Crowned and Dangerous by Rhys Bowen

Author:Rhys Bowen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-07-13T18:19:20+00:00

Chapter 19

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 4

An unexpected drop-in visit.

So we decided to check the dig next and see if anyone was working. We turned toward the castle’s front gate and sure enough there was activity in the field opposite. There was also a Garda constable standing outside the castle gate, watching everything that was going on. Darcy turned the Rolls onto the track leading to the field gate and brought it to a halt.

“Is this one of your fields?” I asked, as the thought had just occurred to me.

“All the fields around here used to be Kilhenny land. I believe this is part of the home farm, which is rented out to tenants these days.”

“So any treasure found in this dig would still belong to your family?”

“Belong to the dead American now, I suppose,” he said. “I’m not sure what the conditions of the sale were and whether he bought all Kilhenny property or just the castle and stables.”

The young Garda constable was now walking toward us.

“No reporters, please,” he said. “No stopping here. Please move along.” Then his face changed. “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Darcy. It’s a long time since we’ve seen you around here. Sorry it has to be in such tragic circumstances now.”

“How are you, Kevin?” Darcy said. “Or do I have to say Constable Byrne these days?”

The constable grinned, looking ridiculously schoolboyish. “I bet you never thought I’d be on the right side of the law one day, did you?”

“Not after the number of times we caught you poaching rabbits on the estate.” Darcy was smiling too. “Look, Kevin.” He leaned out of the motor window. “I’d like a word with the archeologists. Your inspector from Dublin seems convinced that my father is guilty. So it’s up to me to try and prove his innocence. All I want to find out is whether these people saw anyone going to the castle in the days before Mr. Roach was killed.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Darcy.” Kevin looked worried. “I’d like to help but my orders are—”

“The dig is not part of a crime scene,” Darcy said. “I’m sure your inspector can’t prevent people from speaking to each other in an open field.”

“I suppose not,” the young Garda replied, his forehead still wrinkled. “All right, then, but don’t be long. I don’t want to get that inspector breathing down my neck.”

Darcy helped me from the motorcar and we plowed through mud to the field. Tarps had now been removed and a large trench was revealed. Two women were down in this hole and a man was standing at a trestle table on which sat what looked like some lumps of mud. He glanced up as we approached him.

“Sorry, this place is off-limits,” he said, coming around the table to fend us off. He was thin, bald and worried looking and had that distinctive academic air to him—the worn tweed jacket and baggy trousers.

“I’m Darcy O’Mara, heir to the Kilhenny title, and this land has been in my family for at least a thousand years,” Darcy said.

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