A Dublin Marathon Mystery

The Dublin Medal

By Dash H. Ammett

(Note to reader, the following story has been written in modern English with a tendency towards American slang.  If the reader wishes for more authenticity then the reader should feel free to read the story in an Irish accent.)

 “Hello. You have reached homicide division of the Dublin Garda.  May I help you?” Inspector Fitzgerald answered the phone on the third ring with the required greeting as described in the detectives handbook.  He would much rather answer in his own way. “Homicide!  Who died?” but the new Chief was a stickler for the rules.

            “Is this Eamonn Fitzgerald?” said the voice on the other end.

            “No, Eamonn works the day shift.”

            “Ah, is this Padraig then?”

            “No, he works in robbery.  This is Inspector Liam Fitzgerald but everyone calls me Fitzy. Who is this?”

            “This is Officer Sean Sullivan but everyone calls me Sully.  I have a corpse down here at Madigan’s Pub on O’Connell Street in City Centre.”

            “Ok, Sully.  Give me a quick rundown.”

            “White male approximately 40 yrs old with short number one barber haircut and bushy salt and pepper beard.  Approximately 5’ 8” and 180 lbs.  Appears to have died from a blow to the back of the head.  It is a shame because it looks like he only finished half of his last pint of Guinness.”

            “Identity?”

            “ID in his wallet identifies the deceased as Kevin Burns.  He was an American tourist.”

            “Ah great, another American male suffering from a mid-life crisis who came over here to drink our refreshing Guinness beer until he passes out or his liver fails.  Sully, secure the crime scene and hold all the suspects and witnesses.  I am on my way I just need to stop at the Auld Dubliner for a quick pint of Guinness.”

Inspector Fitzgerald expected a busy night since this was October 31^st and the city of Dublin was celebrating Halloween.  The weather had been rainy for a few weeks and he could feel the population getting cranky.

Upon arrival at Madigan’s, Fitzgerald found Officer Sully and three apparent witnesses at the bar talking amongst themselves while the dead body was lying on the floor a few feet away.  There was a puddle of blood coming from under the corpse’s head and its eyes were still open and staring blankly at the bar.  There was a white and green ribbon around his neck.

            “Hello Officer Sully.  How is the Guinness here?”

            “Smooth and refreshing as always.” replied Sully

            “Great.  So what happened?”

            “Mr. Burns, the deceased, was sitting at the bar enjoying a few pints of Guinness and bragging about finishing the National Lottery Dublin Marathon this afternoon.  Witnesses said that he was flaunting his finisher medal around and engaging anyone within ten feet with stories of his run.  The witnesses then heard a crash and Mr. Burns was found lying dead on the floor.  No one admits seeing anything.”

            “Ummm, is anything missing?”

            “Only his finisher medal from the race is missing.  As you can see the ribbon is still around his neck but the medal is nowhere to be found.  His wallet was still in his pocket with cash and credit cards untouched.”

            “Suspects? Witnesses?”

            “Yes, there were only three people in the bar at the time of death.  There is Grace Doyle, the barmaid who served Mr. Burns several pints of Guinness before his untimely demise.  She reported being in the kitchen and did not see what happened. Nicholas Murphy who is a nightly regular at Madigan’s and was drinking a Guinness with Mr. Burns says he was in the restroom when the incident occurred.  And finally we have Samuel Spade IV who is another American visiting Dublin.  Mr. Spade was drinking a Coors Light on the other side of the pub and watching a football match on the telly with no view of the deceased.”

            “Any weapon?”

            “None that I could find.”

            “Well, I think if we find the missing finisher medal then we find out what exactly happened here.  I will interview each suspect and brilliantly deduce what occurred.  But first I will drink a wonderfully tasty Guinness.”

Inspector Fitzgerald casually observed the witnesses while sipping on his Guinness.  The barmaid, Grace, appeared nervous and agitated.  Mr. Murphy seemed completely indifferent while sipping a pint of Bulmers Irish Cider.  Inspector Fitzgerald likes a Bulmers every now and then but can only drink one because of the sweetness.  Lastly, the American, Mr. Spade, was pacing the room while downing yet another watered down American beer.  Inspector Fitzgerald just couldn’t respect anyone who drank Coors Light on a regular basis.  He thinks American light beer is only good for sobering up before getting in the car and heading home after a long evening at the pub drinking pints of Guinness.

The Inspector decided to start the interviews off with Grace.

            “Ms. Doyle, at what time did the Mr. Burns enter the pub?”

            “Well Inspector I think it was around 4:30 pm.  He said he came in straight away from the finish line of the marathon and he had a powerful thirst for the rich taste of a Guinness.”

            “Did he order any food?”

            “Not at first.  He sat and drank 5 pints of Guinness before putting an order in for the Guinness Beef Pie with Chips.  I was in the kitchen picking it up when I heard the crash and came out to find him dead.”

            “I see.  Now did he have the finisher’s medal from the race when you first saw him?”

            “Yes, he had it around his neck and was showing it to everyone in the pub when he came in.  He seemed very proud of himself and the medal was a symbol of his ‘awesome’ achievement. I do not remember seeing it after that”

            “He actually said the word ‘awesome’ when describing himself? What else did he say?”

            “Yes he did say that.  He appeared very impressed with himself to the point of being annoying to the other paying customers.  He went on and on about how great the race was and that the route was perfect and the views of the city and suburbs were spectacular and that he didn’t even care that it was raining so hard.”

