Free The Death of an Irish Lover by Bartholomew Gill

waited for Carson’s reaction; from out on the river they now heard the droning of the horn of a boat.
    Carson tried to reach for the note, but McGarr kept him from it. Straightening up, he glanced at McGarr.
    “Yesterday, a little after noon, I’d make it, Quintan was in the bar when Manus came in to deliver a carpet for the room that’s being refurbished.”
    “The room across the hall from where they were found?”
    Carson nodded.
    “Manus was all alone, so he asked if Quintan would lend him a hand. They carried it upstairs.”
    “Before Burke and Ellen went up?”
    “Burke was already up there, I’d hazard, but I don’t know. Ellen came in and had a couple of quick vodkas to steel herself, like. And then she must have gone up.”
    “Did you see her?”
    Carson shook his head. “I get chatting with people. Burke must have had a key made for her, so she could—like—have a drink or two near the end of the bar. When others weren’t looking, she’d slip upstairs.
    “Then there were the ‘planning sessions,’ Burke called them, that were probably just…you know, sessions. He’d have a bunch of maps, sometimes even a third eel police, and they’d all go upstairs. The third party leaving before Ellen.”
    “What about this?” McGarr pointed to the, Before we were engaged you told me you were through with him.
    Carson’s eyes moved to McGarr’s. He nodded. “I don’t know what hold Burke had over women, even young women with…everything, including a future, like Ellen. But—”
    Which seemed to contradict what the maid, Grace O’Rourke, had said about Ellen Gilday Finn. She had seemed genuinely shocked at having found her there, like that. And being the same age in such a small town, O’Rourke would have known practically everything there was to know about the murdered woman, especially a long-term affair with a much older man that had transpired above a large popular bar.
    “You still haven’t answered me why the Frakes tried to kill you.”
    Carson stepped toward the stove. “Because they knew I knew what I just told you, and there we were together and you out of the car.”
    “Meaning that you think Manus was in on it.”
    “How else could it have been done? The two of them burst into the room, catching them like that, and Manus—he’s strong—held her down in place while Quintan shot her. Once being enough for the both of them.” Carson bit his lower lip and looked away. “The carpet thing was just a ruse. They knew those two were up there.”
    “Why would Frakes do something like that for your nephew?”
    “Because Quintan’s one of them, I’m told. The eel trade, stolen cars, bootleg ciggies, building materials, anything not nailed down.”
    McGarr waited while Carson filled the kettle, since more of an explanation was in order—why a young man from a well-off family would link up with two known former IRA thugs.
    “It’s the romantic thing, I guess. Quintan’s a…wee fella. And he’s forever trying to prove himself. Spoiled like his mother was. Willful, you know. With the temper and all.”
    While Carson made tea, McGarr toured the rest of the dwelling. In the master bedroom he found a partly opened drawer that was filled with every manner of lingerie—teddies, garter belts, thong underwear—along with an assortment of vibrators and other items from sex shops.
    Among them was a packet of Thunderbolt condoms with the lightning-bolt-and-cloud logo, the same as McGarr had discovered in Ellen Finn’s purse. Like that packet, it was unopened.
    Back down in the kitchen, McGarr refused Carson’s offer of tea. “I’d like you to stay in town.”
    “I’ve nowhere else to go.”
    “Do you think you need protection?”
    “Not now that I’ve been warned.”
    “I hope that doesn’t mean carrying a weapon.” Which for a convicted felon would mean immediate and lengthy jail time.
    “I’m too smart for that.”
    By how much remained to be seen, thought McGarr.
    “What