Death at Christy Burke's by Anne Emery Page A

stealing the contents for profit. Or at least that’s what they thought they knew. In fact, there weren’t any burial grounds. Just my little craft shop in the tunnel of Christy’s pub. We claimed there were three, or was it four, sites, known only to me and my people. Sites we could visit only in the dark of night. Just a bit of codology for the tourists; they lapped it up. They were complicit in the crime. They didn’t want anyone probing it. And they didn’t want to acknowledge they’d been had. Feck ’em.”
    “And the land scheme. How did that work?”
    “Worked fine, till the whole feckin’ crowd of them got together and decided to land here at the same time. Most of the people who buy land just stay home and wave the deed around their local on St. Patrick’s Day. They don’t get on a plane and fly all the way over here to stand on a few square feet of bog. But the Japanese! Jaysus!”
    “These plots of land,” Brennan began, and then wondered if there really were any plots of land. “Or the descriptions on the deeds. What location are we talking about?”
    “Well, there’s land up in County Mayo. Most of it’s bog, but there’s a small part of it that’s green and scenic and has some hedgerows and stone walls on it. The occasional sheep wanders by, when my lads can corral one of the creatures into their lorry and transport it to the field and give it a smack on the arse and get it to stand up and look into the camera. It all looks brilliant in the brochures. I got hold of the land years ago. And I’ve been selling it ever since!”
    In spite of himself, Brennan had to laugh out loud. He asked, “What are your chances, do you think?”
    “Well, now, that will depend on whether the guards find any evidence linking me to the crimes.”
    Brennan looked around him, then spoke sotto voce . “I don’t see how they will.”
    “Because there’s nothing there to implicate me.”
    “I’m sure you’re right.”
    “Even though they’ve searched.”
    “Correct.”
    Something flared up in Brennan’s mind for an instant, then it was gone. Something about the tunnel and the items that had been stashed down there. He’d have to try to bring it to mind later. For now, he focused on the man sitting across from him. He said to Finn, “Lovely old neighbourhood. My old neighbourhood and yours. But a bit run down. You’d wonder sometimes why the city doesn’t take better care of some of the properties there. The church, other buildings. Old furniture, rubbish not picked up, that sort of thing. Shame, really.”
    Finn looked into Brennan’s eyes. After a few seconds, he said, “The black church. A fine landmark.” Brennan nodded in agreement. In collaboration. “Well, Bren, I’m sure you have better things to do than spend your day in the Joy. I appreciate your visit, and I hope you’ll come back and see me again. The time is long in here, and I get a bit lonely. You know, another fellow I’d be pleased to see is Larry Healey. Works out on the Naas Road. Perhaps you could tell him I’d enjoy a visit.”
    “I’ll do that. And I’ll be back to see you myself.”
    “Thank you. Here, now, before you go, have them show you around. I imagine you were too young to visit the place last time you had a close family member incarcerated here. O’Reilly!” Finn shouted to one of the guards. “Show my confessor some hospitality, would you?”
    “I’m on duty now, Finn. I can’t be leaving the likes of you to your own devices.”
    “Where’s Doyle then?”
    “He’s just coming on.”
    “Good. Have him give Father Burke a little tour of the place. And make sure he sees the helipad.”
    “You and your helipad! You’re living on past glories, Finn. We’re in the nineties now.”
    “Thank you for the reminder, O’Reilly. The twentieth anniversary will be coming up next year in October. Halloween, to be exact. I think I’ll put on a costume that day.”
    “Oh, you think you’ll be choosing your