had the air of comfort and complacency that accompanies the rich like the smell of cigar smoke and the swish of golf clubs.
“Inspector Daly,” he announced, “once again we are victims of circumstance. It’s rarely a good morning when our paths cross.”
The driver was the solicitor Malachy O’Hare, a big shot in the local legal field.
“What are you doing here?” asked Daly.
“Curiosity. I wanted to see where Joseph had holed himself up.” The solicitor’s voice, musical and rich, was more accustomed these days to buying rounds of drinks than saving the hides of criminals. He also appeared to be out of touch with police procedure.
“This is a crime scene, Mr. O’Hare.” Daly pointed to the yellow tape. “That’s as far as you can go.”
“One of your officers called me this morning. Joseph was an ex-employee, a legal clerk who worked forty years for the firm.” O’Hare’s eyes were playful and engaging. “We suspect he may have had some belongings of ours.” His tone was light but insistent.
“Well, that’s exactly the kind of information I’m interested in,” said Daly with a sudden professional smile. “What kind of belongings?”
“Oh, just a few folders belonging to some old cases. Nothing legally active, but we have the confidentiality of our clients to worry about.”
“Follow me,” said Daly. “While we’re walking you can tell me what you remember about Mr. Devine.”
“What can I say apart from the fact that he was a good legal clerk? He never revealed much about his private life.”
“But you believe he removed some important files.”
O’Hare wiped his expensive-looking shoes on the threadbare doormat before entering the cottage. “Let’s say some concerns had been raised.”
Even in the gloom of the cottage, Daly could see a distracted look cloud the solicitor’s eyes. He waited patiently, hoping the rhythm of their exchange would reveal why the solicitor had taken the unusual step of rushing to a crime scene.
O’Hare frowned and surveyed the collection of duck decoys. He raised an eyebrow at them as though they were a jury hovering on a verdict.
“It’s extraordinary what a colleague can conceal over the years. I never knew he had an interest in ducks. Perhaps he did have an obsessive streak. It’s not nice to speak ill of the dead, but I always thought he was a dull, venal man.”
“We’re not here to judge his personality,” replied Daly.
O’Hare glanced up at the detective, scanning his face, looking for what might be hidden between his words.
“Devine was employed as a paralegal almost as long as I’ve been a solicitor,” he continued, with the unhurried meticulousness of a prosecutor laying out the case against the accused. “And believe me, he was a dull man. Those decoys haven’t budged a muscle since we came in, but there was more life in any one of them than in that man, God rest his soul. I’d have rather shaved my head than get caught in a conversation with him. He was like a true bogeyman about the office. But then a tedious nature is probably a strength in the legal profession. No one with an aversion to boredom ever survived working in law.”
“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted him killed? A disgruntled client, perhaps.”
“Our firm is almost exclusively concerned with the ordinary affairs of humanity: contracts, conveyance, leaving a will…. I can’t see a client getting sufficiently enraged to kill Joseph. Though there was an occasion when he served a writ at a funeral. The coffin containing the man’s father was being lowered when Joseph handed him the papers. I don’t think he was aware of the emotional ramifications. But that was a long time ago, back in the ’70s. Apart from that, I can’t think of any reason that would drive someone to kill him.”
O’Hare gave in to his curiosity and lifted one of the decoys.
“We should get an expert in to value these,” he said, but he was no longer looking
“Inspector Daly,” he announced, “once again we are victims of circumstance. It’s rarely a good morning when our paths cross.”
The driver was the solicitor Malachy O’Hare, a big shot in the local legal field.
“What are you doing here?” asked Daly.
“Curiosity. I wanted to see where Joseph had holed himself up.” The solicitor’s voice, musical and rich, was more accustomed these days to buying rounds of drinks than saving the hides of criminals. He also appeared to be out of touch with police procedure.
“This is a crime scene, Mr. O’Hare.” Daly pointed to the yellow tape. “That’s as far as you can go.”
“One of your officers called me this morning. Joseph was an ex-employee, a legal clerk who worked forty years for the firm.” O’Hare’s eyes were playful and engaging. “We suspect he may have had some belongings of ours.” His tone was light but insistent.
“Well, that’s exactly the kind of information I’m interested in,” said Daly with a sudden professional smile. “What kind of belongings?”
“Oh, just a few folders belonging to some old cases. Nothing legally active, but we have the confidentiality of our clients to worry about.”
“Follow me,” said Daly. “While we’re walking you can tell me what you remember about Mr. Devine.”
“What can I say apart from the fact that he was a good legal clerk? He never revealed much about his private life.”
“But you believe he removed some important files.”
O’Hare wiped his expensive-looking shoes on the threadbare doormat before entering the cottage. “Let’s say some concerns had been raised.”
Even in the gloom of the cottage, Daly could see a distracted look cloud the solicitor’s eyes. He waited patiently, hoping the rhythm of their exchange would reveal why the solicitor had taken the unusual step of rushing to a crime scene.
O’Hare frowned and surveyed the collection of duck decoys. He raised an eyebrow at them as though they were a jury hovering on a verdict.
“It’s extraordinary what a colleague can conceal over the years. I never knew he had an interest in ducks. Perhaps he did have an obsessive streak. It’s not nice to speak ill of the dead, but I always thought he was a dull, venal man.”
“We’re not here to judge his personality,” replied Daly.
O’Hare glanced up at the detective, scanning his face, looking for what might be hidden between his words.
“Devine was employed as a paralegal almost as long as I’ve been a solicitor,” he continued, with the unhurried meticulousness of a prosecutor laying out the case against the accused. “And believe me, he was a dull man. Those decoys haven’t budged a muscle since we came in, but there was more life in any one of them than in that man, God rest his soul. I’d have rather shaved my head than get caught in a conversation with him. He was like a true bogeyman about the office. But then a tedious nature is probably a strength in the legal profession. No one with an aversion to boredom ever survived working in law.”
“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted him killed? A disgruntled client, perhaps.”
“Our firm is almost exclusively concerned with the ordinary affairs of humanity: contracts, conveyance, leaving a will…. I can’t see a client getting sufficiently enraged to kill Joseph. Though there was an occasion when he served a writ at a funeral. The coffin containing the man’s father was being lowered when Joseph handed him the papers. I don’t think he was aware of the emotional ramifications. But that was a long time ago, back in the ’70s. Apart from that, I can’t think of any reason that would drive someone to kill him.”
O’Hare gave in to his curiosity and lifted one of the decoys.
“We should get an expert in to value these,” he said, but he was no longer looking
Similar Books
