As the day wore on the fuss eventually started to die down and Kate began to slowly recover from the shock. And as she did what she felt in its place was red, blinding fury. How dared they? The evil, insufferable bastards! How dare they sneer and snigger at her and her private life, and make their dirty little insinuations? As if anything she did was any of their business! Everything about the affair made her furious, but it was impotent anger, as she was only too aware that there was nothing she could do about the article. They hadn’t actually told any lies, they had merely made her appear sleazy and sordid through cheap innuendo, a fact which would not impress a judge in a libel case. So all she could do was grit her teeth and bear it, and wait for it all to blow over. As it very quickly would once the explanation she had given to the other reporters came out. She hoped. But even so that didn’t mean she had to like it. And the only reason she wasn’t currently filled with hatred towards a certain Michael Riordan was that the paper made him look even worse than her, suggesting that he beat his girlfriends. Or worse, hired prostitutes and then beat them.
After hours of futile pacing and fuming, to say nothing of swearing, she finally reached the point where she simply couldn’t think about it all any more without going insane. So she forced her mind to think of other things, which was when Meagher and the murder of Jimmy Shiels came back to her mind, making her decide to ring the detective who had visited her, Morrison. For one thing it was her civic duty to tell him what Madelyn had told her, and her own theory on who killed Jimmy, and if nothing else it would take her mind off her new position of Ireland’s premier slut. She dialled in the mobile number the detective had given her, and he answered practically on the first ring.
‘Morrison.’
‘Sergeant Morrison? Kate Bennett here.’ She took a deep breath, ‘I’m sorry to ring you on a Sunday but I’ve learned a few things about my burglary, and about Jimmy Shiels, and I thought I should fill you in about them.’
His voice was as noncommittal as ever as he said, ‘Go on.’
So she told him everything Madelyn had told her, and also her theory that Meagher had set up the robbery to find out just what she had learned about him. She had to admit that it sounded even more far fetched in the cold morning light than it had the evening before over a bottle of wine but she plugged on relentlessly. After she had finished Morrison was silent for so long that she eventually said, rather timidly, ‘Sergeant?’
‘Mmm?’
Kate began feeling defensive and snapped, ‘I suppose you think I’m talking tripe? That it’s all just nonsense?’
‘Well, you have to admit it’s all a little over the top,’ he said at last, emerging from his reverie, ‘though I’ve heard stranger stories. But most murders are simple affairs, committed for simple reasons. Hatred or revenge, sex or money. Or a combination of these things. I like your theory, Miss Bennett, but I like it the way I like crossword puzzles, or old repeats of Morse on the telly. I don’t like it as a reason for a real-life murder. I remember the killings of those three girls, though I didn’t work on the cases, of course; I was only a rookie beat cop back then. But I remember enough to know that there was no case against Meagher then, and certainly wouldn’t be now.’
‘Come off it, Morrison!’ said Kate heatedly, ‘Police work has changed since then! Genetic finger-printing, for example. DNA from stored blood or sperm could convict Meagher nowadays and you know it!’
Morrison sighed, ‘Call me Sean. And I’ll call you Kate, if you don’t mind. I know you worked with the police in England, Kate, so tell me this; do you really think we kept evidence from an eighteen-year-old murder case which we considered solved? That case was closed, and even if the physical evidence was kept it certainly wouldn’t have been stored in such a way as to be uncorrupted and still viable for DNA comparison. Like I told you before; our resources are limited, and we didn’t always freeze blood and sperm samples even from unsolved murders back then, much less from cases we’d closed. Not with other, more pressing demands on our facilities.’
Kate was silent for a moment, then said quietly, ‘Would Meagher know that?’
Morrison sighed again, ‘No, perhaps not. So he might have panicked when you started digging around again. But I don’t like the feel of it. The witness that convicted Fearney isn’t about to change his testimony after all this time and have an innocent man’s death on his conscience. Nor will Meagher’s original alibi, Wilson, change his story at this stage even if he wasn’t involved himself. There’s a Garda cold-case team in operation now, but we closed the file on that murder so he can’t be afraid of them digging into his past. If he actually is guilty, that is. The evidence against him is even thinner than it was against Fearney, and you don’t believe he was guilty.’
