The Irish Suspect: A Dan Delaney Mystery

The Irish Suspect

A Dan Delaney Mystery

By

Laura Joyce Moriarty

The Irish Suspect is a work of pure fiction. All of the names, dates, places, and events are creations and imaginations of the author.

Copyright 2015 by Laura Joyce Moriarty

All rights reserved.

Request for permission to make copies of any part of this work should be mailed to the following address:

fourrosesandbrownpublishing@mail.com

For

Tom

Alone, alone, all, all alone,

Alone on a wide, wide sea.

Coleridge: The Ancient Mariner

About the book . . .

Dan Delaney is a first class detective in Dublin, Ireland who was blamed for a poorly prosecuted case of a child murder. By caving to the department brass, he suffered severe criticism and retribution from his superiors, some of whom secretly covered for the real perpetrator. For five years, he has been passed over for promotions and works on petty crimes at a branch station with his partner Joe Murphy.

Then suddenly Dan is given a new murder to solve. Dan knows the only reason it was passed on to him was because someone outside the police headquarters, and high up in the government was interested in the outcome, and none of the brass were up to solving a nearly impossible case.

As evidence piles up around the Irish Suspect, Dan Delaney is convinced that once again, the wrong man has been charged, only this time, he is determined to find the real culprit. In the end, unraveling twenty years of confusing relationships, neighborhood tension, and gossip turns into a three year endeavor.

The Irish Suspect is a work of historical fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. All other names of people, places, and events in this story are creations and imaginations of the author.

PART I

Prologue

Fall 1957

Every evening when the two women left the factory, they both took the same bus home and obviously lived close to each other, as they were both the last of the few riders left at the end of the line. Still, they had never sat near each other and had never become friends. It was all about to change when an unexpected misfortune befell one of them and the other became inexplicably embroiled in the middle of an affair that was none of her business.

It all started when Eileen O’Shea became the topic of gossip at Maggie Sullivan’s family supper table, and Maggie found herself dying of curiosity. She had to know if the strange quiet lady who had been riding the same bus with her for nearly twenty years, was about to get engaged or married. She wanted to know if she was seeing one of the local bachelors.

She had her reasons. She knew from her brothers that an old flame was about to be released from prison---a man she secretly longed for, and who at one time had been briefly married to Eileen. Besides, she had her own reputation to consider as the neighborhood prima donna. Everyone came to her for advice, but mostly for the latest gossip. She was the one woman in the district that everyone knew---and everyone liked to be close to, and was the one who knew everything about everyone else . . . except Eileen. So this evening she scurried up next to her as they stamped their timecards and followed her out of the factory.

It’s such a beautiful day. I think I want to walk home. Care to join me?

You are right. It is gorgeous at that, and I rarely get to enjoy such magnificent weather. I’ll be glad to join you.

How much further after Patrick Road do you need to walk?

Not far. Just another block.

Perfect.

They had about two kilometers to walk, so there was no rush to get to the point that had been burning up Maggie’s interest in Eileen.

How do you get along with Kelly? I think he’s the best supervisor we’ve ever had. Don’t you think so?

I think he’s a fine supervisor, and I was glad to see that O’Leary got the can.

They both giggled.

Wasn’t it strange about him? A single man with such a pompous attitude? He certainly didn’t have much to brag about, but you’d never know it because of the way he spoke.

Yes, I know. I think he let his little bit of power go to his head. He was desperate to impress people even if it was just a bunch of women in an insignificant Irish sewing factory.

Yes. He was a peculiar one. Always strutting around like a dumb rooster. Did you ever think about that? You know? Why roosters strut? You’d think they knew they were the kings of the hen house---or something like that?

You are funny Maggie. I wish we had walked home together before. I’m enjoying your company. I always assumed you were anxious to get home in time to take care of your family.

Not really. They can all fend for themselves when I’m not around.

Even your husband? Doesn’t he get upset when you aren’t home on time?

Not really. Besides, he just thinks he’s in charge, she said with a devilish grin.

What do you mean?

I mean I do what I want when I want.

He doesn’t get upset?

I suppose he does, but his two brothers live in my house. So if I kick him out the other two have to go as well, she laughed.

Have you ever thought about it? I mean, is he ever cruel?

Not really, she said sounding as if she were asking herself the question. He can be a bit too mouthy on occasion, but I’ve learned to ignore him. I don’t want to die with a broken heart."

I guess most of us will despite our greatest efforts to let nasty remarks slide off our backs. God knows bearing up under the horrendous insults of O’Leary was enough to send anyone to an early grave.

Maggie stopped talking temporarily wondering what made Eileen say such a thing. She wondered if she had been a victim of O’Leary’s or if her long time absent husband could have been cruel.

Maybe in the future, we’ll keep an eye out for great weather forecasts.

I think so. That would be a fine idea, said Eileen.

So what do you think happened to O’Leary? I mean do you know why he was fired?

Not really. I only knew the same thing everyone knows. You know when we were all called into the personnel office and Miss Trudy made us check off that sheet with all the complaints on it. I wasn’t going to do it if I had to sign, but since she said that we didn’t have to, and that she only needed collaboration on some of the complaints. So I went ahead and checked off the things I knew about O’Leary.

