The Scholar

by Dervla McTiernan

  Valentina’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did you know her?’ she asked.

  ‘Who?’ Carline sipped from her cup. Her hand was completely steady.

  ‘The girl who died, obviously. She was wearing your cardigan – you have a Stella one just like that, don’t you? Who is she? Did you give her your ID?’

  ‘Please. It wasn’t my cardigan, or if it was I must have offloaded it at some stage. A charity shop maybe. Actually, that probably explains the ID. I might have left it in a pocket.’ Valentina didn’t look convinced and it dawned on Carline that she’d already told the detective that she’d lost the ID at the beginning of the year. Valentina would have seen her wear the cardigan in the last few weeks. Christ, she was tying herself up into knots. She needed a minute to herself to get her head straight.

  ‘People do, you know. Lend their IDs I mean. To a friend not in college who wants to use the computer labs. Or to an underage friend who wants to get into a club.’ Valentina was watching her so carefully. Mark was just standing there like a great lump. She should never have agreed to him moving into the apartment.

  Carline let out a small laugh. ‘My ID has an electronic key to the labs. I’m hardly going to hand that around to just anyone.’

  ‘Was it that ID then?’ Valentina asked. ‘I didn’t think he’d said. I thought he just meant your standard University ID. The same one issued to the rest of us plebs.’

  ‘I suppose it might have been,’ Carline said. Jesus. She took another sip from her tea, then made a face. ‘Yuck,’ she said. ‘This is off.’ She dumped the rest of the cup into the sink, then turned to walk towards her bedroom. ‘I’m going back to bed,’ she said. ‘Exams next week.’

  Valentina’s voice followed her. ‘As if you need to worry about that.’

  Carline laughed as if Valentina’s words had been intended as a compliment and waved over her shoulder as she disappeared into her room, horribly conscious of her roommates’ eyes on her, every step of the way.

  Saturday 26 April 2014

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was very late by the time Cormac finally found his way to bed and although his mind was busy with plans for the following day he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He’d always found sleep easy to come by. The same, unfortunately, could not be said for Emma. He woke with a sinking feeling just after 3 a.m., his subconscious recognising what was happening before he was fully awake. Emma was tossing and turning, murmuring distressed snatches of a one-sided conversation. Cormac sat up in the bed. He hated seeing her like this. She was sleeping, but she was afraid. He thought about waking her, knew that he shouldn’t – if he did she wouldn’t sleep again for the rest of the night. Instead he did what he always did, just stayed awake, watched over her, put his hand on her shoulder and kept it there. Eventually she fell into a more restful sleep.

  Cormac leaned back against the headboard, looked at Emma in the dull light of the streetlamps that crept in between the curtains, and struggled with a sudden and unexpected resentment. He had thought this was behind them. He wanted to throw himself heart and soul into his work, and not be distracted by other responsibilities. Emma murmured again, but softly this time as she turned and reached for him, even in her sleep. Cormac closed his eyes. Christ. He was a shit.

  It may have been guilt, or it may have been thoughts of the case, but something kept him awake until just before dawn when, predictably, he fell into a deep sleep. The sound of the hairdryer coming from the next room woke him just after eight. Cormac got out of bed, used the loo and went looking for Emma. He found her in the kitchen, pouring a coffee into a go-cup.

  ‘You’re heading out?’ He leaned against the door jam, yawned.

  Emma looked a little guilty. ‘I figured you’d be working. With what happened last night, and everything. My article was due yesterday, so I thought I’d go into the lab and finish it off.’

  ‘You’re not tired?’ Cormac asked.

  She grabbed her coat from the back of the kitchen chair, kissed him and kept moving. ‘Not a bit,’ she said. ‘If you finish by lunchtime will you give me a call?

  ‘Emma,’ he said.

  ‘Yes?’ She’d turned in the doorway, stood looking back at him.

  ‘You sure you’re all right?’

  She hesitated. ‘I’m trying not to think about it. I just … want to get on with things, you know?’

  Cormac nodded. She smiled at him as she left, and he felt a bit easier about things. He showered, ate toast and drank coffee standing up in the kitchen. He decided to walk to the station. He could pick up a marked car when he got there, and the walk would give him time to work through the events of the night before.