‘I know,’ said Kate in a subdued voice, ‘And everything you’ve said is true. But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there? You don’t want to prove Fearney innocent. You don’t want the Gardai who put him away to have his death on their heads, do you?’
‘That remark,’ said Morrison quietly, ‘is one of the most insulting ever aimed at me. And you of all people should know how often policemen are abused and reviled. If Meagher killed Jimmy Shiels I’ll get him for it, believe me, no matter what the trial reveals or where it leads. And if it transpires that Fearney was innocent I’ll see his name cleared too, no matter what. You can count on that. But I can’t open a closed, solved murder investigation on my own authority, and the DPP won’t listen without solid evidence. And your theory is far from being evidence.’
‘I’m sorry, Sean,’ said Kate instantly, and with unaccustomed humility, ‘I really am. I shouldn’t have said that, and I don’t doubt your integrity. Honestly. I’ve just had a really shitty day and I’m feeling pretty cynical about the whole human race right now.’
He sighed and his normal noncommittal tone returned, ‘We all have days like that, and policemen more than most, so no harm done. And if nothing else you’ve given my investigation into Shiels’ death a direction, because I haven’t turned up anything on my own. No witnesses, no evidence, no motive, nothing. As far as Dublin’s criminal element is concerned an alien must have topped Jimmy Shiels, because none of them did. So I will have a look at Meagher, though I really doubt that he’s involved.’
‘Will you let me know what you discover?’ asked Kate hopefully.
‘Of course I will!’ said Morrison cheerfully, ‘As soon as the trial’s over and the killer’s in jail I’ll tell you everything you want to know!’
Kate made an angry noise down the phone and he laughed and said, ‘I’ll tell you what, if I discover that Meagher definitely had nothing to do with it I’ll let you know. Fair enough?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Kate in resignation; she knew enough about coppers not to have really expected him to tell her anything about an ongoing investigation anyway.
‘You might be going off half-cocked, anyway,’ said Morrison, ‘What else was in your briefcase? Someone else might have organised the robbery, for quite a different reason.’
‘I don’t think so. Aside from the Meagher stuff I only had Grainne Riordan’s file and a few student essays in it, and if you think anyone would pay to steal those bloody things it’s time you retired and became a security guard in Dunnes Stores.’
He chuckled but then said, in a more interested voice, ‘What about the Riordan girl’s file? What’s in it?’
‘Nothing!’ said Kate in frustration, ‘Nothing new or secret, anyway. A few family reports about her early life, long transcripts of conversations in her therapy sessions, most of which are gibberish. Uh, details of the various treatments tried on her in the past year…nothing, really. A lot of it is technical stuff, which most laymen would hardly understand, much less care about.’
‘It certainly doesn’t sound very promising,’ he admitted, ‘I’ll take a look at the George Meagher angle and see what happens. But don’t get your hopes up; even if he was guilty of those murders, killing someone like Ji
mmy Shiels is a very different proposition to murdering three helpless young girls.’
‘They were stabbed too, though, weren’t they?’ offered Kate hopefully, though without much conviction.
Morrison uttered a short, humourless laugh, ‘You don’t give up easily, I’ll give you that. And I will compare the forensics reports on the knives used in all the murders, Shiels’ included.’
‘Well, thanks for listening,’ said Kate with a sigh, ‘even if it is all rubbish. And thanks also for not mentioning Michael Riordan or that article in the News.’
She could hear the grin in his voice as he innocently said, ‘What article would that be?’
‘Kiss my arse!’ retorted Kate crudely, though with a reluctant smile spreading across her own face.
He laughed, ‘Sorry, but I’m a married man, and my lips belong solely to my wife. But I wouldn’t dream of prying into your personal affairs. It’s none of my business.’
