John T. Lescroart
Dead Irish
The first book in the Dismas Hardy series, 1989
I would like to thank Bob and Barbara Sawyer, Elaine Jennings, and Holt Satterfield for help in preparing the manuscript; Drs. Gregory Gorman and Chris Landon; Dalila Corral; Don Mathe-son for a few bons mots, and Patti O’Brien for two big words.
Most especially, I would like to thank Al Giannini of the San Francisco District Attorney’s office, a great friend as well as a resource for technical and procedural matters, without whom this book truly could not have been written.
Any technical errors are the author’s.
To my mother,
Loretta Thérèse Gregory Lescroart, and, again, to Lisa, with love
“I have certainly known more men
destroyed by the desire to have a wife and child
and keep them in comfort than I have seen
destroyed by drink. ”
– WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
Chapter One
FROM HIS aisle seat, Dismas Hardy had a clear view of the stewardess as her feet lifted from the floor. She immediately let go of the tray-the one that held Hardy’s Coke-although strangely it didn’t drop, but hung there in the air, floating, the liquid coming out of the glass like a stain spreading in a blotter.
The man next to him grabbed Hardy’s elbow and said, “We’re dead.”
Hardy, as though from a distance, noted the man’s hand on his arm. He found it difficult to take his eyes from the floating stewardess. Then, as suddenly as she’d lifted, the stewardess crashed back to the floor with the tray and the drink.
Two or three people were screaming.
Hardy was the first one to get his seat belt off. In a second, he was kneeling over the stewardess, who appeared to be unhurt, though badly shaken, crying. She held him, muscles spasming in fear or relief, gasping for breaths between sobs.