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

by Maggie Feeley

  “She definitely was not well liked by all her colleagues,” Alice said thoughtfully, “but I agree with you, peer rivalry and disputes in the workplace are not why people commit murder. If it were the case, then murder would be a much more commonplace occurrence.” She paused to reflect on what her instincts were telling her. “I come from an environment where murder is much more a daily occurrence than in Northern Ireland, despite your reputation for violent conflict. I would be very surprised if this is a simple case of workplace ill feeling driving someone over the edge. That just doesn’t seem likely to me but I will be watchful and I promise to come back to you if something leads me to change that view.”

  Paton seemed satisfied with that pledge. She gave Alice a card from the pile in front of her. “I will be happy to hear from you any time, Alice Fox, however seemingly small the catalyst for that contact may be.”

  She nodded several times to reinforce the sincerity of her statement and Alice had that rare feeling of having met someone for whom constant explanations of one’s position were superfluous. She mused that her list of potential friends in Ireland would soon fill the fingers of one hand.

  Alice smiled and extended her hand to Paton and returned to her office to contemplate the updated scenario.

  Later, she replayed the interview with DI Paton and the perspective she had shared on her now deceased colleague. From the very beginning Alice hadn’t warmed to Breen and had a growing impression that under the surface DePRec was really quite far from being aptly named. Towards the end of her first week in the college, Breen had emailed to ask Alice to call and see her. What ensued had not been an unusual exchange between a senior lecturer and a visiting post-doc and yet Alice had found it gave her cause for some dislike of the more senior woman. Helen Breen demonstrated that she had informed herself about Alice’s academic interests and enquired if she would be interested in giving a guest lecture to Breen’s postgraduate law module students. Not one to be easily played, Alice was surprised about how flattered she felt to be asked. On reflection, she had probably agreed too readily and Breen had looked quietly victorious. Alice realised a little too late that she had just given Breen a free night off when she would take her class for her whilst supposedly feeling grateful for being given the opportunity. There was no question of payment, as this would be seen as part of her post-doc position. When the offer of some student tutorial work was added to the available options Alice was more ready with a response.

  “I will say ‘no’ to that,” she responded. “I have made financial provision for myself this year so that I can focus on my own work without the need for additional earning.”

  “I’m sure you have,” Breen said and, whatever that comment meant, Alice knew her refusal to be compliant had caused some displeasure.

  She had replayed the comment to herself several times and failed to understand the implied familiarity with her or her circumstances. She was slightly unnerved by a sense of Breen’s desire to control her that lay thinly veiled behind a seemingly indifferent exterior.

  Alongside the extreme response that she now knew Helen Breen evoked in Ralph Wilson, Alice was clear that she herself had caught a glimpse of something fundamentally unpleasant in Breen’s character. She had determined then to give her as wide a berth as possible and to keep her focus on her own work rather than becoming embroiled in the battle that was being played out in DePRec around the forthcoming promotion. She knew that academia could be a hostile place to be and wanted none of that to intrude on her own goals for the year ahead. She had given the lecture with a good grace and otherwise tried keep out of harm’s way.

  Back at her desk and gazing out over the Belfast landscape Alice became immersed in contemplating what she knew about DePRec. She realised that in her interview with Caroline Paton she hadn’t thought to mention that the conference she’d attended in Dublin had been organised by the founder of DePRec, Tara Donnelly, whom she had found to be interesting company. The annual Harm Convention had been a small and congenial gathering with none of the pomposity and posturing that often accompanied such academic events. They had eaten an evening meal together at the end of each day’s proceedings and the conversations there and later in the staff common room bar had been lively and thought-provoking. During these evenings, Tara Donnelly had been especially hospitable to her and had been interested to hear what was happening in DePRec, where she had her own history. She had talked freely about her early shared work with Ralph Wilson and Jackson Bell but had not made any comment about Helen Breen even though their paths must have overlapped. Alice had noticed that omission at the time and reconsidered it now in the light of Helen Breen’s killing.

  Alice and Tara had quickly established an understanding based on a shared view of the world. On a personal level, they had spent a pleasant day hillwalking together during Alice’s holiday sojourn in Manor Kilbride. Tara had driven up to meet her on a bright frosty morning towards the end of the year and they had climbed Djouce together. The sky was ice-blue and there was a weak low sun that didn’t really give off much warmth but was uplifting nonetheless. The air was chill and there was little wind. Apparently this was a rare blessing as often you could lie into the gale with your full body weight and be held firmly upright.

  The two women were both fit and managed to sustain a good stomping pace whilst chatting amicably at the same time. The ground was frost-hardened and the going rendered even easier by a boardwalk made of railway sleepers laid lengthways, side by side and covered with chicken wire for enhanced grip. This created a one-man’s pass over the boggy terrain. Tara explained that it was a popular walk with Dubliners and the pathway had been introduced to protect the local flora that was threatened by the route being overwalked. The views over Lough Tay and the Powerscourt estate were breathtaking. As she took in the impressive landscape, Alice had reflected on how much had happened since her first aerial view of these brackeny Wicklow Hills when she had approached Ireland for the first time, four months previously.

