EXECUTION IN E Read online

  She cut him off. “No. This isn’t some American cop show. You don’t even carry a gun.”

  Niall rolled his eyes and they entered.

  This room was larger than Vivian’s. A short hallway, home to a closet and a built-in minibar, separated the sleeping area from the entrance. Niall froze at the end of the hall. Gethsemane put a hand on his shoulder and tried to peer around him. He threw out an arm to keep her from advancing farther.

  Then she saw what made him freeze.

  Brian Nishi lay face down on the bed, shirtless. The dragon tattoo Vivian had admired coiled up from his waist to his shoulder. Brilliant orange-red flames burst from the dragon’s mouth and scorched across Brian’s upper back. Vivian had been right. The tattoo did look alive. Unlike Brian.

  Standing over him, syringe in hand, Verna Cunningham looked as if she wished she was dead, too.

  Twenty-Two

  “I—I can explain,” Verna stammered. “This isn’t what it looks like. I found him like this, I swear.” The tip of the long hypodermic needle attached to the syringe gleamed red.

  Niall raised one hand in a “stop” gesture. He kept the other arm between Gethsemane and the sleeping area. “Put the syringe down, Verna.”

  “I didn’t do this, Niall. You have to believe me.”

  “Put the syringe down and we’ll talk about it.”

  “I wanted to talk to Brian about, about—things. I wanted to tell him,” she glanced at Gethsemane, “that people knew about New Orleans. I found him lying on the bed like this with the needle stuck in his neck.” She stared at the syringe and needle as if they had just appeared in her hand. “I—I touched him to see if—to check for a pulse. I must have pulled—I didn’t kill him, I swear I didn’t.”

  “I want to help you, Verna,” Niall spoke in a calm, reassuring tone, “but I can’t talk to you while you have that—” He nodded at the syringe. “—in your hand. Put it down. Set it on the floor or the bed and come here to me. C’mon now.”

  Verna noticed Gethsemane. She changed her grip on the syringe and held it like a knife, needle pointing toward the pair. “You—” She spoke through clenched teeth, with narrowed eyes. “—you’re behind this. You set me up. You’ve been out to get me ever since I told you how I felt about Frankie. You’re trying to ruin things between us. You don’t want me to be happy.”

  “Verna!” Niall brought her attention back to him. “Put the syringe down and come away from there. Do it now.” He stepped forward.

  Verna slashed at him with the needle. He jumped back, bumping Gethsemane against the wall.

  Verna raised the syringe over her head and, with a screech a banshee would envy, rushed them. Niall pushed Gethsemane down, she pulled him on top of her, and Verna ran past them into the hall.

  Niall and Gethsemane disentangled themselves and clambered upright.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Peachy. You?”

  “Fine,” he answered as he ran after Verna.

  Gethsemane ran after him.

  Several heads protruded into the hall from doorways, but there was no sign of Verna.

  “Which way did she go?” Niall asked the onlookers.

  Several pointed to the stairs. Niall bounded down them two at a time.

  Gethsemane examined the faces framed in doorways. Sunny, silent for once, gaped from a room at the far end of the hall. Malcolm stared from the room opposite, as did Rosalie from the room next door to his. Two faces she didn’t see: Agnes and Theophilus.

  Inspector Sutton stared down at Vivian Cunningham from her right. Niall stared down at her from her left. She hunched in an armchair in her hotel room, eyes red, cheeks damp with tears. She twined and untwined her fingers.

  “For the tenth time,” she said, “for the fifteenth, for the fiftieth, I. Don’t. Know. I don’t know where Verna went. I only know she didn’t do what you’re accusing her of. She didn’t kill Brian. She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have. My sister’s no killer.”

  “Not counting Jared Ely,” Sutton said.

  Gethsemane had told him about Jared Ely’s death and the cover-up. In the excitement of putting out an alert for Verna, he’d neglected to eat her head off for holding out on him. She kept quiet and hoped he wouldn’t remember.

  “Verna did not kill that man. She wasn’t driving, Ty was.”

