Page 137 of Road Trip
Maeve felt her anger at this cop, who refused to listen, begin to boil over. “You say Reggie isn’t violent? You didn’t see the look in his eyes today, when he tried to attack me with that knife. He’d have killed me without a second thought, and he would have succeeded, if I’d been a couple seconds slower to react.”
She held out her arm and pointed to the bloody slash in the sleeve of her sweater. “You think I did this to myself?”
“All right,” Muldoon said finally. “I’ve collected your statement. And your thoughts on Reggie’s guilt.” He pushed away from his desk and heaved himself to his feet. “I’ve got to go relieve Flynn at the coroner’s office. The fella has no stomach for that kind of thing. Passes out at the first sign of a bone saw.”
“Then I can go?” she asked.
“You can. But not too far. In other words, don’t be leaving the country.”
“No risk of that,” Maeve replied. “My passport is still missing.”
CHAPTER 59
Liam was waiting when she emerged from the substation.
“You look like you could use a strong drink. And maybe some food? It’s nearly suppertime.”
She managed a weak smile. “Sounds good, thanks.”
“Muldoon give you a hard time, did he? The lad’s thick as a brick, but I don’t think he’s dishonest.”
“He doesn’t seem completely convinced I didn’t kill Esme myself,” she said.
“How’s that?”
“Reggie has somehow regained consciousness at the hospital and is not only proclaiming his own innocence, he’s blaming me.”
“Bollocks,” Liam said. “Why would you possibly want to kill Esme?”
“He’s telling the cops Therese and I sucked up to Esme because we were hoping to inherit her ‘vast fortune.’”
“Even Muldoon can’t be thick enough to believe that,” Liam said. “And if he really did believe you were guilty, he’d have you locked up right now.”
“I suppose. He left to go observe Esme’s autopsy.”
The look in her eyes was haunted. “Liam, the coroner says she was strangled.” She shuddered again. “Maybe if I’d gotten to the house sooner, I would have scared Reggie off before he could harm her.”
He grasped her firmly by the shoulders. “Stop. Don’t do this toyourself. No more ‘what-ifs.’ Let’s go get some food and whiskey in you, and you’ll feel better.”
The mood atthe Willow Tree was somber. People, mostly older men, Maeve noted, stood at the bar, drinking their pints, talking softly. There was a soccer match on the television, but nobody seemed to be watching. The pool table was noticeably inactive, but a small bouquet of wildflowers, jammed into a beer mug, stood in the center, beside a lit votive candle.
Several men turned and greeted Liam when they walked in, slapping him on the back, asking him about his family. When they noticed Sinead, trotting along behind Maeve on her leash, the room fell silent.
Suddenly, a cry went up in the crowd. “There’s Sinead!” several men called. “There’s our girl.”
Soon, an impromptu receiving line had formed, with Sinead enjoying her celebrity, trotting from customer to customer, enjoying head pats, butt scratches, and tidbits of food tossed her way.
Liam led Maeve to a table. Rodney, the barman, walked over and took their order. “You heard about Esme, I reckon.”
“We did,” Liam said simply.
The barman stared at Maeve, and then down at Sinead. “I’ve, uh, volunteered to foster Esme’s dog, just until we can find a more permanent home for her. The police were going to send her to a shelter. Esme wouldn’t have stood for that.”
“Bless,” he said approvingly. “I can’t believe she’s gone.” He dabbed at his eyes with a bar towel. “Christ, she was just here yesterday, complaining about some nonsense. She still owes me for a bet she lost.”
“She was legendary,” Liam said, surveying the crowd in the pub. “Looks like the word is already out. Half the village is here.”
“God love Esme, the old biddy turns out to be good for business.” He did a hurried sign of the cross. “May she rest in peace.”
