Cauldron of Conspiracy

By J.P. Burke

When the youngest daughter of the Vice-President of the United States comes to Ireland for a summer course at the Kilkenny College of Art and Design, her visit interests a lot of people.
Asad Bin Shalwah, a Syrian refugee working in Dublin, whose daughter was killed in Syria, wants to deliver a message to the American president. His cousin, Jamal Oswam and his fellow members of an extreme resistance group in Syria, see it as an opportunity to strike back at the Americans.
Peter Devlin and Seanie O’Hara in Belfast also take a great interest in the girl's visit. As the last remaining members of the Free Ireland Brotherhood, they are anxious to find some way to have funds, frozen in a Boston bank by the U.S. president, released back to them so that they can resurrect their campaign.
Add a ruthless drug baron from Amsterdam and his siren of a Brazilian girlfriend, two hard bitten agents assigned to the protection of the girl and a Garda superintendent who ridicules the idea that anything could happen to her while in Ireland... and the pot begins to rapidly come to the boil.

But the girl is staying in Kilbracken, and this is Scobie Tierney’s neck of the woods. Nobody is better at putting the lid back on than the hard drinking, rule bending detective sergeant.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CUSTOM BOOK PUBLICATIONS
• Release date: Jul 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463948347

J.P. Burke

ABOUT THE AUTHORSean Burke was born in Athlone, Co. Westmeath in Ireland. His forty year marriage to his wife Mary has resulted in four children and five grandchildren. Educated in the Marist Brothers College in Athlone, over the years he has worked in the aviation, pharmaceutical, engineering, and service industries. A sportsman all his life, he represented his country at all levels in his favoured sport of basketball.A voracious reader, his preferred authors cover most fiction genres.Over the years, he published short stories and poetry in magazines and newspapers and has only lately ventured into writing novels. Already with four books to his credit, each feature his hero, Detective Sergeant Scobie Tierney of the Irish police. Sean still lives in Athlone.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Washington.D.C.

Vice-President Harry Dean Templeton rubbed a weary hand across his brow. It had been another long day culminating in an hour long visit to his home house by the Daughters of the Emerald Isle, a visit he could have well done without, although his involvement had only been for a twenty minute period. But it had been an intense twenty minutes with thirty excited women almost drowning him with attention and peppering him with questions which, for the most part, were mundane and frivolous and certainly far removed from the normal type levied at the right hand man of the leader of the free word. And that wasn’t even mentioning the cloying plethora of perfumes whose pungent scents had quickly filled the air in the room and which was so strong, led him to believe that some of the women must have showered in them or else put then on with a spray gun. And their visit had come after a particularly hard and difficult session in congress where the opposition were strongly opposing the health care plan he and the president had put together. All he had wanted to do after that was come home and grab some R and R with his wife and youngest daughter and a nice glass of Jim Beam. But Imelda had asked him to meet this female group and if there was one person on God’s earth that he couldn’t say no to, it was his wife of twenty eight years. The group had only just left and Imelda had gone to their living quarters. The heavy cloying scent still hung around the large reception room. He sniffed the sleeve of his jacket. It had even permeated the material.

He rose wearily from his chair and went to his home office where his private secretary was waiting. Gail Withers looked up from the large desk she sat at, a sympathetic smile on her face. ‘You survived the green brigade so, Mr. Vice-President?’

He returned the smile. ‘I thought Congress was tough but I’ll tell you one thing, Gail – if I had those women with me there as my back-up, the health bill would have gone through in… what’s that Irish expression …jig time? Isn’t that it?’

‘They looked a formidable bunch all right.’ She took up a few small cards from the desk. ‘Secretary Hayes says he’ll give you and the president an update on the Syrian situation in the morning and Ellie Mescalli wants to know if you are still planning to visit the Fort Apache Reservation in Arizona next week. She told me to remind you that you promised her you would speak at the opening of the revamped Historic Park.’

He nodded. ‘Tell her yes and we will nail down the details by the weekend.’ He held up the small box in his hand. ‘Now if that’s it, Gail, the good ladies of the Emerald Isle have given me a bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey and it would be bad manners on my part not to sample it.’

She laughed as she stood up and picked up her handbag. ‘Well if anyone deserves a nip or two, it’s certainly you, Mr. Vice-President. Goodnight. I’ll see you in the White House in the morning.’

‘Goodnight, Gail. And thanks for coming over.’