‘I wish more people had that attitude,’ she said ruefully, ‘but everyone in Ireland apart from you seems to think that it is their business. Listen, thanks a lot, and again I’m sorry to have disturbed you on a Sunday. Goodbye.’
She hung up and looked at her watch; where the day had gone she had no idea but it was now almost three o’clock. She cursed silently and hurried to get her things, intending to head out to Deacon House; it had been a long couple of days and she was dying to see Grainne again, in spite of her resolution to only visit every two or three days. Hopefully whatever the girl had been going through would be resolved by now, leaving her ready to communicate again. Though really she should have seen her at two. Routine was important to mental patients; dependable routine. It gave them a sense of comfort, of order in the chaos of their minds and lives. And, of course, it helped root them in reality by tying them to the time frame of the normal world.
Kate locked up the flat and went out to her car; normal! There was a laugh. As if anyone’s life was normal. Kate understood only too clearly why some people couldn’t deal with the realities of life, why they retreated to a fantasy world where everything made sense, if only to them. How could anyone truly understand a world where good was frequently punished and evil so often thrived? Where murderers and criminals walked the streets without fear of punishment? Or even where a vicious hack could smear her name all over his filthy rag of a paper? Kate swiftly cut off that line of thought and concentrated on driving safely out to Deacon House; thinking about that article would make her want to ram other cars. Anyone would go insane if they started pondering all of life’s injustices. The only way to survive was to accept that a certain amount of shit was going to come your way, and was going to have to be dealt with.
When she finally got to Deacon House she found that Trevor was not there, which even on a Sunday surprised her a little, and in the circumstances pleased her a lot. What would he have to say to her? Especially when the story concerned not just a patient’s father but a man he clearly disliked. She almost groaned aloud, hating the thought that other people knew anything of her personal business.
There was a male security guard behind the desk instead of Cathy but he had evidently studied the Employee Information sheet she had filled out, complete with photo, for when she walked into the vestibule he smiled and said, ‘Good morning, Miss Bennett. Grainne has had her lunch, and her walk in the grounds, and is waiting for you in her room. Oh, and I have a security card here for you. In future you won’t have to buzz to get in the front gate; just swipe this card across the reader on the intercom pole.’
Kate accepted the card and smiled back, ‘Thank you. No, don’t get up; I know my way by now.’ She turned and trotted lightly up the stairs, thinking that it was not just the mentally ill who liked routine; she was becoming part of Deacon House’s routine and it felt good. It gave her a warm sensation to be a part of a team again, to be engaged in work she loved, that she believed in.
When she reached the landing she took a deep breath to still the butterflies before tapping on Grainne’s door. She wasn’t really expecting a reply and opened it immediately and looked inside. To her surprise the girl was not there. Kate looked around, momentarily disorientated. Grainne was in the bedroom, lying on her back and blankly staring at the ceiling. Kate carried in a chair and sat beside the bed before saying, ‘Hello, Grainne.’
‘Hello,’ said the girl in a neutral tone.
‘Do you know who I am?’ asked Kate, smiling light-heartedly, delighted that the girl was communicating again.
The girl shook her head slowly, still without looking around, ‘No. Should I?’
‘I’ve visited you before, don’t you remember? We’ve met twice now.’
A frown creased that perfect brow, ‘You look familiar but I don’t know your name. Why have you been visiting me?’
‘My name is Kate. I’m part of the medical team and I’m here to help you. Do you know where you are?’
The frown deepened into confusion, ‘Yes. Well... yes, of course I do. Sometimes it’s hard to think, to remember, because of the drugs. The ones you people give me, I mean, not the recreational kind. I’m in a clinic, right?’
‘You’re in hospital, a mental hospital. You’ve been very ill but I think you’re starting to get better. I’m here to try and help you become completely well again, in time.’
‘You’re a doctor?’
Kate smiled, trying to contain her excitement at the girl’s accessibility, her normality. She tried to keep her voice level as she said, ‘I’m not a medical doctor, but the doctor looking after you asked me to talk to you, to try and help you. Do you remember your doctor?’
