that now, that’s for certain. We have him.” He let out a little breath, almost a surprised laugh. “We have the one who killed Holly Curlow. I wanted to tell you in person.”
“Boyfriend?”
He nodded. “Or one who thought he ought to be the one and only for her, and who she’d decided to shake off. They’d been at a party in Ennis last night, got into a bit of a spat. They’d come, it seems, as a kind of reunion for her with some mates from that neck. They’d—Kevin Donahue is his name—been seeing each other for a few months with him more serious about the thing than she. I went up to Limerick myself when we got the DNA, and they’d picked him up. She’s scored both his cheeks like a cat would, and good for her, I say about that.”
He took another sip of tea. “It just tumbled down from there, you could say. They had me sit in on the interview, but it was quick. Three minutes in and he’s bawling like a baby and telling all.”
He sighed now, and Eve said nothing, asked no questions, let him gather it up in his head.
“They’d fought again in the car,” Leary went on, “and she’d told him she was good and done and to take her on to her ma’s, or just let her out. They’d been drinking, the both of them, and probably that added to the temper of it. He said he pulled over, and they shouted at each other more. It got physical. Him slapping, her scratching, then he said he just snapped. Hit her with his fists, and she kicked and hit and screamed. He claims he doesn’t remember putting his hands around her throat, and it might be the truth. But he came back to himself, and she was dead.”
Leary shook his head at the waste of it, scooted up a bit to hunch over his tea. “He told how he tried to bring her back somehow, how he just drove around a bit, trying to make it all not so. Then he pulled off at the wood, you see, carried her in—her other shoe was still in his car when they picked him up. He says he said a prayer over her and left her.
“He’s very sorry for it,” Leary added, with a hard bitterness in the tone that told Eve he’d lost a lot of his innocence that day. “He said, more than once, as if that would make it all right and tight again. He was very sorry for choking the life out of the girl because she didn’t want him. Bloody gobshite.”
He flushed a little. “Beg your pardon.”
“I’d say that’s a pretty good description.” Gobshite, she thought. She had to remember that one. “You did good work.”
“If I did, it was because you told me how.” His gaze lifted to hers. “The worst of it all was standing on her mother’s doorstep, saying what you’d told me to say. Watching that woman break apart that way. Knowing, even though it wasn’t you who’d done what was done, you brought that pain to her.”
“Now you’ve given her and her daughter justice. You did the job, and that’s all you can do.”
“Aye. Well, I could live my life easy with never having to break a mother’s heart again. But the rest . . .”
“Felt good.”
“It did, yes. And does. Does it still for you when you’ve done it?”
“If it didn’t, I don’t think I could knock on another mother’s door.”
He sat another moment, nodding to himself. “All right then.” He rose, held out a hand. “Thank you for all your help.”
“You’re welcome.” She shook.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll just go out the back and not disturb your family again. Would you tell them good night for me?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“It was fine meeting you, Lieutenant, even under the circumstances.”
He went out the back, and Eve shoved aside the tea she had no desire for. Like Leary she sat for a moment in silence. Then she pushed to her feet and went back to where the family gathered. The music stopped.
She walked to Sean, waited while he stood up.
“His name is Kevin Donahue. They’d come this way to go to a party, and had a fight. In the car after they’d left, they had a bigger fight and he killed her in what he claims and probably was what we call a moment of passion.”