Free The Field by John B. Keane Page B

pound and one half and one ring of pudding white. Made pot of tea for self, Bull McCabe and son, Tadhg. Did say goodnight to same who departed for home. Was in bed at 3.45 p.m. and that’s my story, long enough, as told to seven different detectives on seven different occasions and as told to yourself and His Reverence right now on this day of our Lord, 1965, Amen.
    Sergeant: And very nicely put together, too! Do you have any ideas about who might have killed this man?
    Bird: I am of the opinion the crime was committed by tinkers or if ’twasn’t tinkers ’twas done by persons unknown. They are the biggest blackguards of all, those persons unknown. You see they does everything unknown to people so no one knows who they are. Definitely, persons unknown.
    Sergeant: I see … and have you any proof of this?
    Bird: It’s only my opinion, Sergeant … and it was only my opinion that you wanted. Opinions is not evidence, Father!
    Sergeant: I’ll watch you night and day from this on, you dirty, little sewer-rat. I’ll haunt you, because I know as well as you do who committed the murder … And I think you were present when it happened.
    Bird: If I was a big noise you wouldn’t haunt me, Sergeant. You know who to haunt, all right!
    Sergeant: It is my opinion, Bird, that you witnessed this murder and that your silence was bought for a few pounds. How much did you get? £5 … £10 … £20? Look, Bird, I’ll guarantee you £500, £500 in hard cash, if you’ll give me a hint. No one will know where the information came from.
    Bird: If I took that £500, you’d be trying to solve a second murder, and you’d be no nearer than you are to solving this one.
    Fr Murphy: Who are you afraid of, Bird?
    Sergeant: The Bull, is it? Or Tadhg?
    Fr Murphy: Or both?
    Sergeant: £500.
    Bird: ’Twould just about pay the expenses of my funeral.
    Sergeant: It wouldn’t be your funeral!
    Bird: Are you guaranteeing that as well? I have to live, and what’s more, I have to live in Carraigthomond, murder or no bloody murder.
    [Bird turns to exit]
    Fr Murphy: Bird!
    [Bird stops]
    Sergeant: Let him go!
    [Bird exits]
    Sergeant: McCabe and his son killed this man. You know, I know and the whole village knows. Nobody cares and the terrible thing is that nobody ever will care.
    [Enter the Bull, Tadhg and Dandy]
    Bull: How long more are you going to keep us stuck back here like prisoners of war?
    Fr Murphy: We’re sorry, Mr McCabe. The rotation was accidental.
    Bull: Ah, that’s all right, Father. We understand.
    Sergeant: Bull … Bull … Will you answer me one question?
    Bull: If I’m able.
    Sergeant: Which of you killed him?
    Bull: Well, now, I’m damn downright glad you asked me that because I have a fair idea. [Becomes confidential] The wits was often frightened out of me, too, many a night, not knowing the minute a band of tinkers would break out from a bush and hammer my brains out. Try the camp of the Gorleys and if it isn’t one of the Gorleys, try the McLaffertys, and if it ’tisn’t one of them, ’tis sure to be one of the Mulligans. Don’t they kill one another, not to mind killing a Christian?
    Tadhg: God, yes, Da! Yes! They’re a terror!
    Bull: Or whose to say ’twasn’t an ass or a stallion. I heard of an ass kicking an oul’ woman to death up the country somewhere. My wife was run out of the haggard by two Spanish mares of a day – two crotchety bitches who’d as soon eat you as kick you. And ask Dandy there, Dandy’s wife was chased by a piebald ass, a stallion. Isn’t that right, Dandy?
    Dandy: She lost her voice for a week from the fright she got. And she woke with nightmares nine nights running.
    Sergeant: Very touching! Thanks for the help, Dandy. You can go now.
    Bull: Good man, Dandy, mind yourself. And do you know another thing … and this might be the answer. Ask the ordinary