Hush Now, Don’t You Cry by Rhys Bowen Page A

police work, she doesn’t have the normal feminine sensibilities. But what she says is correct. It is not at all a given fact that a man would die from such a fall. Especially if the tide was up on the rocks. A well-timed wave would have broken his fall and he would have lived. If someone wanted to dispatch him and he was wandering alone in his grounds in the darkness why not shoot him or stab him?”
    The Hannan family members shifted uncomfortably.
    “I think we’re getting into the realm of fantasy here,” Chief Prescott said. “Until I hear differently, I’m treating this as an accidental death. Let’s hear what the coroner has to say, shall we, before we start making any wild speculations? And even then, we may never know.”
    “I agree,” Joseph said. “I find it highly unlikely that an enemy followed him all the way out here with the intention of killing him. It was a tragic accident, that’s all. Brian arrived and decided to do the rounds of his property. He was very proud of this place, you know. Perhaps he was enjoying the solitude and the sound of the ocean after a busy week in the city. He lost his way in the dark and made a fatal mistake.”
    At that moment the door opened and Mrs. McCreedy stepped in cautiously. “Begging your pardon, sirs, but will you be wanting your breakfast as normal?”
    She had clearly been crying and was fighting to maintain her composure.
    “We’re just coming, thank you, Mrs. McCreedy,” Patrick Hannan said gently. “It will do the servants good to have something to keep them busy.”
    “Then I’ll tell the chef, sir.”
    “So Mr. Hannan’s chef did arrive last night?” I asked.
    She shot me a suspicious glance. “Yes, he came with the rest of the servants, just like I told you he would.”
    “Mrs. McCreedy, isn’t it?” Chief Prescott said. “I believe you’re the housekeeper here?”
    “Have been since Mr. Hannan first had the place built thirteen years ago, God rest his poor soul.”
    “So maybe you can shed some light on the events of last night,” Prescott said. “Did you see Mr. Hannan when he arrived?”
    “No, sir. I did not,” she said firmly. “I was concerned if you want to know because he had told me that the family would all be here in time for dinner, and he was very particular about punctuality for meals. They all waited for him last night but by eight o’clock the food was spoiling, so finally they sat down to eat without him. And then when I locked up for the night and he still hadn’t come, I started to get worried. I felt sure he would have let us know, you see.”
    “There’s a telephone in the house, isn’t there?” Prescott asked. “Did you expect him to telephone you?”
    “Oh, no, sir.” Mrs. McCreedy shook her head vehemently. “There would be no sense in telephoning me. I don’t hold with contraptions like that. I’d never get up the nerve to answer it. It don’t seem natural, does it? I wasn’t even happy when they had electricity installed a few years back. I don’t trust this tampering with nature and when they’re not in the house the lamps and candles are good enough for me.”
    “So Mr. Hannan would not have telephoned even if he was running late, you think?” Prescott continued.
    “My brother had the line installed primarily so that he could stay in touch with our business in New York when we are here. I am rarely in the main house and as Mrs. McCreedy has just said, the servants are unlikely to answer it, Joseph Hannan said.”
    “So you’d have had no way of knowing if Mr. Hannan was expecting to arrive that evening or not.”
    “He’d have let us know one way or another. He’d have sent a telegram, sir, if he wasn’t planning to come,” Mrs. McCreedy said. “He was considerate in matters like that. This whole thing was odd, very odd indeed. Bringing the family here for a weekend in October—it’s never happened before. And then these people arriving out of the blue.” She pointed at us.