One Coffin Too Many Read online

  ONE COFFIN TOO MANY

  BY

  BRENDAN O'GRADY

  Published by Adrian Sebastian O'Grady

  Copyright © 2019 by Brendan Patrick O'Grady

  Cover Design by Adrian Sebastien O'Grady

  Cover Illustration by Annick O'Grady

  All rights reserved

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrightable materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidential.

  for

  Adrian Sebastian O'Grady, my son.

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  PREFACE

  PART I

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  PART II

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  PART III

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  PART IV

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  PREFACE

  The rich, landowning, Marshall family get a shock the morning of grandmother Marshall's funeral.

  The riche in the family vault which was reserved for her is found to be already occupied by a coffin -not just any old coffin but a lead-lined one of foreign origin with no nameplate.

  Detective Inspector Frank Devoy and his colleague Detective Angela Moore are called in to investigate and soon come across a web of corruption and murder along with bizarre sexual goings-on in their small Irish provincial town near the sea.

  PART I

  CHAPTER 1

  Saturday

  “ Dad! Dad! Wake up! Quick! Detective Moore is on the phone. She says it’s urgent. “

  Devoy turned over in the bed.

  “ What? What did you say? “ he mumbled.

  “ I said Detective Moore in on the phone. Wake up! “

  Devoy looked at the clock. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and tried to clear his head. His mouth tasted as if a sewer had been diverted through it. Friday night sessions in the pub were getting to him.

  “ What day is it, Sienna? “ he asked.

  His daughter made a face.

  “ It’s Saturday, Dad. You should know. You’re a policeman. “

  “ But it’s my day off for Christ’s sake. What does she want, dammit? “

  “ You’ll have to ask her. You’re her boss, don’t forget. “

  “ All the women in my life are trying to get me out of bed. Nobody wants me in bed. “

  “ Oh, stop complaining Dad. Besides, you’re too old. Your hair is going grey and you’re developing a paunch. Who’d be interested? Really.“

  “ Well thank you for that, sweet daughter. That’s all a middle-aged father needs first thing in the morning. Thank you. “

  Devoy made to get out of bed but realized he was only clad in his boxer shorts.

  He pulled the sheet back up.

  “ Right. Okay. Hand me my dressing gown, then like a good girl. “

  “ Dad, why can’t you wear pajamas like other men?

  “ Other men! How do you know what other men wear? You’re a bit young to know these things, aren’t you? “

  “ Look, I just know, okay. Get a life, Dad. “

  “ Yeah, I wish I had one. You know you’re beginning to sound like your mother. Hand me the damn phone. “

  Devoy brought the phone to his ear.

  “ Good morning, Angela. What’s all the fuss about? “

  He listened attentively for a minute.

  “ You’re kidding. On a Saturday morning. Where? Which cemetery? “

  Devoy listened again.

  “ And the funeral’s over? “

  “ I see. “

  “ And everybody’s gone home? “

  “ Gotcha. House private. Good. Any other funerals scheduled? I see. Well, get some uniforms over there and seal off the place. I’ll see you in ten, fifteen minutes. “

  ‘ A car? No, no, I’ll make my own way. And Angela, if anybody from the papers is snooping around just tell them there was a mix-up. Okay? Fine. See ya, then. “

  As Devoy was shaving himself he saw his daughter watching him.

  “ What’s it this time? “ he asked. “ Permission to go to a sleep-over? Some pocket money from a dilapidated father? A loan of the car? Have I left anything out? “

  “ Dad. “

  “ Yes? “

  “ Why did you call me Sienna? “

  “ Oh no, not geography again. With my hangover I’m finding it difficult enough to get my bearings here? “

  “ Please Dad, why? “

  “ It’s a place in Italy if you really want to know. “

  “ I know that. I looked it up on the internet. “

  “ Good. So why are you asking me again? “

  “ I just want to know. Maybe you had a girlfriend who came from there and you couldn’t get over her? It’s understandable. “

  “ Nothing of the sort and please skip the psychology. It’s too early in the morning for me. “

  “ So, what’s the answer, then? “

  “ Well, when you were born – are you going to take a note of this on your super sophisticated phone which seems to be permanently attached to your ear - I was going through an Italian phase and I was impressed with the name. It’s actually the birthplace of a saint – Catherine of Sienna. You’ve probably heard of her? “

  “ Yeah, I looked her up, too. You chose to name me after a saint and you’re not even a churchgoer. In fact you have no time for religion. “

  “ So? “

  “ Well why not plain Catherine, then? People wouldn’t be asking me all those silly questions about my name. “

  “ You mean boys, don’t you? “

  “ Well,… yes. “

  “ Thought so. The answer to that is: there are loads of Catherines in the world but very few Siennas. Okay? They’ll
all remember you. Sienna Devoy. Has a nice ring to it. And besides, you’re not plain. You’re pretty. Can’t you get boyfriends who are somewhat literate? “

  His daughter made a face and went down the corridor.

