Page 85 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

‘Bill’s better?’ Melissa asked.

‘No, not yet.’

Jo saw little point in upsetting Melissa any further, and until they knew more about Bill’s condition, she’d say nothing else.

James came into the room, followed by a waiter who carried a tray. ‘I thought everyone might benefit from a cup of tea,’ he said, ‘or something stronger?’

32

Harry sat in the back of a police vehicle as the driver held his foot to the accelerator. Blue lights flashed, as a siren speeded them through Saturday traffic in Cork. The journey from the hospital to the airport was a distance of seven and a half kilometres and in traffic-free conditions, would take no more that fifteen minutes. But with traffic heavy today, the driver had to use all his skills to negotiate a way through at speed.

The inspector who sat with Harry gripped his seatbelt as they flew around a bend. ‘I hope that you’re right about this,’ he said.

‘I’m sure that Malcolm Mercer is booked on the Cork to Malaga flight and if what Bill Bradbury told me is true, he is responsible for a crime which I would class as attempted murder.’

The inspector’s phone rang and he took the call as Cork airport came into sight. Harry watched the man’s face, as he listened to the caller’s words.

He hung up and turned to Harry. ‘There’s no one on the flight with that name.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course we are, a Melissa Mercer is listed, but not Malcolm.’

‘He could be using a false passport.’

‘Or he might be sitting on his patio in Spain.’

‘I’m certain he’s here,’ Harry said. ‘I know it’s just a hunch but the casualty has confirmed my suspicions.’

‘We’ve got the local Garda checking around the manor; if he’s there, we’ll find him.’

The police vehicle came to a sudden halt outside the departure area and Harry and the inspector leapt out.

‘The flight has been delayed, don’t rush,’ the inspector said. ‘If your manishere, we’ll find him.’

Together with two Garda, they spread out. There was no sign of Malcolm in the departure area, nor at the boarding gate.

‘He must be here,’ Harry said to himself. He stood with his hands on his hips and looked around. Passengers looked up when they saw the Garda, curiosity raised, boredom broken as they waited for their overdue flight.

Harry’s phone rang and he reached into his pocket.

‘Yes,’ he said as he held it to his ear.

He listened carefully, letting the words sink in, then discontinued the call.

Now, more than ever, he wanted to find Malcolm Murdering Mercer.

* * *

Bill Bradbury died at preciselyfive-forty-five in the afternoon. He’d suffered a major cardiac arrest. A doctor told Hattie that Bill may have had a weak heart and the fall could have been a traumatic episode that heightened underlying problems.

It was still bright outside as Hattie stood by Bill’s bed and stared at his body.

Late rays of sunshine shone through the windows of the room where Bill had spent the last few hours of his life. Now, his head lay on a pillow, hair ruffled, skin bruised, with bandages seeping bloody red still strapped to the wound on his neck. But Bill felt no pain as nurses removed the tubes and leads that had monitored his failing body.

Hattie turned.

She nodded as a nurse touched her arm and asked her if she was alright.

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