He followed her out into the corridor. Wes Clayton and Luther Worthington jumped up from the chairs they had been sitting on. Clayton was about five foot six inches tall with a buzz haircut, a ruddy complexion and restless blue eyes which never settled for a second. In contrast, his partner was a good four inches over the six foot mark, skin as black as coal and a shiny bald head which reflected the light overhead. Templeton waved a hand. ‘It’s okay, men. I’m finished for the night.’

‘Yes, Mr. Vice-President,’ Clayton said, his deep voice belying his medium stature.

Gail Withers nodded to the two men and then looked at the vice-president. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Vice-President.’

‘Goodnight, Gail.’ He turned to the other two men. ‘Okay, Wes, Luther. I think I can make it to another room without running into a band of assassins so why don’t the two of you take a break. Grab yourselves a coffee.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Vice-President,’ Clayton replied but neither he nor Worthington made any attempt to move.

Templeton gave them a wry grin. ‘Guess you don’t want coffee, do you, guys?’

‘No, Mr. Vice-President,’ Worthington said.

The two security men followed their charge down the corridor. He stopped at the door to his living room, his hand on the handle. ‘Okay, guys. I guess I’ll say goodnight now. See you in the morning.’

‘Goodnight, Mr. Vice-President,’ the two said almost in unison.

When he had gone in and closed the door, they sat down in the two chairs across from the door.

Imelda Templeton was sitting in one of the large armchairs, a cup of coffee in her hand. ‘Hello, darling. Can I make you a cup?’

He sat on the arm of the chair and held up the box. ‘Think I might just sample this Irish whiskey your friends presented to me.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Might just help clear the lungs of all that perfume.’

She laughed. ‘Yes. I can still get it off you.’ She gave him a loving look and put a hand on his arm. ‘Thanks for meeting them, Harry. I know you needed it like a hole in the head but look on the bright side. They are all married to influential business men and there is still a large Irish vote in America. It will be a big asset for Franklin’s and your re-election campaigns.’

He put an arm around her shoulders. ‘What would I do without you? You’re always thinking ahead. And you’re right. It will certainly do our campaign no harm at all.’ He gave her a kiss on the lips and then stood up and held up the box. ‘Now – what say we both try a drop of this nectar from your mother’s home land.’

He walked over to the side cabinet on which an array of thick cut glasses stood, the small Wateford Crystal sticker evident on all of them. He took the bottle out of the box and using a knife, removed the plastic covering the cap. He unscrewed the cap and poured two fingers of the amber liquid into two of the glasses. He looked over at her. ‘Ice and water or soda?’

She nodded. ‘Yes please and plenty of water in mine.’

He opened the cabinet and the door of the small fridge inside and took four pieces of ice out of the plastic bag and popped two into each glass. He uncapped the large bottle of spring water and put a liberal amount into one glass and just a small dash into the other. He handed her the fuller glass. ‘What’s that toast they say back in Ireland?’

She tapped her glass off his. ‘Slainte.’

He grinned and raised his own in salute. ‘Slainte.’

They both took a drink and then sat down on the large couch.

Imelda turned to face him. ‘Patti got a letter from the college in Ireland today, confirming her acceptance for the special course.’

He took another drink. ‘Where did you say that college was again?’

‘Kilkenny.’

‘Not Dublin?’

She shook her head. ‘No. It’s about an hour from Dublin.’

‘Pity,’ he said. ‘It would be a lot easier if it was Dublin. We could utilise the embassy staff in sorting out accomodation and security and all that. But this Kilkenny! That means having to make other arrangements.’ He took another sip of whiskey. ‘She’s still set on going there, is she? There wasn’t the same course in a college in Dublin?’

‘No. And the Kilkenny College of Art and Design is recognised as one of the best and that’s where she wants to go. And Judith Kransky is going there as well.’ She took a small sip from her own glass. ‘But we do have Aunt Ethel there. She lives in a town called Kilbracken. It’s only about a twenty minute drive from Kilkenny city. I’m sure she would be happy to put Patti up. It’s only for six weeks, after all.’

He gave her a doubtful look. ‘And do you think Patti would want to stay with an old spinster? Even if she is related. She is a spinster, isn’t she?’

Imelda smiled. ‘Yes she is and no – I don’t suppose Patti would. She and Judith will probably want to share an apartment. But at least Aunt Ethel could keep an eye on her if the apartment is in Kilbracken. She’s well known in the community there so I’m sure she could do a lot for Patti.’

