“I know what you’re thinking,” I said quickly. “I’m Erin Flaherty’s cousin. I know I look like her.”
He exhaled and put a hand down on the counter to steady himself. I watched his face. For whatever it was worth, he was really surprised.
“Sorry.” I stuck out a hand. “I’m Maggie D’arcy. I’m here trying to figure out where Erin went.”
“Conor Kearney.” His hand, when he took mine, was cool. I could feel a callus on his right thumb.
“Her roommates called my uncle to say they hadn’t seen her in a while. He couldn’t come over so I came instead. I’m hoping I can figure out where she went.”
“She’s not back, then?” His eyes met mine, then darted away.
“No. Can I just ask you a couple questions?”
“Sure. It’s quiet now, but I’ll have to go if a customer comes in. We’ve just had someone leave and I’m on my own at the moment.” His accent was somehow both softer and stronger than Emer’s and Daisy’s.
He pointed to a table and we sat down.
“How long had Erin been working here?”
“Since the winter. Uh, she must have arrived in January. I think.”
I wasn’t sure, but I thought maybe he was only pretending he didn’t know exactly when she arrived.
“Did she fill out an application or something?”
“No, it was all a bit…”
“Under the table? Don’t worry. I don’t care.”
He almost smiled. “Nobody really bothers with that stuff. The Revenue doesn’t go after places like this. She came in one day, asked if we needed anyone, said she had lots of experience, and that was it. She’s good. Really good. Fast. Knows her way around a kitchen, understands how to close out the cash, all that. I guess her da has a bar in the States. Of course you’d know that. We’re delighted to have her.”
“Is it your place?”
“Ah, no. No. I’ve been here since my second year of college so I’m sort of a manager, I suppose you’d say.”
“Do you work the same shift as her a lot?”
“Twice a week, Fridays and Sundays. I’m doing my M.Phil at Trinity, so my schedule’s around when I have classes, but she works a pretty regular schedule, Thursdays to Sundays, three to closing.”
“Were you seeing her?” I said it quick, no preparation. He was already nervous. I met his eyes and he looked away in alarm.
“No.” His cheeks flushed pink. “No. We worked together. I saw her home a few times.” His eyes were very dark and thickly lashed. I was sitting close enough to him to see each individual pinprick of black stubble on his cheeks.
“You live in Ringsend, too?”
“Donnybrook. Not far. I’ve only got a bedsit, like. It’s a tip but it’s not far into college.” I wondered why he felt like he needed to explain.
“Erin’s roommates said you called to check on her. Why did you do that?”
He hesitated, but just for a moment. “She hadn’t shown up for her shifts for a whole week. It didn’t seem right, somehow. At first I thought maybe she quit and didn’t want to say. But then … I don’t know, really. I thought I should just ring up.” His eyes darted away from mine.
“Was she seeing anyone? Anyone ever come here looking for her?”
He flinched. “I thought you said you were her cousin. You sound like you work for the Guards.”
“I’m just trying to find her.”
“Yeah, ’course. Sorry.” He looked down at the tabletop, embarrassed. “I don’t think she was seeing anyone in particular.”
“Where do you think she went?”
Someone out on the sidewalk shouted and he looked up and watched as a group of teenage boys ran up the street. “I … I’ve no idea. I hope she’s all right.”
“But if you had to say?”
“I don’t … Why would you think I would know?”
The words erupted out of me before I could stop them. “Because you know her and you’re a human being and sometimes human beings get ideas about other human beings. Or maybe she told you and for some reason you don’t want to tell me.”
He looked back at me quickly, then down at the table. “I don’t know where she is. And look, maybe she just needed to get away, find some peace and quiet, like.”
I studied him, trying to figure out if he knew something. I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know him well enough to know if he always bit his lower lip, if the guarded way he watched me was normal for him.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I haven’t slept in about three days now.” I took a deep breath and got the packet of photographs out of my backpack. Leaving out the Dublin ones, I handed them over. “Do you know what these pictures are of?”
He looked carefully, then handed them back with the abandoned school on top. “Down in Wicklow. That’s Drumgoff Barracks, I’d say, though I can’t be sure.”
“What’s that?”
“Glenmalure. It’s the next valley over from Glendalough. The monks and the round tower and all that?” I nodded. He looked away, thinking, then said, “How much do you know about what happened in Ireland in 1798?”
“A little. The United Irishmen, right?” It came back to me as I talked, a class from my sophomore year. “The Irish planned to rebel against English rule all over the country. But the English found out and put the uprising down everywhere except for a few places where it went on for another couple of months, right?”
He looked surprised. “Yeah, that’s about the shape of it. Glenmalure was a bit of a symbol, I suppose you’d say. Before that, it was the site of a famous ambush in 1580, during the Desmond Rebellions, one of the few victories we could claim out of the whole yoke. Lord Grey was the English commander who was supposed to put down the Wicklow uprising and—”
Suddenly I remembered the song. “‘Grey said victory was sure and soon the firebrand he’d secure. Until he met at Glenmalure…’”
“‘With Fiach McHugh O’Byrne,’” Conor Kearney finished, grinning. “Right. The O’Byrnes and all the mountain men picked off the English in the mountains in 1580. Then in 1798, it was where the United Irishmen leader Michael Dwyer escaped after the risings. He had a network of hiding spots and safe houses and relatives in the hills who protected him. Anyway, after 1798, the English built the Military Road down through the Wicklow Mountains, so they’d have a military presence in the hills. Barracks were built in a couple of different places and they made sure to have a presence in Glenmalure, to keep an eye on the mountain men. It was kind of symbolic. I’m pretty sure that’s the Drumgoff Barracks, just down the road from the Glenmalure crossroads. It’s a lovely spot. That’s where you go if you want to walk up Lugnaquilla. The Wicklow Way goes through there and there’s a state forestry plantation. Good pub, too. My da used to take us walking there.”
“Did she ever tell you she was going there?”
He hesitated, then he shook his head and looked away. “Not exactly. But she once asked me whether I’d ever heard about a rock marking the place where a priest had been killed, somewhere near Glenmalure, she said. I hadn’t. I think I told her there were lots of stones commemorating various massacres and killings around there. She didn’t ask any more questions.” There was something else, but he didn’t say it, whatever it was. He was wary now.