Page 88 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

Harry entered the lounge first and stopped. He looked around at the elegant surroundings where cool white furnishings blended with soft sofas in greys and pale blue.

There was no sign of Malcolm.

Harry slowly began to walk the length of the room.

Behind a screen, in a discreet corner that overlooked the airport tarmac, where flights were being prepared, a man was talking into a mobile phone. He wore a pair of Louis Vuitton suede loafers and, as he spoke, reached down and rubbed at a swollen ankle, oblivious to the men nearby.

Harry couldn’t see the man’s face but he nodded to the inspector and the two garda and together, they stood back.

The man had finished his call and was reaching for a glass of brandy when a voice over the public address system announced, ‘Would passengers Thomas and McLaren please come to boarding gate eight.’

Harry braced himself. He was sure that the man who’d finished his drink and now placed an empty glass on the table, was Malcolm. Time seemed to stand still as Harry waited.

The man made no effort to move as the minutes ticked by.

‘Would passenger Thomas, that is, passenger Michael Thomas,’ the voice repeated, ‘please come to boarding gate eight.’

Harry heard the man curse. He watched as passenger Michael Thomas slowly and painstakingly rose to his feet then reached down to grab his bag. As he moved forward, he stumbled and cursed again. Turning to leave the bar, he hopped on one foot.

Harry moved forward and stood in the aisle, blocking the man’s way.

‘Malcolm Mercer?’ Harry asked, his hands by his sides as he stared eye to eye.

‘Sorry, mate?’ the man said.

‘Malcom Mercer, I have a strong suspicion that you are travelling on a false travel document.’

‘You’ve got the wrong guy, here, check my passport.’ He winced as he shifted the weight on his foot, to reach into his bag.

‘No need,’ the inspector stepped between them. ‘It’s him,’ he said. He turned to Malcolm and took his bag. Laying it out on a table, and ignoring Malcolm’s protests, he carefully searched through the layers until his fingers found three passports. Flicking them open, the inspector smiled. ‘Same face, different names.’

Harry watched as Malcolm shrugged his shoulders. ‘What exactly am I supposed to have done?’ he asked.

‘Malcolm Mercer, I am arresting you on suspicion of attempted murder,’ the inspector began. ‘You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

He took Malcolm’s arm and began to lead him away.

As they moved forward, Malcolm stumbled and cursed again.

‘Stepped on a coconut by any chance?’ Harry asked.

‘Go to hell,’ Malcolm hissed in reply.

34

Mid-morning, on a wet and windy Monday at Boomerville Manor, there was a steady pounding of rain on the windows either side of the heavy oak door, as residents gathered in reception to settle their bills and say their goodbyes. With the weekend party over, Jo and Hattie shook hands with departing guests, while James, holding an umbrella, organised cases to be loaded into vehicles waiting on the driveway.

‘I think you can safely say that the weekend was a success,’ Hattie said, as they stood in the doorway and waved to those departing. ‘Everyone enjoyed Connor’s wonderful dinner on Saturday night and most have rebooked and promised to tell their friends.’

‘That’s a relief.’ Jo sighed. ‘A miracle really, considering we’ve had a murder and a missing person terrorising us.’ Her mood was as gloomy as the weather.

‘You don’t know that it was murder.’ Hattie took Jo’s arm and led her back into reception. ‘Bill died of a heart attack.’

‘But remember what might have caused it.’

‘There’s no evidence of that and anyway, Malcolm is locked up, he won’t pose a problem to Melissa anymore.’

‘I feel so sorry for Bill.’ Jo sighed. ‘He really didn’t deserve to die in the way that he did.’

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