The Death of an Irish Lass Read Free Page A

been made especially for him when he left Interpol to join the Garda Soichana. McGarr’s only superiors were the commissioner of police and the minister of justice, who was an elected official. Unofficially, McGarr was being groomed for the top job. The commissioner was only a few years from retirement. “And I’m just the pretty face in the crowd, Barry. I carry the flask.” McGarr wiggled the little bottle at Hanly. “A few drinks, some pleasant conversation. It’s all in a day’s work.” McGarr looked down at May Quirk. She was still looking out over the far ocean, as she had, he imagined, before she left for America—expectantly, almost hopefully. McGarr wondered what she had found there. He wondered also about the money and the ugly way she had died. “And make sure he’s as clean as a whistle. I’d prefer to have him handy.”
    “But my business , McGarr!”
    “To hell with your business,” said O’Malley. “In my book it’s just trash anyhow, and you’re the dirty bastard what done this thing to poor May. And if I have my way we’ll get it out of you by noon. By the old methods, too. The ones we used on liars.”
    “Don’t you have a partner who can step in for you?”O’Shaughnessy asked. “Or are you too concerned with your profits?”
    Hanly glanced up at the Garda superintendent. “Profit? There’s no way I could keep tabs on anybody else. They’d rob me blind.”
    McGarr said, “But the dance will go on.”
    Hanly hunched his shoulders. “I suppose.”
    O’Shaughnessy said, “Anyhow, you’re agreeing to help the police in our investigation of this murder, aren’t you, Mr. Hanly?”
    “The last time I agreed to that I spent a couple of days in the can and then got arrested on trumped-up charges.”
    “But this time you’re not guilty of anything, or so you’ve said.”
    Hanly said nothing, only allowed himself to be led toward the Rover.
    O’Shaughnessy closed the door.
    McGarr was saying to Ward, “Autopsy, of course. And a thorough job on that car. I want to know if May Quirk was ever in it. Then the area around this field. I want to know where the shell casing is. Also, get a wire out to New York to see what they know or can learn about her there. Tell them about the money and ask if they can find out where she did her banking and if the funds were her own. I don’t have to tell you to leave no avenue open on him.” McGarr meant Hanly. “Call up Bernie and have him personally look up our contacts in town. I want any rumors he can get on Hanly.”
    “You mean you don’t believe him about the money?”
    “Would you get drunk with that much cash on you if it was your own?”
    Ward wrinkled his forehead.
    “And Hanly, despite his plush appearance, is not your average happy-go-lucky bowsey. You can bet he keeps a tight grip on a thrupenny bit. Early poverty like his must have been is memorable.” McGarr himself was speaking from experience.
    Ward, O’Shaughnessy, and O’Malley drove off with Hanly. McGarr’s own private car was parked out by the road, but he decided he’d wait until the Technical Bureau arrived. And, in a vague way, he wanted to keep May Quirk company.
    He started across the pastures toward the cliffs and the ocean beyond. The mist had begun to lift now. A bright red trawler was lurching in the silver sea. There was a vivid band of sunlight just above the horizon where the clouds began, and the breeze off the water carried the steady knock of the vessel’s diesel shoreward. Clumps of witches’-broom with tiny yellow flowers and the purple blossoms of thistle dotted the fields. A solitary and old cow turned her head to McGarr as he hopped over another wall into her pasture. She followed him with her eyes, her jaw swirling on her cud.
    McGarr felt almost giddy as he approached the edge of the cliff. Below he could see heavy ocean rollers rushing shoreward, the water so deep here that none crested before slamming into the basalt cliffs. Each clapped