The Death of An Irish Consul
“He was a London-based private detective and an old Dublin friend of McGarr’s. After some small talk, McGarr said, “I’ve got an assignment for you which is a part of an official Garda investigation into the murder in Ireland of a U.K. citizen.”“Then, why call me? Not that I mind, Peter; it’s just that the procedure seems extraordinary. Shouldn’t you request assistance from Scotland Yard?”“Well—let me give you the man’s name. I haven’t released it to the newspapers yet.” McGarr considered briefly... the cloak of red tape in which the British government could wrap his investigation. “I want a credit check and complete dossiers of him and his wife. I want to know if he had any personal enemies, who his friends were, and what, if anything, he has been doing since”—McGarr recalled the date on the back of the dead man’s watch—“1973.” The house on Dingle Bay held none of the accouterments—books, games, objets d’art—of a man of leisure, but looked more like a getaway-from-it-all place.“Name?”“Edward Llewelyn John Hitchcock.”“Not——”“I thought nobody was really supposed to know who he was.MoreLess
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