Murder In The Academy : A chilling murder mystery set in Belfast (Alice Fox Murder Mysteries Book 1)

by Maggie Feeley

  Much earlier than he had anticipated, he was free to go and he made his way home through the Belfast night with a frozen heart and an immovable image of Helen Breen’s ravaged face in his mind’s eye. He realised before too long that all his colleagues, and indeed he himself, were now suspects in this matter and that he would have a monumental task in terms of managing what was to come. The prospect was profoundly daunting.

  13

  In Grosvenor Road Police Barracks, Interview Room 6, the night was just beginning. Since the Northern Ireland troubles had ended, sectarian killings had diminished and other issues like drug-dealing, theft, racist attacks and sexual assaults were demanding more police attention. Homicide was a reasonably infrequent occurrence and quickly focused the attention of the detectives involved.

  When occasion demanded, Caroline Paton was used to her evenings being hijacked at short notice by her job as head of the Murder Squad. That was probably a large contributory factor to her solitary lifestyle. She had a reputation for being a Rottweiler who when pushed too far had a bite that was even more vicious than her bark. Burrows and McVeigh found her a fair taskmaster and worked tirelessly under her direction, which was just as well as she could be more exacting than most. As a trio, they had a name for getting the job done and had notched up several high-profile wins in difficult cases. This murder of a college lecturer had many challenging features that had already engaged their interest. In many ways, they relished the task ahead.

  Both of the men had families and it made it easier that Paton recognised the knock-on effect of the demands she made on them. She didn’t always make life any easier for them but at least she appreciated their work and the costs involved. McVeigh was in his early thirties, well-built and a sharp dresser. He had just recently had a new baby son and showed all the signs of not getting enough sleep. Sergeant Burrows was in his mid-fifties, married and had three grown-up children who had all flown the nest, and the country. The older man had been in the force for decades and, like Caroline, had survived the transformation from the RUC – the Royal Ulster Constabulary to the PSNIs – the reformed and more inclusive Police Service of Northern Ireland. He was thoughtful and methodical and had excellent detection skills born from experience and from being a good learner. For his part, McVeigh had discovered that coming to the role of detective through the graduate route didn’t always mean that you were smarter than those who had gained their skills and knowledge on the job. The two men rubbed along well together with Burrows adopting a paternalistic position with McVeigh, but not in an irritating or intrusive way.

  Caroline Paton was in her early forties and known as a physical dynamo with an incisive mind and an uncompromising sense of justice. She had joined the police force after college in the early 90s when bombs and sectarian killings in Northern Ireland were a daily occurrence. As such, as a young woman she had seen the bloody results of the war all too often and had been filled with hope when some years later the peace process began to show signs of progress. Up until that point, the Troubles had been a backdrop to her whole life and she was well aware of the many ways in which the population of Northern Ireland continued to exhibit war-related PTSD. School and college friends had left the North never to return but she was too stubborn to give up and had decided that, come what may, she would make her life there. Her parents were now in their 70s and, although she lived alone, she was close to them. Her two siblings had gone to university in England and Scotland and like the majority of that generation of young people, they had never returned.

  Paton wrestled with her weight but kept herself fit. She went to the gym as often as possible and tried to counterbalance a dreadful diet and too much chocolate with enough exercise to allow her to run fast whenever needed. She communicated a busy efficiency in her way of dealing with things.

  This evening, she emptied a selection of snack bars from her bag onto the table to keep their energy levels up for a few more hours. McVeigh produced a pot of coffee and three mugs, and they settled in to review what information they had amassed in the first few hours of this case.

  “OK, so what have we got?” Paton said. “Let’s go through your notes, Ian, and take it from there. We’ll give it an hour or so and then get a bit of sleep under our belts before we start into the serious interviews in the Shipbuiding Offices and in DePRec tomorrow morning.” She paused and then added, “I’ve asked the Family Liaison Officer to call on the elderly mother tomorrow morning … not too early so that she is properly awake. The good news is it will be Sandra so we may even get some useful info from her.”

  Sandra Woods was an experienced uniformed officer who had been an FLO for long enough to have developed considerable skill. She wasn’t just good at delivering difficult messages but had a way of getting family members to open up as she unobtrusively made tea and set them at their ease. Paton was sure she was a definite bonus in any investigation.

  McVeigh had his notebook at the ready. “Well, we know that the remains are those of Dr Helen Breen, a legal scholar who was one of the senior staff in the DePRec. She was clearly well-liked by the Head of Department, Professor Jackson Bell whose upset when the penny dropped as to the contents of the freezer would have been hard to fake. Don’t you think?” He looked to his colleagues for affirmation but found none forthcoming.

  Burrows dunked a chocolate biscuit in his coffee and merely said, “No assumptions, Ian. Let’s just go with the facts for now.”