  “Verna didn’t save him, either. And she covered for Ty,” Sutton said, “Ruined the dead man’s reputation, dishonored his memory. And she did it for years. How did Ty repay her? By abandoning her. So when she saw her chance to get revenge she stole some of your pills—or did you give them to her?—slipped them to Ty, waited until he was high as a kite, then goaded him into putting a noose around his neck and jumping off a catwalk.”

  “No, no, no, no, no.” Vivian punctuated each denial with a fist pounded against the chair. “That’s not how it happened. Not at all.”

  “How did it happen, Vivian?” Niall asked.

  “Niall,” she pleaded up at him, “you know me. Help me.”

  “The best way, the only way, to help your sister right now is for you to tell the truth,” he said.

  “I am telling the truth!” She pounded the chair again. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “Why won’t anyone believe me?”

  “Brown and O’Reilly found your sister standing over a dead man with the presumptive murder weapon in her hand. She attacked them.”

  “She was scared. She panicked.” She turned to Gethsemane. “Please, Gethsemane, please listen to me. Verna didn’t do this.”

  “If your sister didn’t do it,” Sutton asked, “then who did?”

  “Has anyone seen Agnes? Or Theophilus?” Gethsemane asked.

  Sutton glared at her.

  “Just asking,” she said.

  “Yes, yes, she’s right.” Vivian sat up in her chair. “Find Agnes and Theo. I bet one of them did it. Or they’re in it together.”

  “Or the two of them are in it with your sister,” Sutton said. “We’ll find Verna first, then worry about the other two.”

  “Would Verna go to Frankie Grennan for help?” Niall asked.

  “I called Frankie’s apartment,” Gethsemane said. “No answer.”

  “Which doesn’t mean he’s not there,” Sutton said. “They could be lying low.”

  “Frankie was pretty furious with her when I dropped them off this morning.” She told them about the confrontation in the car after Sutton released them. “They parted on non-speaking terms.”

  “Where’d you drop them?” Sutton asked.

  “Verna, here, Frankie, the Rabbit.”

  “The Rabbit doesn’t open until half ten,” Niall said.

  “I know. Frankie didn’t care. He demanded I let him out of the car and leave. I left him standing on the corner.”

  “He could be anywhere,” Sutton said.

  “Not anywhere very far from the village.” Gethsemane held up his car keys. “I’ve got his car.”

  “Wouldn’t do Verna much good to run to him, then,” Sutton said.

  “My sister is not trying to flee the village,” Vivian said. “She’s not some dangerous fugitive, stop talking about her like she is. She didn’t kill anyone.”

  “We’ll ask her about that when we find her, and we will find her. We’ll find the others, too, Derringer and Miss Haywood. As for you, Vivian Cunningham,” Sutton motioned to two uniformed gardaí who’d appeared at the door, “they’ll escort you to the station to answer some questions in an official capacity. And, in case you’re wondering, you are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, but whatever you say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence.”

  One of the gardaí turned back to the door as noise in the hall grew louder.

  “What’s the commotion?” Sutton asked.

  “It’s
that American, sir,” the garda said. “The header.”

  Sutton gave Gethsemane the side eye. “You’ll have to be more specific, lad.”

  “The one that was going to marry the stiff.”

  “Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph.” Sutton pressed a hand to his forehead. “Not now.” The noise grew louder. “Bolt the fecking door, McGillicuddy, don’t let her in.”

  Too late, the garda tried to push the door shut. Sunny burst through like a rocket, slamming the door open with an arm, right into McGillicuddy’s face.

  “Ow!” The garda grabbed his nose.

  “Inspector Sutton!” Sunny stomped into the room and confronted the inspector, her unblemished complexion a few inches from his craggy one. No hint of little-girl-sweetness accompanied her words. “I demand you tell me what’s going on.”

  “What’s going on, Miss Markham, is that I’m trying to conduct a murder investigation.”

  “Mur-ders, Inspector. Plural. First my dear—” A catch arose in her voice as if summoned. “—dear Ty. Now his best friend and member of my wedding party.” The quaver disappeared as quickly as it had come. “What are you doing to find this, this…”

  “Fiend?” Gethsemane offered.

  “Wedding wrecker!” Sunny stomped her foot.

