Read Online The Death of an Irish Consul by Bartholomew Gill - Free Book Online Page B

poor man is dead, and we don’t have a clue as to why.”
    “Well—”
    “And then there’s Mrs. Hitchcock. Do you know she stands to benefit from her husband’s death to the tune of one hundred twenty-five thousand pounds? Could you arrange to have me talk to her?”
    “I don’t know, McGarr. Perhaps after a while, but right now she’s—”
    Suddenly McGarr’s temper squalled. “Listen, Cummings—your feelings aren’t important in this matter. Two men have been murdered in my country. All I know about them is that they worked together and atone time occupied your post. They were executed. If I were you, I’d be wondering if, perchance, these murders aren’t following some bizarre pattern.”
    “I’ve thought about that.”
    “Then, can you get me an interview with Mrs. Hitchcock?”
    “Well—not immediately, since her doctor has had to put her under heavy sedation.”
    McGarr doubted that. The woman he had met would require nothing like that.
    “And when you do, I won’t stand for any bullying or badgering of her, McGarr.”
    “I’m a slow learner,” said McGarr. “I can remember nothing of the techniques you employed in the dining room of the Proscenium Club this afternoon.” He hung up and asked Mallon for the Shannon Garda office number.
    When it answered, McGarr said, “This is Peter McGarr again, do you remember me from this morning?” He was probably all the patrolmen had talked about since then. Their lieutenant was gone and no explanation, other than McGarr’s altercation with him, could be given.
    “Yessir.”
    “Do any of the rent-a-car franchises there have new, black Morris Marina two-door models for hire?”
    “Yes sir, Ryans.”
    “Could you go over there and impound the one that a large black man was driving today? I think he’s a Jamaican by the name of Moses Foster, although I couldbe wrong. There was another man with him—white, curly hair, black moustache, sallow complexion. He was wearing a tan coat with a tall fur collar. Both were well dressed.”
    He said to Mallon, “You’d better leave now. Scanlon will pick us up at the Hitchcock house. Find out, if you can, what flight they took. Do you have their descriptions?”
    “Yes, I’ve been listening.” Mallon thanked the old woman and left.
    Gallup already had his coat on and his hat in his hand.
    McGarr had returned to his jam jar of poteen.
    “Hadn’t we better…?” said Gallup.
    The phone began ringing.
    Kathleen shambled over to it, saying, “Ah, there now you warmed it up for me and it’s working. I wonder who that could be.” She lifted off her glasses, put the receiver to her ear, and listened. “Where’d ye say? London? Then, ’tisn’t for me, this call. I know no one there.”
    Already Gallup was rushing toward her with his hand out, “I’m from London, ma’am. Perhaps it’s for me.”
    But it wasn’t.
    It was Hugh Madigan for McGarr. “Your man, McKeon, gave me this number, Peter.”
    “And you’re at the Carlton, Hugh. Forgive me. We had to leave on a matter of some urgency.”
    “No problem. The reason I’m calling is that I happened to bump into an oil industry contact of mine here. Over dinner, for which I plan to charge you, he told me about a disputed oil claim in the Scottish offshore oil fields. It seems that a small, newly formed outfit called Tartan Oil Limited bought the exploration rights to a sliver of property which, because of inaccurate surveying by ENI engineers, is located between two of their big claims. Tartan immediately erected a derrick and began pumping. ENI claims Tartan has canted its well holes down into the ENI pools, since the geological configurations pretty much prove that there could not be any oil directly under the sliver of property. The matter is before the courts now, but if the determination goes against Tartan, they’ll have to indemnify ENI for every barrel they’ve pumped so far. Tartan is an around-the-clock operation. The rig itself cost