Grainne nodded slowly, ‘A woman with untidy hair. Yes, I remember. She would ask me questions over and over until I answered them.’
‘Not the woman, that’s Dr. McGrath. I’m talking about Dr. Trevor Jordan. Do you remember him?’
She shook her head and said bitterly, ‘I wouldn’t have a male doctor. I’ve had enough of men to last me a lifetime!’
She almost spat out the word men and Kate hesitated before saying, ‘I know, being near men upsets you, doesn’t it? Why don’t you like men?’
‘I used to but not any more. Now I’m sick of them.’
‘You told me before it was because men only want sex from women. Is that it?’
The girl shrugged and remained silent.
‘Men hurt you, is that right?’
A tentative nod.
‘Can you tell me which men hurt you? And how? You don’t have to answer right now if it’s too painful but I think it would help you to get well again.’
The startling green eyes went blank and this time there was no response of any kind, Kate waited a few moments until it was obvious there would be no reply and then said softly, ‘Did Jimmy Shiels ever hurt you?’ There was still no response and Kate had to repeat the question several times before Grainne returned and answered, with a touch of bitterness, ‘Jimmy’s just like all the rest. He just wants to fuck me. And money, of course. He always wants money.’
Kate nodded, trying to keep her breathing calm and almost unable to believe the difference in Grainne since her last visit, or even from their first meeting. It was incredible, like talking to a totally different person! And in less than a week! It seemed too good to be true and Kate was afraid of spoiling things by pushing too hard, but she knew too that she had to make as much progress as possible during Grainne’s lucid periods; they might not last long. Besides, this was what she loved best; flying by the seat of her pants with only intuition to light the way. She took a deep breath and said, ‘You used to buy drugs from Jimmy, do you remember that?’
Nothing, not even a flicker of acknowledgement.
‘You took drugs because you wanted to forget the bad things in your life.’ Kate paused, ‘The bad things you’ve done. Jimmy gave you the drugs. Do you remember that?’
‘Party Girl!’ suddenly sang Grainne in a high, off-key voice, ‘I know she wants more than a party, Party Girl!’<
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Kate looked at her, mystified by this sudden digression into music; there was no mention of such a thing anywhere in the file. Could this new behaviour be a positive sign, another association with reality? Or was it just another escape route for the girl’s tortured mind? At length she decided to follow it and asked, ‘Do you like singing, Grainne? Music?’
‘U2,’ replied the girl placidly.
Kate, misunderstanding, smiled and said, ‘No, I can’t sing, though I cut loose in the shower sometimes. Are you a party girl? Do you like parties?’
Grainne nodded, ‘Sometimes. Sometimes I feel good.’
‘But not always?’
No answer.
‘Did Jimmy take you to parties?’
Grainne nodded very slowly, ‘Not often, but sometimes. But there’s always a party somewhere, and men willing to take you. For a price. I like listening to music on my own best. Feel good, sing along. Have a party on my own.’
Kate looked at her in frustration; was she talking about now or in the past? Had she, like most teenagers, escaped from the turbulence of her fast-changing life by losing herself in music? She drummed her fingers on her notepad, unsure how she should proceed. There was no point in asking Grainne anything about the death of Jimmy Shiels, obviously, but was there any point in asking further questions about his life either? For some reason she felt that Jimmy was just a minor player in Grainne’s life, a shadowy figure of little real importance beyond his function in providing her with drugs. She sighed and, on the off chance, asked, ‘Have you ever met a man called George Meagher?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I’ve met lots of men.’
No, well, Kate hadn’t really expected her to know him. ‘Or Eddie Fearney?’
‘Not that I recall. But I’m not good with names. A legacy of the other kind of drugs.’
Grainne’s face and manner were unruffled by any anxiety, and Kate guessed that she was telling the truth; she would only retreat into fantasy –or catatonia- if she felt threatened. She hesitated for a moment, and then decided to push her luck a little further, ‘Tell me about your mother, Grainne.’
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