  Vivian curled her lip and narrowed her eyes. She tried to rise out of her chair but a garda’s hand pushed her back down. “Wedding wrecker?” She spat words at Sunny. “Is that all you care about, you horrid little shite? Your wedding? Two people you allegedly cared about are dead, two more haven’t been seen, and you’re worried about your wedding? What’s the matter? Can’t get your deposit back from the caterer?”

  “You shut up, you cow.” Sunny lunged for Vivian but Sutton blocked her. She struggled to reach Vivian around the inspector’s burly chest. “You’re behind this, you and that pathetic sad sack sister of yours. She couldn’t stand seeing Ty with me so she killed him. You helped her, you codependent loon. Why’d you two kill Brian? Did he find out what you did to Ty? Threaten to turn you in? Or did Brian decide to move on to something better than you? Maybe you’re as crazy jealous as she is, so you killed him rather than lose him.”

  Vivian screamed and tried to launch herself from her chair. McGillicuddy and the other uniformed garda grabbed her. Sunny tried to push past Inspector Sutton.

  “That’s enough of that, Ms. Markham.” Sutton held up a hand.

  Sunny pushed against his chest. “Will you get out of my way, you ignorant ox?”

  Sutton took a deep breath and made a noise that sounded like a bull getting ready to charge. “You’re under arrest.”

  “Arrest?” Surprise, apparently genuine, transformed Sunny’s features from furious cat to indignant owl. “For what?”

  “Assaulting a guard.” He grabbed her arm. She kicked his shin.

  Niall leapt forward and grabbed her. She bit him.

  He pulled away from her and sucked the base of his thumb. “Are you completely gone in the head, woman?”

  Before Sunny could respond, a coverlet sailed from behind her and landed on her head. Gethsemane pulled the coverlet down over the irate influencer, then spun her around, entangling her in the quilted fabric. She pushed her toward the uniforms, who uncovered enough of her to handcuff her wrists. Muffled curses emanated from the bundle.

  “How much trouble am I in?” Gethsemane asked Niall and Sutton.

  “For assisting a garda in distress?” Niall said. “None.”

  “None from me, either,” Sutton agreed. “Never thought I’d say this in this lifetime, but I owe you one.” He turned to the uniforms. “Take Miss Markham down to the station, book her on whatever charges you can make stick. O’Reilly and I’ll handle Miss Cunningham. He pulled Vivian up from her chair.

  “Please, Gethsemane,” she said as Sutton led her from the room, “Please find Verna. She didn’t do this. I know she didn’t. Please, find her.”

  Twenty-Three

  Gethsemane drummed her fingers on the dashboard of Frankie’s car. She drummed them on the steering wheel. She pounded on the steering wheel. “Damn it, Frankie, where are you?”

  She’d cruised the streets of Dunmullach searching for her friend. Murphy, the Rabbit’s barman, confirmed Frankie had stopped in around the time the pub opened and stayed long enough to have a few drinks. No one answered at his apartment and his neighbors hadn’t seen him. She’d even tried church, but Father Tim denied seeing Frankie in the building or on the grounds.

  Gethsemane scanned the area as she drove from St. Brennan’s to the village square and back. Without warning, Eamon materialized in the middle of the road leading up to the school. Gethsemane slammed on the brakes. The car skidded through Eamon, stopping with its hood in the ghost’s midsection. A charge buzzed through the car and into Gethsemane. She yelped and let go of the steering wheel.

  Eamon stepped out of the car’s front end. He brushed his hands against his pants as if wiping away dust. Gethsemane rolled down the window. “Are you nuts? Appearing in the middle of the road like that? I hit you.”

  “As I’m incorporeal, you didn’t hit me, you drove through me. And you did no damage, darlin’. Although a half-ton of metal plowing through my middle gave me quite a buzz.”

  “Skip the spectral semantics and tell me what you’re doing here. I’m trying to find Frankie.”

  “I found him for you. Halfway up the road to Golgotha.”

  Gethsemane smacked her forehead. “His rose garden, of course. I’m an idiot.”

  “It’s eejit, and no, you’re not. You’re a good friend. So go be a good friend. Drive safe.” He vanished.

