Indulgence in Death (In Death #31)(13)

“Happy to.”

When she stepped out of the woods seconds later—with only the slightest shudder of relief—she saw him. He sat on the lip of the fountain, looking toward her.

“You made pretty good time,” she said into her ’link.

“No reason to dawdle.”

“What’s a dawdle exactly? Is it more than a pause, less than procrastination?”

Now he smiled. “Somewhere in that vicinity.”

She shut off the ’link, slipped it into her pocket as she approached. “People should be able to dawdle when they’re on vacation.”

“So they should.” He took her hand, drew her down to sit beside him. “This is a fine spot for dawdling.”

“It didn’t spoil it?”

“No.” He draped an arm over her shoulders, pressed a kiss to her temple. “Who knows better than we that death happens even in good places? You wish you could finish it for her.”

“I can’t. She’s Leary’s. Technically,” she added when he kissed her again.

“Then know that she was lucky you were here. And that if it doesn’t go as you think it will, we can easily spend a few more days in Clare.”

Part of her wanted to agree, to hold him to the offer. But the rest, what had evolved between them, had her shaking her head. “No. This isn’t my case, and this is our time. Let’s go back to the farm. I think I could use a pint.”





Leary contacted her three times, with information and for advice. She tried to be discreet about it, easing her way out of the room to take the transmission. And she kept the updates to herself even though the family—including Sean, who’d wheedled his way into an overnight—stared at her on her return.

By moonrise, he was on the doorstep.

“Good evening to you, Mrs. Lannigan. Sorry to disturb you, but I wonder if I could just have a word with the lieutenant.”

“Come in, Jimmy. How’s your ma doing then?”

“She’s well, thanks.”

“How about a cup of tea?”

“Sure I could use one.”

“Come on back to the kitchen.” Without looking around, she pointed a finger at Sean when he got to his feet. “Sit where you are, lad.”

“But, Gran, I—”

“And not a word out of you. Eve, why don’t you come on back? You and Jimmy can have a cup and talk in private.”

Removing his uniform hat, Jimmy stepped in, looked around. “How’s it all going then?”

“Well enough,” Aidan Brody told him. “You’ve had a hard day, lad. Go have your tea.”

Sinead fussed a little, setting out the tea, adding a plate of the cookies they called—for reasons that eluded Eve—biscuits. She gave Leary a motherly pat on the shoulder.

“Take all the time you need. I’ll keep that lot out of your way.”

“Thanks for that.” Leary added sugar and milk to his tea, then with eyes closed took a long sip. “Missed my supper,” he told Eve and grabbed a cookie.

He looked tired, and considerably less green—in complexion and experience—than he had that afternoon. “Murder usually trumps food.”

“I know that now, that’s for certain. We have him.” He let out a little breath, almost a surprised laugh. “We have the one who killed Holly Curlow. I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Boyfriend?”

He nodded. “Or one who thought he ought to be the one and only for her, and who she’d decided to shake off. They’d been at a party in Ennis last night, got into a bit of a spat. They’d come, it seems, as a kind of reunion for her with some mates from that neck. They’d—Kevin Donahue is his name—been seeing each other for a few months with him more serious about the thing than she. I went up to Limerick myself when we got the DNA, and they’d picked him up. She’s scored both his cheeks like a cat would, and good for her, I say about that.”

He took another sip of tea. “It just tumbled down from there, you could say. They had me sit in on the interview, but it was quick. Three minutes in and he’s bawling like a baby and telling all.”

He sighed now, and Eve said nothing, asked no questions, let him gather it up in his head.

“They’d fought again in the car,” Leary went on, “and she’d told him she was good and done and to take her on to her ma’s, or just let her out. They’d been drinking, the both of them, and probably that added to the temper of it. He said he pulled over, and they shouted at each other more. It got physical. Him slapping, her scratching, then he said he just snapped. Hit her with his fists, and she kicked and hit and screamed. He claims he doesn’t remember putting his hands around her throat, and it might be the truth. But he came back to himself, and she was dead.”

Leary shook his head at the waste of it, scooted up a bit to hunch over his tea. “He told how he tried to bring her back somehow, how he just drove around a bit, trying to make it all not so. Then he pulled off at the wood, you see, carried her in—her other shoe was still in his car when they picked him up. He says he said a prayer over her and left her.

“He’s very sorry for it,” Leary added, with a hard bitterness in the tone that told Eve he’d lost a lot of his innocence that day. “He said, more than once, as if that would make it all right and tight again. He was very sorry for choking the life out of the girl because she didn’t want him. Bloody gobshite.”