“But you did harm me, Clara. You almost killed me. Youll al-most certainly be arrested for attempted murder.”
“I didn't mean it.” She was sobbing now, a harsh, ugly noise coming from her throat. “I only wanted to feel secure and now I don't know what’s to become of me. They'd send me to jail or the insane asylum. Please, I beg of you, tell the police it was an accident. Tell them I didn't mean it…”
Tell me one thing, Clara—if you didn't kill Theresa, do you have any ideas about who did?”
“It was suicide. It had to be suicide. Everybody loved Theresa. She was the sweetest, kindest…”
“I'm not talking about her personality,” I said. “It may have been something she knew that was dangerous to know.”
“I'd look no further than her no-good husband,” she said; “only he had more to lose than anybody. Theresa was a rich woman when she came to him, but she stood to inherit a large fortune on the death of her parents.”
“But Barney’s done pretty well on his own account, hasn't he?” I asked. “He owns the ice monopoly and has fingers in lots of pies. Do you really think he'd have given up the chance of a future fortune to get rid of a wife who was not able to gratify his wishes?”
I could see that she was digesting this new thought. Then she shook her head. “Why would he worry about getting a new wife when he could get what he wanted on the side? Bamey never could keep his hands off women. Theresa knew what went on, of course, but she put up with it in silence. That’s what makes me think that she took her own life—the life she led was more than any human being should endure.”
“You may beright,“I agreed. “So we'll just have to wait for the doctor’s autopsy results and then maybe we'll know more.”
She got up, cautiously. “And about the other matter—won't you pleaseforgiveme? I'm truly ashamed of myself. Ill go to confession and do penance, but please don't let anyone else know. And if you told the police that it was a horrible accident and you weren't going to press charges?”
I stared at her for a long while, then nodded. “I'll think about it,” I said. “Now we'd better go downstairs and see what we might have missed.”
Thank you, dear cousin. Ill never be able to thank you enough.” She attempted to hug me. I stood like a tree and let her wrap bony arms around me. As she did so I felt something melt inside me and suddenly I realized what it must be like to be Qara—never hugged, never loved, always the companion tagging along in someone else’s life. Against my will, my arms came around her and I hugged her back.
Twenty-eight
By nine o'clock the doctor had departed, but the constable stayed on, awaiting the arrival of a vehicle to take Theresa’s body to the morgue. I tried to play the investi-gator and observed each member of the household. Obviously I wasn't very good at this investigation business, as everyone seemed to be acting normally, except for Clara, who was being too effusively nice to me. Barney, Joe and Desmond O'Mara disappeared into Barney’s study to discuss strategy. It seemed strange to me that men like Joe and Barney could be so concerned about what the press might say at a moment like this, but then I suppose politicians live or die by the press.
Desmond O'Mara definitely seemed paler than usual, if that were possible, but that meant nothing. He may have been rudely awoken and I know I never feel my best in such circumstances. I also watched Soames carefully. He certainly would have had the ideal opportunity to commit any crime in the household. He moved silently from room to room and blended in like part of the furniture. If he had carried a sleeping child downstairs, I doubt anybody would have noticed. If he had crept up to Theresa’s room and somehow put poison in her drink or messed with her sleeping powders, nobody would have noticed either. But what I needed for Soames was a motive. I knew nothing about him. He spoke like a refined Englishman, which might mean that he was possibly highborn and fallen on hardtimes—whichmight give him the motive of wanting revenge against Irish peasant upstarts for usurping a position that should have been his. Still, this was all supposition. 1 now knew that he hadn't poisoned my drink, so it was possible that he hadn't kidnapped Brendan or killed Theresa either. But somebody had.
In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)
Rhys Bowen's books
- Malice at the Palace (The Royal Spyness Series Book 9)
- Bless the Bride (Molly Murphy, #10)
- City of Darkness and Light (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #13)
- Death of Riley (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #2)
- For the Love of Mike (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #3)
- Hush Now, Don't You Cry (Molly Murphy, #11)
- In a Gilded Cage (Molly Murphy, #8)
- In Dublin's Fair City (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #6)