He gave a heavy sigh. ‘It’s going to take a lot of organising. We’ll have to have our own security over there.’

Imelda made a face. ‘She won’t be too happy about that.’

He finished off his drink and stood up. ‘Well that’s just the price she’ll have to pay if she wants to go there. It goes with this job. And her brother and sister had to put up with it when they went to college. And that was for a lot longer than six weeks.’

‘I’ll talk to her but I better ring mam and ask her to talk to Aunt Ethel first.’

‘Where is she tonight?’

‘I told you. She and Judith are gone to that Irish bar, Finnegans. That guy you like yourself, that she converted you to, is playing there. Finbar Furey.’

He grinned. ‘Hope she buys one of his CDs for me.’ He left down his glass. ‘Well I’m bushed. I’m going to turn in. You coming?’

‘I’ll wait for Patti. You go ahead.’

He walked over and gave her a kiss. ‘Goodnight, darling.’

‘Goodnight, Harry.’

He started humming as he walked out.

She smiled as she recognised it. The tune was ‘When You Were Sweet Sixteen.’ It was one of her favourites too.

*****

CHAPTER TWO

Kilbracken – Ireland.

Ethel Timoney put down the phone and walked back into the kitchen and sat down at the table. She picked up her cup of tea and took a sip and grimaced. It had gone cold. She didn’t bother making a fresh cup. She sat at the table mulling over the conversation with her sister. Irene’s granddaughter was coming to do a summer course at the college of art and design in Kilkenny. But her parents wanted her to stay in Kilbracken. She felt a frisson of excitement. Irene’s daughter was married to no less a man than the vice-president of America. To have their daughter stay in Kilbracken would be massive for the town. And for her. True – most of the townspeople already knew of her relationship to the vice-president’s wife since the American election – she hadn’t been shy about broadcasting it but to actually have one of the family staying in Kilbracken – well, that would move her own status up a good few notches. Of course she had immediately offered to keep the girl in her own home and while Irene had said she would mention it, she had gotten the impression that maybe the girl herself would not be too keen on that idea. And she had to admit, she was relieved herself. She was set in her ways and having somebody else in the house, particularly a teenager, would have been a big upset to her routine.

She hadn’t seen her sister in over twenty-five years now. Not since she had retired from her job as an air hostess. During that time, her work had brought her to the States fairly often and she had always made a point of calling to see Irene but since retiring – and despite the fact she now had her own travel agency – she had not been to America since and Irene hadn’t been home. There was the occasional phone call but basically that was it. She had never met Patti Templeton, the youngest of her niece’s three children. She looked at her watch. Just gone nine o‘clock. She stood up and carried her cup, plate, and knife and spoon over to the sink and rinsed then off, leaving them to dry off on the draining board. She put away the milk, butter and marmalade and with a final glance around the kitchen, went out into the hall and put on her coat.

She was unlocking the door of the travel agency fifteen minutes later. She stopped as the door beside her opened and her lodger came out.

‘Hello, Miss Timoney,’ Gerry said, his smile disguising his annoyance at getting caught. He hoped she wasn’t in one of her usual lecturing moods but he could see by the glow on her face, she was excited about something. He was right about her being excited but wrong about the talkative mood.

‘Detective Sergeant – off to work are we?’ She didn’t wait for a reply. ‘I was hoping to catch you.’

Gerry felt his heart sink. Here we go again, he thought. He smiled to mask his annoyance. ‘What can I do for you, Miss Timoney?’

Her voice lowered to an almost conspiratorial tone but it still bristled with smugness. ‘You know my sister’s daughter, my niece, is married to the Vice-President of the United States? I’ve told you that, haven’t I?’

Gerry suppressed a grin. ‘Yes you have, Miss Timoney. You’ve mentioned it a few times.’ You never shut up about it, he said to himself. Everyone in town had heard it. She always managed to slip it into any conversation.

‘Well it seems my grandniece – the vice-president’s daughter – is coming to Kilkenny to do a course in art and design. They have asked me to find a suitable place for her to stay in Kilbracken for the six weeks the course is on. Naturally I offered to put the girl up myself but I get the impression she wants her own place. She’s coming with a friend who will be doing the same course so I’m looking for an apartment for two.’

‘Wise girl,’ Gerry thought. He gave her the expected surprised look. ‘Wow! That’s great news, Miss Timoney. Very exciting.’