  He heard her arranging things in the kitchen.

  “ I hope the coffee and toast are ready, Catherine of Sienna Devoy? “

  A moan of dissatisfaction came from the kitchen along with the aroma of coffee and toasted bread.

  When Devoy arrived at the gates of the cemetery a uniformed cop stood guarding the entrance. Like most cops he had his hands behind his back. A few paces away from him stood Detective Angela Moore and a man with a file under his arm. Both of them were smoking. Detective Moore stubbed out her cigarette when she saw Devoy. The man kept on smoking.

  Devoy parked the car.

  “ Morning everybody. “

  Everybody nodded and mumbled their ‘ good mornings ‘.

  “ This is Detective Inspector Devoy, “ Moore announced to the stranger.

  Devoy shook hands with the man.

  “ This is Kevin Wade. He’s the caretaker. He lives over there in that cottage. “

  Devoy looked past the man at the cottage. He saw a curtain move in one of the windows.

  “ I see, “ replied Devoy. “ So, what’s the story, Mr. Wade? “

  Wade threw his cigarette on the ground and mashed it with the toe of his shoe.

  “ It’s quite simple, Inspector. We’ve one coffin too many. “

  Devoy didn’t appreciate the smile on Wade’s face.

  “ Correction, Mr. Wade. You’re the one with one coffin too many – you! Us, the cops, we. We may have a crime on our hands and it’s on your patch, Mr. Wade. I hope you realize that.

  Wade opened his mouth to say something but ended up nodding his head in understanding.

  “ Yeah , I suppose you’re right. ”

  “ There’s no supposing about it, Mr. Wade. I am right. “

  Wade suddenly found his shoes very interesting.

  “ Well, Mr. Wade, are you going to just stand there or are you going to show us the mysterious coffin? “

  “ This way, Inspector. I’ll show you the mausoleum. “

  A few minutes later they came to a chapel-like structure buried deep in the old part of the cemetery. Somebody had created an island of accessibility amongst the jungle of vegetation that surrounded the mausoleum by hacking away the tall grass and weeds and peeling off the ivy from the walls. Scars of fungus still clung on. The doors had been given a fresh coat of black paint as if to welcome another visitor and the smell still hung in the air. The lock and chain were ancient.

  Everybody stood looking at the mausoleum sizing it up as if they’d never seen one before.

  “ Well, “ asked Devoy, turning to Wade. “ You’ve got the keys, I hope? Open up. “

  “ Right away, Inspector, “ replied Wade, darting forward and grabbing the heavy chain that held the two door handles together. He unlocked it and it swung back with a clank. He then inserted a long key into the door lock and turned it. He pushed both doors and they opened into the interior with a groan as if complaining at the intrusion. A wave of dank air assaulted their nostrils.

  “ So who was buried this morning? “ asked Devoy.

  “ Madame Le Marchall. “ replied Wade with a grin.

  “ Madame Le Marchall! Not Madam or plain Mrs, “ replied Devoy. “ What’s with the French? “

  “ Pardon me for smiling, Inspector Devoy but the late mother of the Marshalls otherwise ‘ Madame‘ preferred the name pronounced the French way and dare you say it otherwise. “

  “ Oh really. Well her complaining days are over now, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Wade? “

  “ You’re funeral, Inspector. “

  “ So who are these people to adopt these airs and graces? “

  “ You’re obviously not from around here otherwise you wouldn’t say that. “

  “ I thought my accent would have told you that. So what’s the story then? Who are these people anyway? “

  “ The Marshalls are an old Huguenot family, “ explained Detective Moore, cutting in. “ They’ve been here for hundreds of years. They used to own the crystal factory here near the river. Biggest employer in the area for over a hundred years and then they sold out to a Japanese firm. They in turn closed down the factory leaving hundreds out of work. The workers feel hard done by as they considered the factory a viable business. They are still protesting about being betrayed by the family and the union. The usual story. A sell-out. Feelings are still running high. In fact there’s a protest march scheduled soon but the union doesn’t seem to want to get involved. “

  “ You mean doesn’t want to be involved. No more dues for the comrades so no more representation etc. etc. “

  Detective Moore nodded and held her tongue. Devoy was on a hobby horse again.