What were the things you knew about?

Well, I saw him grab one of the young girls---you know, her fanny, she said in a whisper. She couldn’t believe she had let such a thing slip out of her mouth and felt herself blushing.

"It was when she was coming out of the toilet, and he said, Stay in there that long again missy and you know what will happen to you. Then he struck her in the back with his fist."

Do you mean that skinny kid they call Briny? asked Maggie. "I heard about that. Her mother had to have a doctor come look at her. O’Leary must have bruised her kidney. Then the kid’s old man went over and swore he’d kill O’Leary if he touched her again.

But I heard worse. I heard that he was having sex with several of the women. I even heard he raped one of the girls. She was a young one too, but one of the pretty ones. He made up some phony excuse and made her stay late. I heard he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her into his office and pulled down those blinds of his. It didn’t happen very long ago, so maybe he went too far that time."

Did someone you know see him? I mean everyone flies out of there the minute the bell rings.

"No. But the rumors spread around quickly. You know what I think. I think Miss Trudy must have been the witness. I know she stays after the bell, and she sees a lot more than she lets on. I’ve seen her scold some of the girls if they come to work looking a little too---hmmm----thrown together shall we say? She’s a real stickler for protocol. And I saw her mouth off at him when he got too fresh with one of the employees. She’s really smart and went to college you know, so she can get a job again anytime she wants. Wouldn’t that be a great feeling to have?"

Yes, you know it would be wonderful, said Eileen. Did you ever actually see him misbehave?

I did, but only because of what he did to me. I never told my husband until they fired him. It’s a good thing he’s long gone from the factory, because my husband would have killed him. He’s a jealous maniac.

Really? You’re not serious?

Well O’Leary may have lived through the beating, but not by more than a hair. My husband would have taken along some friends of his as witnesses---if not for a little assistance.

Men have their own way of settling things. I think Miss Trudy had the right idea. She made us fill out the questionnaire and record everything we knew about O’Leary’s bad habits. She was very careful to make sure we didn’t record gossip. She called it hearsay, and said it had to be something we saw with our own eyes. She only kept a record of our testimony---that is why we were in her office when we filled out the form. I felt very proud of her when she said we were invited to tell her anything we knew about him that wasn’t on the form. I think she was gathering enough proof to go to the owners.

I suspect so.

They walked in silence for a while commenting on the window boxes, breeze, and the smell of the sea air.

Do you know the bachelor who lives down on Cambridge Road? asked Maggie. He must be such a loser.

No, I don’t. But why do you ask that Maggie?

Well, you know he must be close to fifty. Maybe only in his late forties, but no younger than that, and there’s nary a man in all of Ireland who’s that old and not married.

"I had an uncle who never married, but he was a sea captain and not very clean, so no woman wanted him. At least that’s what my mother said. Who would marry such a filthy pig? she would say once in a while and make me laugh. Even a hungry woman would prefer to starve."

I miss your mother.

I do too.

You know she used to have the seat right next to me before you started working there.

I think she told me that.

What about your uncle? Do you think it was because no woman would want to sleep with him? asked Maggie. She asked this cautiously, because she wasn’t sure how to get the information she wanted about Eileen’s past---she had only been married a few weeks when they dragged her husband off to prison.

I think so. Of course, you know I’m nearly forty myself, and no longer married. I’m sure people gossip about me. Maybe that’s why none of the men ask me out for a meal. They think people talk about me as if I were a freak . . . a loser as you would say.

But you were married once even if it was for a short time and to Brad O’Shea, a man that many Dubliners admired.

Well what was there then that they couldn’t have admired---a tall, handsome young man with wavy light hair, blue eyes, and wild enough to be any young girl’s hero? But he was a scoundrel nevertheless. He was always sneaking off to the pubs and meeting up with the insurgents. I don’t believe in causing others pain just because you don’t like this or that law. I think you should suffer the consequences unless you’re smart enough to figure out a way to change the law.

Well, here we are in the 1950s and you’ve already forgotten how many men gave their lives to win our freedom. You weren’t around in the thirties when people in the north were being arrested for crimes they never committed. It was a difficult time in Ireland.

"I was young then, but no, I haven’t forgotten and I appreciate what they did---only for me, I would have done things differently."

What would you do to change a law?

I’m sure I don’t know. As I said, I’m not that smart, and you know I have no secondary education. But I read a lot and know how many others have handled situations with their brains and not their brawn.

So you are a loner too?

I’m not lonesome, but I’m not one for getting involved in anything. My life isn’t great, but I don’t want to make it worse---you know, decisions and familiarity are always filled with unknowns.

So is that why you haven’t gotten married again? She knew she was bordering on too nosy to get an honest answer.

"I guess I’m a little scared. Look at what happened to Linette. She thought she was getting married to the nicest man. He used to bring her flowers and candy every Saturday night. She wasn’t crazy about him, but she said he was a good man and at thirty she was willing to settle. But what happened? He spends every shilling she earns at the pub and hasn’t worked a day since they married. She’s nearly starving to death herself, and has no dowry left after saving every penny she earned at the factory for twelve years.