‘It is, isn’t it? It will put Kibracken on the map. But…’ Her voice dropped a few octaves to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘…because her father is the Vice-President of the United States, obviously there will have to be security protecting her. I have to find accomodation that has other apartments in close proximity. I’m sure you can understand that, detective sergeant. You being in the same business so to speak.’

Despite himself, Gerry felt a flutter of excitement. Miss Timoney was right. To have the daughter of the Vice-President of the United States staying in their town would be a big thing. He looked at the elderly woman whose face was still lit up. ‘I’m sure the American secret service will be liasoning with our own garda authority. I’d imagine that between them, they’ll organise everything.’

She gave a dismissive sniff. ‘She is MY grandniece. And her mother has asked that I arrange her accomodation. So all those… secret service people…’ The three words spat out like sour bile. ‘Well, they can just lump it.’

Gerry didn’t suppress the grin. Miss Timoney was a woman on a mission and the suits that would come from America and from headquarters in Dublin would soon discover that for themselves. He started to move away but she grabbed his arm. ‘I want your opinion, detective sergeant. I was thinking of that small apartment complex on Friar street. You know… opposite that public house that you seem quite fond of. McCluskeys, isn’t it?’

He nodded. ‘They’re fine apartments all right; all recently refurbished, but I don’t think any of them are occupied yet though. They’ve only just finished working on them as far as I know.’

Do you know who owns them?’ she asked.

Gerry shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t. I know Bill Dolan used to own the building but he sold it about six months ago.’

‘But you could find out for me, couldn’t you?’

He sighed. She just wasn’t going to give up. ‘I’ll ask McCluskey. He should know.’

She still held onto his arm. ‘This is not public knowledge yet, detective sergeant. I am only telling you because you… well… because you are a man I know I can trust to be discreet. It will be public knowledge soon enough.’

‘Of course, Miss Timoney. I won’t tell anybody.’

She nodded. ‘Good. Now if you will excuse me, detective sergeant, I do not have time to spend standing around all morning chatting. It is okay for you public servants but us self-employed people cannot afford the luxury. I will bid you good day.’ She pushed open the shop door and went in.

Gerry looked at the closed door. Typical Miss Timoney. It was she who had nabbed him and kept him talking but now that she had what she wanted, it was him delaying her. He would bet a penny to a pound she’d have the whole town told before the morning was over. She wouldn’t be able not to. He headed for the station.

Pat Hartigan was coming out as he arrived. ‘How they hangin’, Scobie?’

‘North to south, Pat… as they should be. Where are you off to?’

The big man picked at his nose. ‘Headin’ out to Philly Reilly’s farm. Some of his sheep and lambs were attacked last night. He thinks it might be Boss O‘Connor’s two mutts.’ He made a face. ‘I hope the fuck it’s not. I don’t fancy havin’ to go around to his place and tell him. You know what a short fuse he has. Particularly when it has anything to do with his precious bloody dogs. Not that I’m afraid of him or anything, mind. I think that’s why Flann asked me to go. Some of the others would be shittin’ their pants before they even knocked on his door.’

Gerry shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t have been Boss’ dogs. He has them too well trained for that. And we all know that Philly has a grudge against any traveller, settled or not. It’s not the first time he’s lodged a complaint against one of them.’

Hartigan nodded. ‘Yeah. Ever since he had that generator stolen a year or so ago. Always said it was a group of travellers took it. And in that instance, he probably was right. Remember – we had a lot of complaints about a group of them down from the north. Went around to a lot of the farms offering cheap galvanised roofing. But they were only casing the places.’

‘I remember,’ Gerry said. ‘But they had gone across to England before we could do anything. Boss and the lads up at the campsite are as straight as a die. We all know that.’

‘Aye; that we do.’ He took the car keys from his pocket. ‘Well, Scobie me lad, you might have shag all to do but we’re all not lazy arse detectives who can sit around scratchin’ their holes all day. Some of us have actual police work to be doing. I’ll see ya.’

Gerry grinned. That was the second time in a short space that someone had accused him of delaying them. ‘See ya, Pat. And it might be no harm to call around to Bridie Galligan’s place. She has two mangy mongrels that she doesn’t lock up at night. You might find a lamb shank or a bit of wool stuck in one of their gobs.’

Hartigan gave a contemptuous snort. ‘I know them pair of bastards, all right. Mangy as hell. But they’re not half as mangy as she is. She can make milk curdle with a look from a hundred yards. No wonder poor Ned kicked the bucket after only two years of marriage. She badgered him to death; her and the witch of a mother she moved in the day after the marriage. Poor Ned often said he was half afraid to go home at night. One of them was a bigger bitch than the other. Made his life hell. He was the only man I know died with a smile on his face. He probably lay down and asked the bull to trample him.’