  McVeigh took this remark on board without any rancour, nodded and continued. “Right you are. We know that Helen Breen was registered on the passkey system, leaving the building at nine thirty-six on the last evening class of term, which was Thursday the 19th of December. Her family were reportedly of the opinion that she was away over the holiday period and so didn’t miss her. That is according to Jackson Bell who made inquiries, or rather his departmental manager did, when Breen did not show up for work on Monday the 6th of January. We’ll remind Sandra to check that out when she is there tomorrow. Today, that is, on Wednesday afternoon of the 8th of January, as part of a routine clear-up after the storm, the remains of Helen Breen were discovered in a chest freezer, secreted under some specimens belonging to the Marine Biology Centre. This was in the Titanic Quarter, in a different college building to DePRec, about a five-minute walk away. We have no information yet as to how the remains came to be in that place or how long she may have been there. What we do know is that a lot of effort went into covering her face and head. The College President, Professor Thompson, alerted the PSNI to the situation. A staff member, Dr Sam Carter, had informed him of an irregularity when she had been called to advise on how to secure the contents of the freezer. These contents had defrosted and increased in volume when the power was cut for a period of around thirty hours. Exact times need to be established when we interview the staff. Maintenance staff could not close the freezer and called for support from the academics. The call to the police by the President was made at four thirty today and we responded immediately. When an ID was located with the body the President contacted the relevant Head of Department, Professor Jackson Bell, who was brought into the picture later this evening. The entire freezer was promptly moved here to Grosvenor Road Barracks for thorough examination. The remains of Helen Breen have been given to the forensic pathologist for autopsy tomorrow morning. Professor Jackson Bell subsequently identified the body as that of his colleague Dr Helen Breen.”

  “OK,” said Paton, folding and unfolding the silver-foil wrapper from the chocolate bar she had just eaten. “Let’s see what we need to do straight away. We have FLO going over to Breen’s mother as early as possible tomorrow morning. Bill, can you talk to Sandra in the morning about any items we want her to be alert to? Get her to gather whatever background she can. Where did Breen usually live? Was it with the mother or elsewhere and, if so, where? Were there any partners, close associates and so on. We will need to have a good look at her home for anything we can find about her work or private relationships. Who
was she close to? We can collect her work and personal computers and any phone records that are available. Again, Bill, you get started on all that. Ian, you and I will go straight to the Shipbuilding Offices and then to DePRec. We will get the lie of the land there and draw up a schedule of interviews that fits around the teaching schedule as much as possible. I expect Bell may get a head-start on that in the morning. I will draft a statement for the Super to release to the press later in the morning and then we will try to keep them away from the college until we get a fuller picture. I am guessing Professor Thompson will be only too happy to help us with that so maybe their security will look after that task. Bill, you can have the pleasure of the autopsy in the morning and then join us in DePRec. Have an initial look at Breen’s office first for any interesting stuff. We know she checked out of the system so I am not expecting that to be the murder scene but see what you can dig up. If there is anything suspect, we can get forensics in straight away. In that case I want a total sweep and a full report to me ASAP.”

  She rattled off the tasks as if she was reviewing a mental list prepared earlier but they knew she was carefully establishing the foundations of a thorough inquiry on the spot, and because that was the way she thought things through.

  “What am I forgetting? Oh yes! Did Breen have a vehicle and where is it now?”

  They decided that the precise location of Helen Breen’s body would remain secret for the immediate future. The other freezers in the Marine Biology Centre were to be checked this afternoon to ensure that there were no other surprises. That entire floor was sealed until it could be thoroughly searched, and any evidence recorded. Staff and students were to be encouraged to believe that this was necessary because of storm damage that would take an additional day to repair. A forensics team would be deployed early next morning.

  The team spent another hour or so making a detailed plan for the opening stages of their investigation and then made their way to their various homes to gather as much sleep as they could in the time available. They needed to be as sharp as could be for the hunt that was beginning.

  14

  Most of those returning to work in DePRec after the two days of exceptional closure were surprised at the unusual security presence on the front doors of their building. The business of swiping in and out was generally treated fairly casually and left very much to individuals to remember. Today, two uniformed security personnel were present and checking ID cards. For DePRec staff there was a printed memo from Professor Bell requesting the presence of all staff at a meeting in the Staff Common Room during the mid-morning break. People looked puzzled but were mostly too pressed for time to linger on the possible reason behind this unusual demand. Those without an early morning lecture engaged in some speculation over their coffee in the staff common room and then proceeded with their daily tasks without giving it any further thought.

  In the administration office adjoining the Common Room, Mairéad Walsh was wearing her most serious expression. She had received a very early text from Jackson Bell to ask her to be at her desk as near to eight o’clock as possible “to deal with some extremely serious and urgent departmental business”. She had arrived at seven forty-five and found the departmental head already there and waiting for her. He was never one that would be associated with a healthy complexion but his pallor this morning was ghostlike. Mairéad’s instinctual sense of dread at these unusual signals deepened as he silently motioned to her to sit down.

  “I am afraid that I have some extremely disturbing news to tell you, Mrs Walsh. We have a lot to do before the staff and students arrive so I will have to be more abrupt than I would like in telling this information to you.”

  Mairéad held her breath as he paused and braced himself as if for delivery of an awkward, prepared announcement.