            “Okay just one more question, Grace.  Did you KILL him?” the Inspector loved to catch suspects off guard with that question.

            “GOOD HEAVEN’S NO!” blurted Grace with tears in her eyes, “I could never kill anyone! Not even an American like him”

            “Take it easy and have a seat and I will get back to you later.”

The Inspector decided to approach Mr. Murphy next.  Inspector Fitzgerald had Nicholas pegged as a regular who came into the same pub every night for a few pints while watching a football match or just reading the newspaper.  Regulars typically do not like tourist invading their pub especially cocky Americans.  The Inspector suspects Nicholas may know more about what happened here than the barmaid but knew he would have to approach him differently.  The surprise attack would not work on a strong man like Nicholas.

            “So, Nicholas how you doing? How is the Bulmers?”

            “What do you want copper?” replied Nicholas with a sneer.

            “I need you to tell me what happened here.” said Inspector Fitzgerald now peeved.

            “Well I got up to take a piss and when I came back that irritating American was on the floor dead.  That is what happened.  Other than that I know nothing.”

            “Did you talk to him before he died?”  

            “Yeah, I did.  He was rambling on about winning some damn running race and flashing a medal around like it was supposed to impress me.  Running is only good when you are chasing down the enemy in mortal combat.”

            “Really, you were in the military then?”

            “Yes I was a Colonel in the Southern Brigade of the Irish Army.  We would eat iron and crap nails back in my day.”

            “Ouch. Now what else did Mr. Burns say to you?”

            “He complained incessantly about his legs cramping because he ran so fast and also mentioned some gobshite about lactic acid build up.”

            That answer seemed to spark some interest in the Inspector who then asked, “Did you see what happened to his finisher medal?”

            “No.”

            “I hate to ask this but did you happen to kill him?”

            “Feck off copper!” yelled Nicholas as he turned his back and returned to his Bulmers.

Inspector Fitzgerald took a break from questioning the witnesses to contemplate what he had learned thus far.  He decided he needed another Guinness to settle down his nerves after his encounter with Col. Murphy.  At the last second he decided he might be drinking too much Guinness and was affecting his thought process so he ordered a Beamish Stout instead.  He now turned his attention to the other American, Samuel Spade, who had finally sat down after pacing back and forth since the Inspector’s arrival.

            “Good evening, Mr. Spade.  Can you tell me what you saw here tonight?”

            “Absolutely my good sir, I know exactly what happened here tonight.  I am a private detective from San Francisco and have solved the mystery that has befuddled you so far this evening.”

            The Inspector was taken back by this initial response to his inquiry and responded sarcastically with, “Ah so you fancy yourself an American version of Hercule Poirot then Mr. Spade?”

            “Nay, I am rather more like a Philip Marlow without the wisecracks.  Now shall I get on with it?”

            “Hey I ask the questions here!  So what have you come up with?”

            “Simple it was Colonel Murphy in the bar with the Guinness tap handle!” exclaimed Mr. Spade.

Inspector Fitzgerald looked at Mr. Spade with contempt and decided that the man was either a complete dolt or just drunk.  The inspector looked him up and down and settled on the Coors Light bottle and finally said, 

“Slow your roll there, Miss Marple.  I think you may have missed the boat on that one.  Take a seat and I may have to get back to you later.”

The inspector then went back to the bar and finished off his Beamish and thought some more about the mystery at hand.  “Ah ha!” yelled the inspector as the solution finally occurred to him in a flash.  Before addressing everyone in bar with his brilliant discovery, the Inspector ordered a double Jameson’s Irish coffee in a take away cup.

            “Ok listen up everyone.  I know what happened here.  The deceased, Mr. Burns, ran a marathon this afternoon and immediately came into this pub.  According to the barmaid he drank 5 pints of Guinness without any food.  I conclude that Mr. Burns, an American who can’t handle his alcohol, was drunk off his ass, he then starting spouting a bunch of gobshite about winning the marathon and declaring that he was awesome.  At this time his legs cramped up as described by the Colonel.  This caused Mr. Burns to flip off his bar stool ass over elbows and land squarely on the back of his head.  Splitting his head open and killing him instantly!”

            “If that is true and no one killed him, then what happened to the Dublin medal that is missing?” asked Officer Sullivan.

            “Ahh, that is an easy one my dear Mr. Sullivan.  The barmaid , Grace, stole the Dublin medal from Mr. Burns upon his death because she was secretly in love with him and wanted a memento of that love.  Isn’t that true Ms. Doyle?”

            To that Grace Doyle broke down and cried, “Yes it’s true.  I loved that man even though I only just met him.  He was the most handsome man I ever laid eyes on with the greatest salt and pepper beard I have ever seen.  I could listen to him brag all day about his sporting accomplishments including 10 marathons, 5  Ironman triathlons and numerous other running and triathlon events.  I just had to have that medal.  It will be the only thing I have to remind myself of him for the rest of my life.”

            “All right, enough, that is most disturbing.  I declare this case is solved.  Officer Sullivan please arrest this woman for robbery of a corpse then call the coroner and have this dead man picked up and mailed back to the states.  I am heading back to the station house with a quick stop at O’Neill’s pub for a delicious pint of Guinness.” said the Inspector as he walked out of Madigan’s pub where the Halloween festivities were just getting started.  If the last couple of hours were any indication, then the Inspector knew he was in for a long long night.  He thanked God out loud for all the Guinness that would help guide him through this night.

THE END