‘Why did he ever marry her?’

‘Asked him that once. Said she was all smiles and open arms until she got the ring on her finger and then it was tight lips and even tighter legs. All she ever wanted was his farm.’ He grinned at Gerry. ‘So you better watch yourself, Scobie. You don’t want to be caught in a honey trap.’

Gerry laughed. ‘You needn’t worry about me, Pat. Sure all I have of any value is me Joe Dolan record collection. I haven’t even got a white washed gable – never mind a house to go with it – or a farm. Now. go on with you. The four dogs up at Galligans are waiting for you. Make sure you don’t catch rabies from the two two-legged ones.’

He turned and went in before Hartigan could come back with a smart reply.

Flann looked up when he walked in. ‘How’s it goin’, Scobie? Any auld news?’ Gerry walked over and filled himself a coffee from the machine, took a sip, made a sour face and then came over and sat down beside Flann’s desk. Elsie Masterson slid her chair across to join them.

‘Divil a bit,’ Gerry said. ‘What’s new here?’

‘S S, D D,’ Flann said.

‘Ye talking in code now?’ Elsie said.

Gerry grinned. ‘Same shite, different day.’ He took another sip of his coffee and grimaced and put down the cup. ‘James Street! This tastes like cats’ piss.’

Flann laughed. ‘Well, we all know you love your Guinness and Jameson, Scobie. But cats’ piss? When did you start drinking that?’

‘Ever since they put in that feckin’ so-called coffee machine over there.’ He gave Elsie a sly look. ‘You wouldn’t make us a proper cup in the kitchen, would you, Elsie?’

She nodded. ‘You’re right, Scobie. I wouldn’t. You’re well able to make it yourself.’

Gerry looked up as Albert Gaffney, one of the three new young recruits recently assigned to the station, came out of the kitchen with a steaming cup in his hand. He stopped as Gerry stood up. ‘Who said there were no decent people left in the world.’ He took the cup from the puzzled man’s hand and sniffed it. ‘Fair play to you, Gaffer. A good strong coffee. Is there sugar in it?’

The young man’s brow furrowed. ‘No. I didn’t…’

Gerry handed him back the cup.‘Three spoons like a good man.’ He looked at the other two. ‘You want anything, Flann? Elsie?’

‘Sure I’ll have the same. But only one sugar.’ Flann said.

‘I’ll have a tea,’ Elsie said. ‘No sugar and just a hint of milk. Thanks, Albert.’

Gaffney gave the three of them another peculiar look and then walked back into the kitchen. Flann laughed. ‘Poor bugger doesn’t know what to think.’ He looked at Elsie. ‘And I’m surprised at you, Elsie. You wouldn’t make it for Scobie. But you’re taking advantage of Gaffney.’

‘It’s called emancipation,’ she said. ‘And who are you to preach anyways? I don’t think you’ve ever made a cup in your life. You always get somebody else to do it.’

‘I only ask,’ he said. He tapped the three stripes on the arm of his shirt. ‘Larry, Moe and Curly here do the convincing.’

They stopped talking as Gaffney came back out, this time with a tray in his hand. He set it down on the desk and stood back. ‘Two coffees. One with three sugars – that’s the Manchester city mug - and one with one. And a tea with feck all milk as requested. That’s the cup.’ He took up one of the three mugs. ‘Ye don’t mind if I have my own or would ye like me to make ye a cake or something first?’

Gerry gave him a slight tap on the back, taking care not to cause him to spill his drink. ‘You’re all right, Gaffer. And that’s not an answer about the cake. I mean you’re a sound man. You’ll fit in nicely here.’

The young recruit preened a bit. ‘Thanks, detective sergeant.’

The three took up their own drinks. Gerry took a drink and licked his lips. ‘Now that’s what you call a cup of coffee.’

*****

CHAPTER THREE

Gerry pushed through the door of McCluskey’s. The bar owner himself was out from behind the bar, hoovering the carpet in the lounge end. He switched it off as Gerry came in and made a show of looking at his watch. ‘Five past twelve. A bit early – even for you, Scobie.’

Gerry pulled out a stool and sat up on it. ‘Didn’t really come in for a drink, Macker, but what the hell! We’re having a quiet day so a quickie won’t do any harm. Fill us an Arthur G.’