  Fisher either had excellent timing or he’d been keeping an eye out of the window for Cormac’s arrival. He met Cormac on the stairs.

  ‘The case room’s all sorted. I took the room upstairs, the big one. It’s booked for the next few weeks. I also got the files for the cases you’re taking over. Durkan, Henderson, Nesbitt.’

  ‘Right,’ Cormac nodded.

  ‘The super’s aide had all the information. I just asked her.’

  Cormac started towards the squad room.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Get Ceri Walsh on the Durkan and Nesbitt files. Tell her I want her to brief me as soon as she gets through them. There’s an interview on the Henderson case today so I’ll concentrate on getting up to speed on that. But other than that, our first priority is to identify the victim of last night’s hit-and-run.’

  ‘Is there any chance I can get the Henderson case?’ Fisher asked.

  Cormac gave him a look. Fisher wasn’t asking to play a bit part; he wanted a leading role. ‘Who was DS O’Halloran’s second on it before now?’

  Fisher grimaced. ‘Moira Hanley.’

  ‘Right. Well if she’s available, I’ll be taking Hanley. It’s nothing personal, Fisher, but Hanley’s been on it from the beginning. Another change in personnel would be too high risk at this stage.’

  Fisher nodded, said nothing. Another few steps and he’d perked up. ‘What’s the next step on the hit-and-run? Did you find someone to confirm the ID, or are we looking for dental records?’

  ‘It wasn’t the Darcy girl. I met her myself last night, alive and well. She claims she never gave her ID to anyone, but she did lose one at the beginning of the year. She says she knows nothing about the victim.’

  ‘Right,’ said Fisher. ‘That must have been a bit of a shocker. You think she’s lying?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. I didn’t spend enough time with her to get a read either way. For now, I just want to get the team up and running. I’ll want five. You’re my second. Moira Hanley can join the team for this one too, I think, in a supportive role. I’ll talk to her now and see. I’ll take McCarthy if I can get him.’ Dave McCarthy was older. Had fifteen years on Cormac. He could be a grumpy fucker but he knew his way around a case. ‘For the other two I’ll take your recommendation. I want people who’ll work the hours and not worry about overtime. But I want workers, all right? I don’t want any politicians. Nobody trying to prove themselves or just make it up another rung on the ladder, do you get me?’

  Fisher nodded, slowly. Cormac could tell that he was wondering if the last was a jibe aimed at him. Fisher had a bit of a reputation for ambition.

  ‘Look, I need people with judgement on this case. No one who’s going to do something rash just to get their name up on the board,’ Cormac said.

  Fisher nodded again, this time with a little more confidence.

  ‘When the team’s in place send one of them to relieve the lads who are guarding the scene. Once I’ve spoken to Hanley I’ll want you two out knocking on doors.’ Cormac checked his watch. It was just after nine. ‘Get the door to door started, but don’t take Hanley. I’ll need her for the Henderson interview. That’s at eleven-thirty – we’ll do a case briefing immediately after. Got it?’

  Fisher nodded.

  ‘Start at the entrance to Distillery Road,’ C
ormac said. ‘I don’t know if any of those houses are still occupied, now I think of it. They might all be taken over by the college.’

  ‘We’ll check,’ said Fisher. ‘And after that we’ll do Newcastle Road, door to door.’

  ‘All right. Any problems, I’ll want to know.’

  Five minutes after Cormac left Fisher he was standing in Murphy’s office, called there by an aide. The Superintendent eyed him from behind his desk, then, belatedly, nodded towards one of the seats opposite. Cormac sat. It was harder to take Murphy seriously in lycra shorts and top emblazoned with purple and yellow stripes and numerous screaming brand names, as if he were an in-his-cheating-prime Lance Armstrong, rather than a middle-aged, pasty-legged Irishman. Not that he was in bad shape. The guy was obsessed with what he ate, obsessed with the hours he logged every day, measuring and recording every heartbeat, every calorie consumed. Cormac, on the other hand, was vaguely aware that his waistbands had grown a little tighter since his arrival in Galway. He was pretty sure he could blame it on the weather. When it rained constantly, comfort food and a pint in a warm pub were infinitely more inviting than a run.

