.
    He slowly eased himself from his chair and staggered towards them as if hypnotised.
    Stopping just short of their table he looked fixedly at the back of Holland’s head.
    “And how is the bloody cameraman?” he shouted in a slurred voice, “as if you had bloody well nothing else to do, going around photographing every shagging thing you see. Why don’t you and that bitch of yours get to hell of here and leave us alone?”
    His companion made to restrain him, but Holland was quicker.
    In one swift movement he rose from his seat, turned and struck the man a sickening punch to the side of the head. The drunk crashed to the floor and lay inert. Holland stood over him, white-faced and shaking with anger.
    Balfe appeared and, quickly and discreetly as possible, helped the taller man remove his companion from the room by the door through which they had entered.
    “There was really no need for you to react like that, Frank,” said Susan, “that was completely over the top.”
    “I swore before if that lout didn’t stop harassing me I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions.” Holland was almost hissing with anger.
    Balfe returned and apologised profusely, saying that he was always trying to discourage the man from drinking at the Orchid.
    He explained to McAllister that the taller of the two was in fact Andy O’Lochlen and the other, Des Hyland, was a partner in the fishing business.
    “I have to steer a middle course as you will appreciate. I can’t ban him from the place.”
    Fortunately, the lounge had remained almost empty during the incident so there was no major embarrassment to Balfe.
    At this moment a tall lithe slender girl entered the lounge from the reception area. She was in her mid-thirties, athletic and very poised and graceful in her movements, but with the saddest, most melancholic face McAllister had ever seen. She drifted towards them with just a flicker of recognition for Susan and Frank.
    Michael introduced her to McAllister as Eileen O’Leary and she nodded a greeting.
    Her brief smile was not reflected in her soulless eyes, yet McAllister detected a great warmth of personality beneath the all pervading sense of depression.
    Frank was later to explain to McAllister that Eileen had lost her husband in a drowning tragedy at Fanore, further up the coast, the previous year and had not yet begun to come to terms with it.
    She was an accomplished sculptress and had been a professional flautist of distinction.
    Michael had been very kind to her since the death and she spent her evenings in the hotel helping out in small ways.
    During the day she sculpted and sold her work in a small shop beside her studio, which was just a mile to the south along the coast road.
    Frank and Susan felt her friendship with Balfe might become closer when more time had elapsed.
    Eileen was obviously unaware of the incident which had just taken place and they talked briefly before Susan suggested leaving, as she was feeling tired.
    As they drove home in silence McAllister remembered that Balfe had not said anything more about the French tourists.
    He decided not to try to make conversation but to allow jangled nerves to settle.
    Susan made an effort but Holland was so morose that she let things be.
    “So good old Frank hasn’t changed after all. Still as tense as ever underneath,” thought McAllister as he pulled in at the Atlantic car park.

C