McCluskey went around behind the bar and picked up a clean pint glass. He put it under the black and gold tap and pulled off a full glass of swirling Guinness and poured it down the sink. He repeated this another two times and then got another clean glass and filled it to within a couple of inches of the top and left it down to settle. He grinned at Gerry. ‘I take it ye haven’t got a new superintendent so?’

Gerry grinned back. ‘No. Technically I’m still in charge as the senior man. I ring in to Superintendent Nally in Kilkenny and fill him in on a daily basis. He’s quite happy to let us roll along ourselves unless we specifically ask him for assistance. They’re supposed to be filling the position in the next few weeks.’

McCluskey picked up the glass and topped off the pint and put it down in front of him. ‘Well let’s hope whoever ye get this time won’t be another gobshite like the last two.’ He shook his head. ‘God – they were two right flutehooks.’

Gerry put a fiver down on the counter and then picked up the pint and took a deep pull, licking the creamy froth from his upper lip. ‘You’re right there, Macker. Maybe it’ll be third time lucky this time.’

McCluskey put the euro coin change down in front of him. ‘I’m sure you hope so anyways. You must be pissed off having to sort out all these plonkers who come down here thinking they’re all Sherlock feckin’ Holmes.’

Gerry grinned. ‘Aye. It can be a bit of a pain in the arse educating them right enough. They think just because we’re a rural station, we’re all feckin’ Keystone cops.’ He took another pull from the pint. ‘Who’s developing them apartments across the road, Macker? Bill Dolan’s old place.’

‘A Northern Ireland crowd called Thistleton Developments. They’ve a big sign in one of the downstairs windows. They’re having an open day next Sunday. Why you asking? You thinking of leaving Miss Timoney’s place?’

Gerry shook his head. ‘No. Just know somebody who might be interested. You know how many apartments are in it?’

McCluskey reached under the counter and handed him a four page leaflet. ‘Got some of these from one of the guys who comes in at lunchtime. Asked me to hand them out.’

Gerry studied the leaflet. The front cover had a large picture of the building with the name Thistleton Developments, a Belfast address and a local Kilkenny phone number on it. The two inside pages showed details of one of the six apartments. There were pictures of a large living room with marbled floor, a small fully equipped kitchen area with a breakfast counter which separated it from the living area. The living area was furnished with what looked like the best of furniture including a large couch, two armchairs with footrests, a coffee table, long side cabinet and what must have been a forty inch plus television on one wall. There were large pictures hanging on the other walls and the big bay window had a window seat with cushions and full height velvet curtains. The two bedrooms were carpeted in deep red with one of them having a large double bed while the other had two singles. Each had built in sliding door wardrobe units, a dressing table with mirror and stool and a large picture on the wall against which the beds were set. The bed linen was pristine white with the covering duvet a rich gold colour. There were lockers each side of the beds with tall lamps with tassled shades. Each room had two standard size windows which Gerry thought was a bit disapointing. The back page showed a large fully tiled bathroom with cream coloured fittings, a large shower area with a waterfall shower head and muted lighting. There was an inset ledge running the full length of the bath and spaced intermittently along it were small stubby white candles in thick glass holders. All the candles were lighting. A large white fluffy towel hung from a wall rail and beside that was a tall narrow shelving unit with other folded towels on the three shelves. A wall fixed full length mirror was beside that. The whole apartment package screamed luxury.

‘I’d say they’re not cheap,’ he said.

McCluskey made a face. ‘You can sing it. I asked yer man what the rent would be. Have a guess.’

Gerry flicked through the leaflet again. ‘I’d say you wouldn’t have much change out of four hundred a week.’

The bar owner snorted. ‘Four hundred me arse! Try seven fifty.’

Gerry’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Seven fifty! James Street! Are they expecting an influx of arab sheikhs or what? Sure nobody normal would have that kind of money!’

‘A lot of young people have it now,’ McCluskey said. ‘All these high tech whiz kids working for Google and Facebook and places like that. Sure they’re on monopoly money. And I hope it’s a clatter of them move in. It would be good for my business.’

Gerry laughed. ‘Better than the arabs anyways. Sure they don’t drink at all.’

He finished off the pint and held up the empty glass. ‘As a wise man once said, God gave every man two eyes to see the bar, two legs to walk into it, two ears to hear the barman ask what’s he having and two hands to pick up drinks so, in keeping with the twosies, I’ll have another pint.’

