Taggart?” Christopher Murphy asked.
“The problem is that I’ve done nothing wrong and yet, here I am.”
“Again,” Murphy added.
“Yes. Again.”
“Would you mind looking at me, Mrs. Taggart?”
Reluctantly, Marcy brought her head up.
“If you’ve done nothing wrong, why do you have such trouble looking me in the eye?”
“I have no trouble looking you in the eye.”
“And yet you’ve been staring at the floor, at my desk, at the wall, at anything but me since I walked in.”
“It’s not you,” Marcy said after a pause. Then, when that clearly didn’t satisfy him, “It’s just that uniforms have always made me a little nervous.” I shouldn’t have told him that, she thought immediately, catching the startled expressions on the faces of all three gardai. “There’s no rational reason for it. I’ve just always been that way. My sister says I’m worse than her poodle,” she added, trying to laugh, to show them she understood just how silly it all was.
“Your sister?” Sweeny asked. “Is she here in Cork?”
“No. She’s in Toronto.”
“Would you like us to call her?” Colleen Donnelly asked.
“Why would I want you to do that?”
“I thought you might appreciate some support.”
“It’s not every tourist who gets hauled into the garda station two days in a row,” Murphy added.
“Believe me, it wasn’t my idea.”
“You’re the victim,” Sweeny said, although his tone said otherwise.
“Yes. That’s right.”
“Tell us what happened, Mrs. Taggart,” Murphy said.
Marcy sighed. From her experience the day before, she knew they weren’t going to let her leave until she provided them with a plausible version of the events. Might as well get this over with, she decided. “I came back to the inn—”
“You’d been out all day?” Murphy said, interrupting.
“Yes.”
“Mind my asking where?”
“I went to Youghal.”
“Youghal? Sightseeing, were you?”
“I was looking for my daughter.”
The three officers exchanged glances. “Did you find her?” Sweeny asked.
“No.”
“What made you think she’d be in Youghal?”
“What difference does it make?” Marcy asked testily. “I thought you wanted to know about what happened when I got back.”
“You ever think they might be connected?”
“What?” Was it possible? Marcy thought. “What do you mean?”
“Go on then,” Murphy said without answering her question. “You returned to the inn.…”
“I went up to my room and discovered that someone had torn it apart. Everything I owned had been slashed or destroyed.”
“Sounds like the work of a scorned lover,” Sweeny stated.
“Mrs. Doyle said you had company last night,” Murphy added.
“Was it the man who was here yesterday?” Colleen Donnelly asked.
“He never would have done something like this,” Marcy insisted.
“Know him well, do you?”
“Well enough to know he didn’t do this.” Did she? Marcy wondered. The truth was she barely knew Vic Sorvino at all.
“Mrs. Doyle said you ran out early this morning like a bat out of hell.”
“I’d hardly describe it as a bat out of hell.”
“But you were in a hurry.”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“Meeting someone, were you?”
“Yes.”
“Mind telling us who that was, Mrs. Taggart?”
“Yes, I do mind.”
“Mrs. Taggart,” Murphy said imploringly.
“His name is Liam. I … I don’t know his last name,” she admitted, her face flushing with embarrassment. At the very least, she should have asked Liam his last name, she thought. “He works at Grogan’s House.” Out of the corner of her eye, Marcy saw Colleen Donnelly scribble down this latest piece of information.
“The scene of yesterday’s altercation,” Sweeny remarked, barely suppressing a smirk.
“Yes.”
“Okay, so you ran out on one man to go meet another,” Murphy said, summing it up.
“It’s not the way you’re making it sound.”
“Sounds like a motive to me,” Sweeny said. “What’s this other guy’s name? The one who spent the night,” he added unnecessarily.
This is ridiculous, Marcy thought. There was no way Vic had had anything to do with the trashing of her room. She might not know him well, but surely she was a good enough judge of character to know that. She thought suddenly of Peter, his carefully constructed smile beaming at her through the reflection in the glass covering a framed diploma on the far wall. She’d had no inkling of his affair with Sarah, never would have suspected he was capable of betraying her in such a cavalier fashion. So much for her ability to judge character. “His name is Vic Sorvino,” she said. “He’s staying at the Hayfield Manor Hotel.”
Christopher Murphy nodded toward Colleen Donnelly, who nodded back almost imperceptibly before leaving the room. “Did Vic Sorvino know you were meeting Liam?”
“No.”
“Did he know of your plans to visit Youghal?”
“No.”
“I understand that after you ran out on him, he pursued you into