Page 57 of Dublin Debacle

The ambulance had moved to block the view before the video stopped. Emily played the segment several times before she stopped it exactly where she wanted and pointed at the monitor. “Is that a tattoo on the back of his hand?”

“Can you get a screenshot of him?” Jack asked. “I want to send it to Lucie. She might be able to sharpen the image and identify the tattoo.

Emily nodded, made a screenshot of the man and his hand and sent it to Jack’s cell phone number.

Moments later, Jack sent the image to his computer guru while Emily continued through the video footage all the way to where she and Jack had left the alley in the painted Mercedes that morning.

Emily backed up to the first time they saw the guy when he exited the pub. No matter how big she enlarged the image, they couldn’t make out the face. “Do you think the guy in the hooded jacket is our media-monger and vandal?”

“I’d say for sure that the man did the paint job,” Jack said. “Why else would he double back to the alley after everyone else left? Is he the Flamethrower?” He shrugged. “The chances are good.”

“Great. We might have found our social media instigator, but we still can’t identify him.”

“Let’s see what Lucie can do with her magic.” Jack held the chair as Emily rose. “We should look for other video surveillance systems. We might have more luck.”

They thanked Daniel and left the shop owner working with a group of tourists intent on buying Celtic necklaces and rings as souvenirs of their trip to Ireland.

The next few stores they visited didn’t have a monitoring system, leaving Daniel’s images as all they had to go on.

Emily and Jack walked back to the pub.

Daphne was already setting chairs on the floor when they entered the barroom. “I saw your car in the alley. What happened?”

“Apparently, the O’Briens are on someone’s hit list,” Emily said. “I’m tempted to close the pub until we figure out who’s behind it.”

Daphne frowned. “You can’t do that,” she said. “You need the money.”

It was true. If the pub wasn’t open, they wouldn’t make money. The bills would go unpaid, and they might lose what had been in the family for centuries.

“And if you don’t have money,” Daphne said, “You can’t pay me, Bridget and Moira.” She pressed her hand over her heart. “We will fight off anyone who dares attack you. Please, don’t close the pub.”

Emily laughed. “Daphne, ever the drama queen.”

The redhead grinned. “Did it work?”

With a sigh, Emily nodded. “Yes. The pub stays open unless there are more attacks. I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you, Moira or Bridget.”

“Then we’ll just have to make sure nothing happens.” Daphne went back to work, setting chairs around the tables.

Bridget rushed in a few minutes later. “Did you hear?”

Emily frowned. “Hear what?”

“There’s going to be a rally in front of the Capitol. All the Travellers and Radicals will be there. The Garda are calling all their people in to handle it. It’s going to be a blood bath since there were two more murders last night.”

Emily’s heart sank to her knees. “Two?”

Briget nodded. “One of the Radical Nationalists, Micky O’Roark, who was second in command after Tommy McElroy. The attacker was going after McElroy. Micky died defending him. The Nationalists are gathering already.”

“Who was the other person murdered?” Jack asked.

Bridget’s eyes filled. “Tristan Doyle.”

“Leader of the Travellers?” Jack asked.

Briget nodded.

“He was a good man. He only wanted his people to live free and in peace.” Emily shook her head, heartsick and too stunned to move.

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