McCluskey picked up a fresh glass and put it under the tap. ‘That wise man you’re quotin’. Wouldn’t happen to be a fella called Scobie Tierney, would it?’

Gerry grinned as he took out his phone. ‘Ye could be right, Macker.’ He pressed the call button and put the phone to his ear. ‘Flann. Everything okay back there…? Well if it’s that quiet, I think I might take the rest of the day off… Sound. Did Pat come back yet?’ He listened for a few minutes then laughed. ‘I told him it was probably them two feckers. How’d he get on with the two witches?’ He listened again for a while and then laughed again. ‘Fair play to Pat. Nobody else would have been able to handle them like that. Right, I’ll talk to you.’ He ended the call and put the phone back into his pocket.

McCluskey put the fresh pint down in front of him. Gerry fished a handful of coins from his pocket, extracted a two euro and two one euro coins and slid them over to McCluskey. The bar owner swiped them into his large hand. ‘You here for the day so?’

Gerry picked up the pint and grinned over it at him. ‘Might be. We’ll see how it goes.’ He took a deep pull and smacked his lips. ‘Ye can’t whack a good pint.’

‘I heard you askin’ about Hartigan? What’s that big luder been up to?’

‘Investigating a dog attack on Philly Reilly’s sheep. I told him to check out Galligan’s two mongrels.’

McCluskey made a face. ‘Don’t envy him going to that place. That Bridie Galligan is a right tramp. Has a tongue like a poisoned dart. And as for that mother of hers! Mad as a fuckin’ brush, she is. They were in here after poor Ned’s funeral. Not a wet eye between them. More celebratin’ than mournin’. A right pair of skanks.’

Gerry took another mouthful. ‘They’re that all right. But Pat was well able for them.’

McCluskey leaned on the counter. ‘Go on. Tell us.’

Gerry took another drink. ‘Reilly showed him four sheep and three lambs, all savaged and dead. And he said another lamb was missing. He tried to tell Pat it was Boss O‘Connor’s dogs but I had already told him that it wouldn’t be.’

McCluskey shook his head. ‘You’re right there. Sure Boss has more manners on them than he has on his wife.’

Gerry grinned at him. ‘You wouldn’t want Daisy O‘Connor to hear you saying that. Anyways – Pat went over to Galligans. The two dogs were sprawled in the yard and of course, when Pat got out of the squad, they got up and started growling and running at him.’

McCluskey edged his head closer. ‘This is gettin’ fierce interestin’. Go on. What did Hartigan do?’

Gerry took another drink from his pint and left down the glass. ‘Well you know Pat. I’d say six feet four or five in his stocking feet. But he wasn’t in his stockinged feet. He was wearin’ his size fourteens. When the first mutt made a lunge at his leg, he gave it a kick that landed it a good four feet away. The second one made a go at him then and he managed to drop kick that one about two foot further. That knocked the starch out of the two feckers.’

McCluskey couldn’t stop the excitement coming into his voice. ‘The women. Where were they?’

Gerry let the question hang until he had downed another good mouthful of Guinness. ‘Bridie came runnin’ out of the house with a brush in her hand, screechin’ that Pat had assaulted her dogs. She made a swipe at Pat with the brush but he grabbed it from her and told her that if she didn’t quieten down, he would stick it so far up her arse, she could use it as a toothpick.’

McCluskey laughed. ‘Jaysus! I’d have given a fair bit to have seen that.’

Gerry grinned at him. ‘But that wasn’t the best. The auld one came stormin’ out, as Pat says, lookin’ like somethin’ from a looney bin and roarin’ at him that he had assaulted her daughter and she was going to report him for brutality and to the ISPCA.’

McCluskey raised a hand. ‘Hold on there, Scobie.’ He grabbed two small glasses and filled out two whiskeys and popped a few cubes of ice into each. He put one down in front of Gerry, along with a glass of water. ‘This story needs a Jemmy.’ He took a sip from his own without watering it. ‘Go on. What happened next?’

Gerry added a small drop of water from the glass to his own whiskey. He swirled the ice around in the glass and then took a drink. ‘Well the auld wan was so vexed, she forgot what she had in her hand when she came runnin’ out.’

‘What?’

‘Only a half-skinned lamb.’

‘Ah, for fuck sake!’ McCluskey said slapping a big hand down on the counter. ‘That’s fuckin’ priceless.’

Gerry looked at him. ‘Do you know what the mother’s name is?’