  “The mystery of Dr Helen Breen’s non-appearance for work on Monday was resolved last night when I identified her body in the morgue of Grosvenor Road police station.”

  Mairéad’s eyes widened and she inhaled deeply. “My good God! But how? What happened to her? Was she in an accident?”

  “No, Mrs Walsh – there was no accident. Helen Breen has been murdered and this morning we will all unavoidably become embroiled in a full-scale murder inquiry.” He paused as if to allow this reality to become better absorbed, then reconnected with the moment. “We have a lot to organise here so that the minimum of disruption to everyday college life occurs. I know that sounds heartless, but we will have to delay our grieving for the time being and facilitate the PSNI Murder Squad in their inquiry.”

  He looked at her almost imploringly, as if at a loss as to how to proceed. Then he seemed to find some of his characteristic sense of occasion and she watched the blood return to his cheeks as he faced the challenge ahead.

  “Do you think that you will be able to help me, Mrs Walsh, in this most unusual circumstance where we have no precedent to follow?”

  Mairéad’s organisational instinct was called immediately into action and she breathed deeply and held her notepad and pencil at the ready. She exuded a comforting aura of competence that enabled him to assume his role with greater assurance.

  “What needs to be done, Professor Bell?”

  As Bell dictated a memo to be given to all staff on arrival at work, he felt the cold reality of the situation creep in on him. His initial response had been shock and a foggy sense of the horror of violent death. Of course, violence had been part of the Northern Ireland psyche for decades but for the most part it had remained at some distance from him. This was too close to find any comfort in even the small degrees of separation afforded to many people during the three decades of violence. The image of Breen’s bloated and misshapen features was burnt into his mind’s eye. He had been advised by Caroline Paton the previous evening to avoid going into detail about the circumstances of the location of the body when speaking to colleagues. The unusual conditions of Breen’s death would remain undisclosed until more evidence was available. They were all suspects, he supposed, and the detectives would be hoping to catch someone out in their interviewing of department members. For a whole host of reasons, he dreaded the inevitable close scrutiny of his personal movements. Nevertheless, now the focus was on ensuring that departmental work carried on as normally as possible. The gossip machine would be well cranked up as soon as he had given the initial news at breaktime, but students must be as untainted by all of this as possible and that was his responsibility.

  While Mairéad typed and printed out copies of memos to be distributed, Bell worked down the list he had made earlier. He called maintenance to set up the boardroom as an onsite incident room for Paton and her team. The detectives would need a list of all staff and their details and the schedule of lectures for the remainder of the week. Mairéad set to work drafting a timetable of interviews that would begin after break and continue until the following afternoon. She organised refreshments to be delivered at regular intervals and connected a PC and printer and two telephones with direct access to outside lines. Of course, they would have their own mobile phones but she wanted all possible bases to be covered.

  It was still only twenty past eight and there would be a few further moments of calm before the day got into full swing.

  “Call Liam Doyle, please, Mrs Walsh, and ask him to come to my office as soon as he is in college,” said the professor. “As their representative, he will be useful as a link to students and any issues that arise for them because of this dreadful event.”

  Mairéad Walsh wondered what sort of impact news of Helen Breen’s death would have on the young student rep. She liked Doyle well enough and knew that his childhood had been rocky. She had sons of her own and was sympathetic to their struggles to become reasonable men in a demanding world. At the Christmas drinks party in Professor Hartnett’s house, she had noticed that Doyle and Helen Breen had been very much caught up in each other’s company. There had been a lot of whispering and what some might have construed as inappropriate touching. Th
ey had been close by when she had been trying to talk to Hartnett’s young son who obviously had learning difficulties. She had been sorry for the young lad trying to be sociable with a room full of strangers and not really managing too well, so she had spent some time with him. Doyle and Breen’s antics had been a distraction and she had noted that others in the company had been watching them too.

  Paused on the threshold, Bell seemed to have thought of something perplexing. “I am conscious that as soon as word of this is announced publicly that we will all be inundated with requests for information from the local papers and other media and probably just nosy busybodies who want to pry into something that doesn’t concern them. I can’t forbid people from speaking to them but I will need to advise against casual speculation and the type of rumour-spreading that does nobody any favours. Helen Breen has a family who will be directly impacted by what staff and students here say and we must make everyone aware of their ethical duty in that regard.” He looked again at his list and back at Mairéad. “I am going to my office to make some serious notes for our meeting at breaktime. I trust you to deal diplomatically with all enquiries here. I will call on Professor Hartnett to make sure she has been brought up to date by Professor Thompson. She and Helen Breen knew each other at school and I expect this will be quite a blow for her. If anyone is asking for me, try to delay them until I speak to the whole staff team at coffee break. Otherwise, in cases of real need you know where to direct them.” He turned to leave and then came back. “Thank you, Mrs Walsh, for making this nightmare seem a little bit more manageable. It will be a difficult few days and may even get worse after that but we will do our duty by the staff and students and let the PSNI get on with doing theirs. Who knows where this will all end?” He paused for a moment as if hoping that Mairéad Walsh might be able to offer some solace about the days to come but she remained wisely silent.