I don’t have much, but I’m very careful with what I spend and have put away enough money for my old age. It’s not a great deal, but I won’t need much, and I don’t want a man taking it for himself. I just want to go to work each day. I don’t know much about men and their fighting ways. I don’t even know much about being married. Brad was with me such a short period of time . . . a few weeks is all we had together before he was arrested."

Not even long enough to have a child?

Actually, not even long enough to have sex. I mean I didn’t know about it then, but Brad married me because he was asked to by my brother---may he rest in peace, she said as she made the sign of the cross. "I didn’t even know why he wanted Brad to marry me.

As it turned out, I don’t think he could stand to be around me. He was pleasant enough at meals, but as soon as he cleared his plate he’d grab his cap and be off. Sometimes he’d be out all night. I think he took to sleeping with his friends at their hideaways."

He was a strange man to marry a girl who almost became a nun, said Maggie. It’s a bit of an odd ball who would marry a girl that a guy doesn’t want to have sex with---and I mean passionate sex.

Well, I had no plans to be a nun, mind you. I don’t know where you got such an idea. Still, he probably thought trying to have sex with a girl who was barely seventeen would be a waste of time, but the truth was I yearned for him. Every once in a while, I wondered if I had given my hidden feelings away?

Given what away?

My desire for Brad. I sometimes try to think back to the times I was just beginning to moon for a marriage proposal. I wonder if I gave off obvious yearnings for Brad.

The hair on the back of Maggie’s neck prickled as she imagined Eileen going after Brad.

"I can never think of a thing that showed any clues---maybe some obvious daydreaming if his name was mentioned. Then suddenly I was engaged, but because my brother told me I had been promised and that was it. I’ll never forget when I found out that Jerry paid him off. I never even had a date let alone a proposal, and finally, just asked him what he thought. He leaned over the supper table as he was walking out the door and said, Now don’t you think there might have been something to it darlin? Something more precious than your cute little ass? I can’t believe I just said that. I have never told anyone . . ."

Don’t worry about it. My brothers have always made fun of my female assets . . . and all other women’s just as blatantly distastefully as they can, she said as she was turning beet red.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. You look like you’re going to pass out.

I’m not, said Maggie. I was just remembering something my own husband said----something very similar. In fact, I remember him saying the exact same thing. It’s probably because that’s the way they all talk. They like to copy each other---like little apes. Men are funny about their friendships and their appearances---not the way they look I mean, but how they are perceived by their friends. I think men will listen to the advice of a friend before they would listen to their mam or da. I dare say, most could care less about anyone else’s opinion except their own, but I think they all like to run ideas pass their friends just to seem chummy.

Maggie, you are such a cynic, but you may be right.

Maybe I’ve heard a lot more of it than you and am a cynic, but I think they do, especially when they run with a tight crowd.

Brad surely did that, said Eileen as her mood changed.

I wonder about you too! You are a bit of a mystery you know.

Who me? I don’t think so. I’m just a regular woman trying to survive on her own.

But why don’t you take any interest in men? You don’t go to the pubs or dances, and rarely even to church? Do you have a secret lover or maybe you like women?

Well at least now I know what people are wondering, Eileen sneered. No secrets. I’m just not a drinker and can’t dance.

And church?

The single men that go to church? I think---well, I can’t describe it, but they turn me a bit sideways. You know, I worry that they are going to have all kinds of rules for me to follow and I’m not a very flexible person. I can’t even abide the church rules.

Well hell, they are mostly ideas about men for men, so I’m not surprised. I go because my family expects it. I don’t pay much attention to the rules outside the Mass. But don’t you like men?

I do of course. Sometimes when I go to the movies, I see a man on the cinema screen and imagine he might put his arm around my waist or kiss my head, and then make me tea.

You really are a dreamer. I’ve yet to meet anyone around here who would get up from the table after work and make his misses a cup of tea.

Maggie was laughing so hard she had to stop in her tracks and buckle over before she could go on.

I know. The thought flitters away as soon as I hit the cold street. Still it’s a comfort to be able to imagine a man such as that. I think since I had a husband that didn’t like me, I dream of one who might.

Are you sure he didn’t like you? I mean a man would never agree to marry a woman he didn’t like at all even if it was for his best friend.

I’m not a hundred percent sure. He only said one nice thing to me the whole six weeks we were married. So I wouldn’t bet my bank account on it.

What was that?

Oh, I can’t remember. I only remember that he did say something that astonished me. I figured it was a slip of the tongue so to speak. I was so surprised that I couldn’t remember what it was the next day.

When do you go to see the pictures?

Usually, I go for the Sunday matinees. There are a lot of old ladies that go in groups---two or three at a time, and I feel comfortable enough around them. But it still is a rare occasion. I’m more a fan of books. I can sit at the kitchen table and read for four hours straight and feel as if no time has passed at all.

I’m sure I don’t understand your life. Soon you’ll be forty and you won’t be able to have any wee ones after that . . . at least not for sure if you know what I mean.

I do.

"So you never noticed the man who lives down by the