McCluskey thought for a moment. ‘Devanney.’

‘Yeah,’ Gerry said. ‘But what’s her first name?’

‘Barbara, I think.’

‘You’re right. Barbara Ann Devanney.’

McCluskey gave him a questioning look. ‘So? What’s that got to do with the story?’

Gerry grinned. ‘When Pat saw the lamb in her hand, he started singing, ‘Baa Baa, Baa Barbara Ann, Baa Baa Baa, Baa Barbara Ann.’

McCluskey burst out laughing. ‘Oh Sweet Mother of Divine! That’s only priceless!’

Gerry laughed as well. ‘Pat said it was the funniest thing he had ever seen. The auld wan with the half skinned lamb in her hand, her mouth wide open and her daughter glaring at her. Lookin’ as if she was fit to kill her. And when the mother realised she had the lamb in her hand, she tried to hide it behind her back. And then to cap it all, didn’t the two dogs jump up and grab the lamb and start pulling it between them like a tug of war.’ He laughed and shook his head, finished off the whiskey and then took up the remaining half pint and took a pull. ‘There was feck all use them denying it then.’

‘So what did Pat do?’

‘Asked to see their dog licences.’

McCluskey sniggered. ‘I’d say there wasn’t much chance of that.’

‘No. They didn’t have any. Pat rang the ISPCA guy and told him he had two dogs needed putting down. He then rang Reilly and asked him to put a value on the sheep and lambs that were killed. He insisted Bridie cough up the money before he left or else he was going to charge them. It nearly killed her but she paid up.’

‘Fair play to Hartigan. Not too many would have gotten it sorted out like that.’

‘He’s some performer all right. You can’t beat old stock. If that was one of the new guys, they’d be coming back with dog bites, their trousers ripped and their tails between their legs.’ He finished off the pint and held up the glass. ‘God it’s thirsty work all this tale tellin’. Fill us another one.’

*****

CHAPTER FOUR

Washington D.C.

Patti Templeton looked excitedly at her mother. ‘God, I can’t wait, mum! It’s so exciting. I can’t believe I’m leaving tomorrow.’

Her mother smiled at her. ‘It will be a great experience all right. But remember, Patti. You are the daughter of the Vice-President of the United States and with that comes a lot of responsibility. Whether you like it or not, every move you make will be under the scrutiny of the media and needless to say, quite a few of them will be looking for things that would reflect badly on your father. I cannot stress how careful you will have to be.’

The girl gave her a reassuring smile. ‘I know that, mum. And of course I wouldn’t do anything to embarrass dad or you, or my country. I’m fully aware of how people will be watching me.’

Her mother put a hand on her arm. ‘But are you, child? I don’t think you realise just to what lengths some people will go, to get a sensational story. Even to the point of orchestrating things to suit their own purposes. And then of course, there’s the enemies of America and others with their own agendas. They too will be looking to get some kind of leverage over your father. At least if you were here in America, we would be able to control things for you a lot better.’

Patti patted the hand on her arm. ‘I’ll be extra careful, mum. And I’m sure dad will have his secret service agents keeping a close eye on me. And of course, there’s always grand-aunt Ethel. From what gran has told me, she’ll be keeping a close eye on me too.’

Her mother’s face remained solemn. ‘It’s not just you, Patti. As your friend, Judith will be under scrutiny as well and we both know she can be a bit flighty. What she does will reflect on you and ultimately, back on your father.’

‘Ah, Judith is fine, mum. She won’t do anything to embarrass us. She knows we have to watch ourselves.’

Imelda was about to say something else but stopped as the door opened and her husband came in. Harry Templeton smiled at them both. ‘Well, girls? Everything sorted?’

Patti jumped up and ran over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘Yes, dad. Mam has laid out the ground rules and you know I wouldn’t do anything to cause you any trouble.’

He gave her a hug. ‘I know that, Patti. Just be careful over there. I know you will be.’

Imelda stood up. ‘Who is going with her?’

Her husband grinned at her. ‘Your two favourite people. I’ve asked Wes and Luther to go. And Inger Johannson and Pancake Tweedle will partner them.’

Imelda gave him a stern look, although there was a hint of a smile twitching the corners of her mouth. ‘I’ve told you before, Harry. You can’t go around calling Demerara Tweedle, Pancake. That’s insulting.’

He raised his hands in a sign of surrender. ‘I didn’t give her the nickname. And she prefers it to Demerara anyways. Who