“No…it sounded more like it came from the bathroom,” she pointed to the back corner of her flat. Her bathroom occupied the right rear of the flat, opposite Rafferty’s bathroom.

O’Brien scribbled in his little notebook. “Anything else, Mrs. Hallion?”

“One more thing, Chief Superintendent. I thought something passed my window after the noise. Again, I couldn’t be sure. But I found it odd.”

O’Brien noted everything and placed the notebook and pencil in his overcoat pocket. He picked up his tea, drained the cup, and set it back down.

“Mrs. Hallion, thank you for the tea and for spending a few minutes talking with me this afternoon.”

“My pleasure, Chief Superintendent. I don’t receive many visitors, so I quite enjoyed our little chat.”

O’Brien rose to leave, and Mrs. Hallion showed him to the door.

“May I come back and visit with you again if needed?” He asked as she opened the door.

“Of course, Chief Superintendent. You are welcome any time.”

O’Brien stepped outside, put on his hat, and touched the brim as a goodbye gesture.

* * *

“Declan!” Ailbe raised his voice. “What kind of assholes are doing your dirty work? Come on…a hair dryer in the bathtub?” They both arrived home after work and Ailbe attacked as soon as Declan entered. This kind of thing jeopardized his plan and pissed him off.

“How did you find out about the hair dryer?” Declan raised his voice.

“It’s all over the feckin’ news!”

“Hey…you said take care of it…I made a call.” Declan shouted. “That’s the extent of my involvement. If you want it done so feckin’ perfect, make the feckin’ call yourself!”

“If this project fails, it's your feckin’ fault, Declan Knowlan,” Ailbe shouted back, “and it better not goddam fail!”

“I thought you controlled this thing!”

“So did I until this happened.” The shouting match continued. “Can’t you do a goddam thing right? I can’t believe I trusted you.”

“Well you can count me out for any more help with your little project,” Declan reached for his coat and rushed out the front door, slamming it in the process.

Shit, thought Ailbe, I need him back. He'll make trouble if he’s pissed enough. He ran for the front door and jerked it open.

“Dec…please,” he pleaded. “Don’t leave. I didn’t mean to shout at you.” Ailbe remained angry about how Rafferty’s death occurred, but he needed Declan on his side.

Declan stood at his car's open door and spoke quietly to keep the neighbors from snooping. “You sure sounded like you meant it."

Ailbe approached Declan. “Come back inside. Let’s talk about how we’ll handle the police. They’re bound to come around asking questions.”

“You must realize I have no control over how these things are done. I make a call and pay them off.”

“Pay them off?”

“Sure. You think this kind of service is free?”

“I suppose I never gave it much thought. How much?”

“Five thousand Euros for this type of thing. More if we want total control. Money is the reason I don't specify how it’s done.”

“And you paid the same amount for Moynihan too?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you come up with the money?”

“I saved up in case you dumped me.”

“Dumped you?”

“Come on, Ailbe. Our relationship is last year’s news.”

Ailbe studied the ground. He determined their partnership lost its excitement months ago but didn’t realize Declan thought so, too. He must succeed with this project. Declan could derail everything if given a chance.

“What, because we have cross words you think we’re through?” Ailbe hoped Declan didn’t detect the lie.

“We go through the motions of being a couple, but let’s face it, you don’t  love me anymore.”

“I don't believe you.” Ailbe must keep the charade going…at least until the money day. “What makes you think I don’t love you?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re wrong,” he lied.

“You sure have a funny way of showing your love.”

“Let’s go inside,” Ailbe took Declan by the arm. “We’ll have a drink and talk this through.”

Declan closed his car door as Ailbe led him toward their front door.

* * *

Glenn Cross and Garrett Burke talked as they strolled along the walkway beside the River Corrib.

“Thanks for meeting me, Mr. Burke.”

“No problem, sir.” Garrett shivered, a bit from the nighttime chilly air and a bit from nerves. He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets.

“Relax. I’m not with Garda, and you’re not in trouble. I want to ask a few questions about Fergus Rafferty.”

“So, are you a private investigator or something?”

“Something similar,” Glenn said. “I’m trying to figure out why someone killed Mr. Rafferty.”