  “ Thank you, Detective Moore. That was illuminating. Nothing surprises me anymore. “

  Devoy turned to Wade.

  “ So this lady was buried or interred here this morning, right? “

  Wade nodded.

  “ At what time? “

  “ After ten o’clock mass. “

  “ Hold on, I thought you said they were protestants. “

  “ They used to be. They changed back. Seems they weren’t impressed with what passed for Protestantism here. “

  “ I see. “

  “ Obviously you didn’t discover this extra coffin this morning just before the funeral otherwise there would have been hell to pay. “

  “ That would be correct, Inspector. I discovered it yesterday morning when I got the call from the undertakers asking me to prepare the space. “

  “ And? “

  “ And when I opened the mausoleum there it was in the space allotted for Madame Le Marchall , I mean Mrs. Marshall. “

  “ So what did you do? “

  “ I got onto the undertakers right away and the undertakers in turn got onto Mr. Marshall. “

  “ And? “

  “ And he came hightailing it down here in his Merc and demanded to know what the hell was going on? “

  “ This Marshall is the son of the deceased? Right? “

  “ Correct. “

  “ And what happened? “

  “ He wanted to know where the other coffin came from but nobody knew. There was no record of an interment. I have the file here. See. “

  Wade opened the file and flicked through a number of pages.

  “ Look. The last person buried here was the husband of Madame. That was twenty years ago. His coffin is over here. You can see the nameplate. There is no record of anybody else being put in here since then. He was the last. “

  “ So how do you account for this…this interloper? “

  “ I can’t. “

  “ But surely you remember the comings-and goings of the last twenty years. I mean was this coffin here when Mr. Marshall’s remains were interred here. “

  “ I can’t tell you. “

  “ And why not? “

  “ It’s simple, Inspector. I wasn’t here at the time. I was at sea. Merchant Marine. I took over from my father when he passed on. The cottage comes with the job. It was a nice number. I couldn’t really pass it up. Not with a wife and family I couldn’t. “

  “ Fair enough so when did you start? “

  Wade scratched his head and blinked a few times.

  “ Let’s see now. Dad passed away…six , seven years ago. Yeah, make that seven. “

  “ You’ve got the key to this place, obviously? Anybody else? “

  Wade consulted his file.

  “ The Marshall family have their own set of keys and of course the undertakers have a set, too. “

  “ What did Mr. Marshall have to say about all this? “

  “ He told us to move the coffin out of his mother’s place and put it out of sight until the funeral was over. “

  “ And you did? You must have had some help?
Can’t be easy carrying a coffin on your own? “

  “ One of the undertakers came to help me. “

  “ Show it to me. “

  They moved past coffins of long-dead Marshalls until they came to one lying on the ground.

  “ This is it. “

  “ It looks like any other coffin to me exc… “

  “ Sorry to butt in Inspector but it isn’t. According to the man from the undertakers it’s foreign and it’s also lead-lined. He says he’s seen lots of these before coming in from the Continent. Holiday-makers dying abroad. They have to be lead-lined, you see. Regulations, you see. Hot countries. “

  “ So who’s the undertakers? “

  “ Fallons Funeral Homes. Biggest in the area. Deal with all the well-to-do. “

  “ And the man who helped you move the coffin? “

  “ Oh, he’s just an employee. “

  “ He seems to know his way around. Has he got a name? “

  “ Kennedy. Bob Kennedy. “

  “ Do you think he’s working today? “

  “ Hard to say. You’ll have to get onto Fallon’s. “

  Devoy nodded his head in the direction of the coffin.

  “ I was going to say it has no nameplate. Is that unusual or what? “

  “ I can’t really say, Inspector. “

  “ I see. What about the Marshalls? I believed they asked for ‘ house private ‘ in the death notice? Am I right? “

  “ They did. There’s a lot of cars up there at their mansion, big ones. Some have foreign registrations and even CD on them. “

  “ Well, well, Corps Diplomatic and in this neck of the woods. Aren’t we well-connected? Monday it’ll have to be, then. The law will have to wait but only until then. “

  Outside the mausoleum Devoy and Moore waited while Wade locked up.

  “ Any more funerals today, Mr. Wade? “

  Wade shook his head.

  “ You’re going to close up now, aren’t you? “

  “ Well yes, for the day. We’ll open again tomorrow for visitors. Ten till four. It’s like that every Sunday. People like to visit their loved ones after dinner. “

  It was Devoy’s turn to shake his head.

  “ I’m afraid not, Mr. Wade. The cemetery is closed until Monday. I’m treating this area as a crime scene until further notice. “