  After their walk, in Alice’s rental cottage, they had shared a pot of tea and toasted some bread on the open fire. The toasting fork had beckoned from the hearth and the woman of the house’s blackberry jam completed the simple but scrumptious food. Alice was interested in the accounts of DePRec’s beginnings and the picture she formed, from Tara’s descriptions, of Belfast back in those days was gripping. There had been the tantalising possibility of peace alongside continuing, horrific sectarian and state terror.

  Gradually, Tara had relaxed enough to share some of the story of her hasty departure from DePRec. Back in the day, when Tara had been pivotal in its formation, all shades of opinion had been keen to influence the direction taken by the new centre. The weight of academic opinion was viewed as credible and convincing and published work was seen to provide a solid evidence base and some degree of moral endorsement.

  Every shade of opinion, political or dissident, wanted to have such academic validity given to their standpoint and DePRec was pushed and pulled in many directions. Research carried out often involved deep immersion in local communities to ascertain the impact of the Troubles on day-to-day life. For example, a study of local women might uncover sensitive details about behaviours within families and localities that would be of interest to those in the establishment from whom such detail was concealed. The confidentiality and anonymity assured by research ethics protected disclosure of such findings in ways that would identify individuals and place them at risk from the authorities. But the intelligence forces charged with discovering what happened behind the scenes in communities found the work of DePRec of very great interest.

  As well as the official collaborative work undertaken by DePRec in the public eye, Tara explained that there had been other parties whose interference had been more coercive than cooperative. Some of those keen to enlist the services of the head of DePRec had wielded more power and influence than others. Dependent on funding and on community research partnerships, Tara Donnelly had found he
rself in an increasingly precarious employment climate and despite her commitment to the work had finally decided to call it a day. Without specifying the exact detail, Tara had made it clear that more than frustration, it was actually terror that had made her leave the North and seek a more tranquil existence on the other side of the border. Not for the first time, Alice Fox was reminded of the disturbing covert forces that were operating in Northern Ireland, some of which were undoubtedly state sanctioned. She sensed that this was an exercise of power that was utterly chilling and potentially life-threatening.

  It had been completely dark by the time Tara stood up to head for home and Alice had been glad not to have to leave the warmth of the log fire to make the dark drive back down into the city. On her own again, she had reflected on what Tara had shared about the shadowy history of DePRec. She had the distinct impression that there were still more upsetting elements of Tara’s story in the North that she hadn’t yet disclosed. For her part, Alice respected people’s privacy probably more than most and she was able to let that rest. People revealed themselves at their own pace in relationships and it was not Alice’s way to push against that.

  21

  What made academia tolerable to Alice Fox was the potential it offered to introduce the realities of people’s experience into what counted as significant knowledge. She had listened long enough to those deemed to be knowledgeable and those whose views were not valued, to know where she placed her trust and confidence. Now that DePRec was a crime scene in its own right Alice saw with even greater clarity the irony of how crime was perceived by most people. They had no hesitation in accepting that the young people in the EXIT project were at risk of becoming offenders but met the possibility that the trusted academic elite might be involved in crime with widespread shock. She struggled with how the glaring prejudice and hypocrisy of this was not often seen. Alice believed deeply that most people did their best in life but that some were much better resourced to deliver on those aspirations and that was where the great injustice lay. So far, Belfast had proved to be a fascinating place to continue her study of restorative justice and her first three months had been fruitful in terms of the progress she had made.

  She remembered clearly the evening back in September when she had first visited the EXIT youth project. It had been a significant journey in many ways. She had left the generously redeveloped Titanic Quarter, crossed the Lagan Bridge and made her way to the Castle Street area of the city from which she would access a black taxicab to West Belfast. Here there was no sign of investment and renewal. There were street vendors selling fruit and vegetables and some cheaply packaged plastic children’s toys. They stood behind their carts calling boisterously to each other and anyone who showed any interest in buying. Here there was no gloss and glitter but ebullient humanity in abundance.

  Alice had read the history of the Black Taxi movement and approached the central terminus with interest. In the early 70s the public bus transportation system was often disrupted. Buses and other vehicles were hijacked and burned and roads were often impassable. The London hackney cabs were introduced as an alternative form of local transport. They came to be known as the Peoples’ Taxis and were shared by those travelling different routes in the west of the city. Each person paid a small sum of money and taxis picked up and deposited passengers on request. Initially formed on the nationalist Falls Road, the system was later replicated in the neighbouring loyalist Shankill area. Subsequently, with the advent of peace, Black Taxis continued to serve travellers in poorer communities and had diversified to offer guided ‘political’ tours to those visiting Belfast in the wake of the Good Friday Agreement.