  Gethsemane raced toward Carnock. The gnarled trees and dense underbrush that usually filled her with dread as she climbed the hill sped by in a harmless blur as she rushed to intercept Frankie. She spotted him at the hill’s crest.

  She rolled down the car window. “Frankie, are you all right?”

  He kept walking. “In what sense do you mean ‘all right’? If you mean am I still amongst the living, yes, I’m all right. If you mean, am I suffering from alcohol poisoning?” He held up a bottle three-quarters full with whiskey. “Not yet, but I’m working on it. If you mean, is that comical look on my face because my insides have been kicked out, no, I am not all right.”

  “You can still quote Casablanca.” They shared a love of classic films, especially the Humphrey Bogart masterpiece. “I take that as a good sign.”

  “Technically, it was a paraphrase.”

  “You’re still snarky. Encouraging.”

  He stopped walking. “Will you leave me alone?”

  Gethsemane stopped the car, blocking the path. “No. No, I won’t leave you alone because you’re my friend and you’re hurting and I’m worried about you. And because no one can find Verna.”

  Puzzlement creased Frankie’s forehead. “Why should anyone be looking for Vern?”

  “Well…” Gethsemane let out a deep breath. “After Niall and I found her standing over Brian Nishi’s dead body, she tried to stab us with a hypodermic needle and ran away. The guards want to ask her some questions about the deaths of Brian and Ty.”

  “Jaysus, Mary, and—You’re coddin’ me, right? Please tell me you’re coddin’ me.”

  She shook her head. “Sorry. You haven’t seen her have you? We thought she might try to contact you. Sutton, optimist that he is, thought you might try to help her escape.”

  “After the way we left things? I’m the last person she’d turn to for help.”

  Given how angry Verna had been when she accused her of sabotaging her relationship with Frankie, Gethsemane had doubts about the accuracy of Frankie’s assertion. But expressing her doubts right now probably wouldn’t help the situation. She opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

  Frankie climbed into the car. “I don’t want to go home.”

&nbs
p; “I’m not taking you to the pub.”

  He pointed toward the remains of St. Dymphna’s. “Verna might have gone up to the garden.”

  Gethsemane drove up to the campus and parked on the side road where Frankie had parked before. They both walked to the garden. Roses bloomed even more beautiful than before. But no Verna.

  Frankie fiddled with an arbor, pinching a few spent blooms from a climber. “Do you believe she did it? Verna, I mean. Killed Brian.”

  Gethsemane considered. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re one of the few people in my life who’s never lied to me, Gethsemane.” Frankie spoke without looking at her. “Don’t start now.”

  “Honest, Frankie, I don’t know. I do think she drugged Ty, with or without Vivian’s help. Most likely with. I think she agreed to meet Ty at the lighthouse because he terrified her. The thought of losing you because of what he might reveal terrified her. Removing Ty would remove the threat to her chance at happiness, a chance she thought she’d never get again until she met you. So she emptied the contents of her sister’s dextroamphetamine capsules, met Ty at Carrick Point, shared a drink from his flask—a toast to old times or something—then slipped the amphetamines into the remainder of the flask’s contents, knowing he’d eventually finish them. She probably figured he’d die of an overdose. I doubt she knew the combination of amphetamines, dextromethorphan, and levofloxacin would interact and cause hallucinations. I believe Ty put the rope around his own neck and jumped because he hallucinated something, lord knows what. I don’t think he meant to kill himself. I don’t know if inducing hallucinations that lead a man to hang himself meets the legal definition of murder. But Brian?” Gethsemane shook her head. “Why kill Brian? He was no threat to her or Vivian. He shared equal guilt for covering up Jared’s death. He could hardly run to the authorities and dime her out. He was hooking up with her sister—”

  “Seriously?”

  “By mutual consent and with enthusiasm, I gathered, spurred by Vivian’s tattoo fetish. That was no reason to kill him. And to kill him in such a direct manner—a syringe full of whatever to the neck. Close-range and personal. Not quite the same as slipping drugs in a guy’s flask then beating it while chemistry plays its hand. It is possible she could have gone into Brian’s room, just like Niall and I did, and found him already dead. I don’t know Frankie, I really don’t know.”