  That first evening, Alice had arranged to meet the DePRec student representative Liam Doyle outside the entrance to the Falls Cemetery and he would accompany her to the location where she would have her first face-to-face meeting with the local youth and community group. Doyle lived locally and knew the project from his own research. He had been accommodating of her need for some local knowledge and had arranged to meet her at the end of her taxi journey. She had taken her seat in the back of the black cab wedged between a woman with a child on her lap and a girl in a brown school uniform. An elderly couple sat on the fold-down seats opposite. They were heatedly discussing something but the accent was strong and Alice soon zoned out and focused on observing the urban landscape that they were passing through. In the background, the driver’s radio was broadcasting a local news programme but distinguishing any coherent message was virtually impossible. They made slow progress in the evening rush-hour traffic and at certain moments they passed by wall murals that might well have featured in Jackson Bell’s popular photographic studies of political wall paintings.

  The woman beside her noted her interest. “Yer not from here, are yeh, love?” she announced more than asked.

  “I’m from Massachusetts, ma’am,” Alice replied, meeting the woman’s open stare with a wide smile. “I am in Belfast for this year to study some of your projects.”

  “Oh, is that right? There’s a lot to study here for sure.” She laughed at her own comment and Alice understood the sarcasm and joined in.

  “Massachusetts has a lot to learn too,” she said. “I’m going to visit a youth club on your Glen Parade. I hear it is well known for making a difference in the local community.”

  “It would take something to sort out some of them young fellas!” the woman quipped with conviction. “Just mind your purse while yer in there. They’d take the eye outta yer head and come back for the other one. I’ll let yeh know when we get to yer stop.”

  With that she turned her attention to the child on her lap who was whinging constantly and clutching at her mother’s hair. The woman produced a soother from somewhere, sucked it in the interests of hygiene and lodged it in the child’s open mouth. Her small lips closed around it and she settled into her mother’s arms.

  “She’s starvin’,” the woman announced. “I was out longer than planned and now the tea’s gonna be late too.”

  The statement begged no response and Alice returned to looking at the passing views. Small shops and poor-looking side streets sat alongside large hospital buildings and what might have been a school or religious community, in leafy grounds surrounded by substantial stone walls. It was warm and just a bit smelly in the taxi and Alice was relieved when the woman leaned forward and tapped the glass between them and the driver with a coin. The driver pulled in immediately.

  “Get out here, love,” the woman instructed Alice. “Glen Parade is over there on your right and up a wee bit.”

  Alice unfolded herself onto the pavement and waved to the woman as the cab moved off again.

  “You made it unscathed,” she heard from someone wearing a hoody leaning against a nearby wall.

  It was Liam Doyle, waiting as arranged outside the cemetery. At first glance, the graveyard seemed extensive, spreading over several levels as far as the eye could see. He noted her interest and said, “Oh! That’s another day’s work if you want the tour of the Fall’s Cemetery. We will have to start that earlier in the day too before the local spooks take over for the evening shift.”

  She wasn’t too clear what he meant but assumed it to be a reference to the popularity of cemeteries everywhere for young (and older) people who liked to gather out of sight for purposes that were not always entirely legitimate.

  “Let’s get you delivered to Glen Parade for now. Their evening programme kicks off about seven and Hugo will want to have a chat with you before that.” Liam’s long red curls escaped attractively from his hood and he reached amicably for Alice’s arm. He led the way across the road and up a laneway that looked like a dead end. About halfway along they came to a red wooden doorway that had a small plaque that cryptically read ‘EXIT – the way in’.

  Liam rang the doorbell and stood back.

  “I’m just going to leave you to it,” he said. “You don’t need me crowding you out and you have my number if you need to call me about
anything. I don’t live too far away and can come to the rescue if need be.”

  Alice laughed. “I’d say I’ll manage OK by myself. I know I’m a bit green on the local cultural stuff but I’m sure the core issues are universal. I’ll be quite at home.”

  With no further ceremony Liam had turned and headed swiftly down the alleyway, turned right and was out of sight. Almost simultaneously the red door swung open and a large man about her own age, or maybe a little older, filled the space left by the opened door. He was clean-shaven and dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. His slight paunch hinted at a liking for beer or chocolate or maybe both.

  “You’ll be Alice Fox, I assume.” He extended his large hand and delivered a firm but surprisingly gentle handshake. “I’m Hugo.” He smiled and stood aside, motioning to her to come in. “We’ll have time for a chat before the guys start to roll in. Come in and have a look at the place. We were lucky to have had a good amount of EU peace money when we were setting up and that allowed us to get a firm base in place before the outside money dried up. We take care of maintenance ourselves now with some support from local sponsors.”

  Hugo led the way along a short entrance hall that had no source of external light and was a grim taster to the project. Alice had seen grim before and wasn’t overly disturbed by the prospect. With a bit of a flourish Hugo opened the door at the end of the hallway and light from an atrium filled the large circular space. The walls were curved and brightly coloured and contained a number of alcoves off the main space that were obviously intended for quieter moments. The common central area had about ten comfortable seats set out in a circle and, to the side, a table held mugs and biscuits ready for the arrival of the evening group. In the farthest corner, near a door marked with a large ‘H’, hung a red leather punch bag and a sizeable area carpeted with thick matting. Alice recognised the de-stress zone and time-out corner where someone who was in a bad place could work out some frustrations without coming to or causing any harm.