  ‘Going for a cycle, sir?’

  Murphy couldn’t help himself. ‘Galway to Spiddal by way of Moycullen,’ he said.

  Cormac sometimes wondered if Murphy exaggerated the whole fitness-fanatic persona so that people would underestimate him. It was so over the top. He had a signed picture of Stephen Roche winning the Tour de France on the wall, for fuck’s sake. A bunch of others showing Murphy himself crossing various finishing lines. Nobody liked a self-promoter; it wasn’t the Irish way. But while people were busy sniggering and exchanging glances, Murphy could watch and observe and take note of the shifting alliances in his squad room.

  ‘Good route,’ Cormac said, nodding.

  ‘Cycled it, have you?’

  ‘Not yet.’ And never would.

  ‘Talk to me about the interview with the Darcy girl. What’s your read on her?’

  ‘She said she lost an ID at the beginning of the school year, had to have it replaced. Said she had no idea who the girl was. But the witness who found the body thought she recognised the cardigan the girl was wearing. Apparently it’s designer, very expensive, and not something you’d pick up on the high street. Not many Galway students would be able to afford it. Witness said she thought she saw Carline Darcy wearing it.’ He’d made the decision not to mention Emma at the last minute. He didn’t want her anywhere on Murphy’s radar.

  Murphy was watching and listening in a way that Cormac found disconcerting, if only because it was so different from his usual lack of attention during Cormac’s bi-weekly cold case updates. At those meetings he was treated to a range to keyboard tapping, pencil rolling, and unconnected document examination, designed, Cormac thought, to let him know in what low regard he was held. Now Murphy hung on his every word.

  ‘Darcy could have donated the cardigan, or given it to a friend. Girl that wealthy wouldn’t consider the cost of the thing,’ said Murphy.

  Cormac nodded. It was a reasonable suggestion.

  ‘If Darcy lost her ID at the beginning of the year, the suggestion is what? That this girl found it and has been carrying it around ever since? What for?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, sir. You need an ID to access certain parts of campus. Possibly you may be able to use them to access computer time, or pay for photocopying. Carline Darcy may not be the type to notice small debits on her college account. Or it might be as simple as an underage girl coming across the ID, or stealing it, and using it to get into bars and clubs.’

  ‘You felt the Darcy girl was cooperative?’

  ‘Yes sir. No issues there,’ said Cormac. He didn’t blink, made sure his tone conveyed absolute sincerity. He’d been around long enough to know that Murphy would be keen to avoid any tension with a family as powerful and connected as the Darcys.

  Murphy drummed his fingers on the table for the first time. ‘What are your next steps?’

  ‘Identify the body. I have some uniforms checking the missing persons registers. I want some door-stepping in Newcastle – the houses on Distillery Road are unoccupied, they’ve been taken over by the college, but there are homes on the Lower Newcastle Road and someone might have seen or heard something. I’ll need to talk to the university president too. Find out exactly why the university was closed last night, if there was anything on that the girl could have been coming to or going from.’

  Murphy’s nod of dismissal was clear enough. As Cormac stood, he spoke. ‘You won’t need to see the Darcy girl again?’ He threw the question out like an afterthought, but Cormac knew that this question was the point of the meeting. If Murphy thought for a second that Cormac had Carline Darcy in his sights, he’d whip the case out from under him.

  ‘No sir.’ Cormac’s answer was delivered in precisely the same offhand manner.

  Murphy didn’t acknowledge the answer, but it was certainly noted. ‘I’m told your girlfriend found the body.’

  ‘Yes.’ Shit. Cormac’s mouth felt dry. Which of his team had come running with the news? Not Fisher. And Carrie had her hands full at home. Beyond that it could have been anyone. There wasn’t a uniform in the place that owed him any loyalty – a year spent generating paperwork on cold-case files hadn’t given him much opportunity to earn that yet – and Emma’s presence hadn’t been a secret.

  Murphy was watching him with those dead eyes of his, giving nothing away. ‘Forensics also tell me that her car was clean. No damage, no traces of blood. It seems she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Unfortunate. I’m sure the experience was upsetting.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ As always, Cormac was left wondering exactly what Murphy knew.

  ‘Keep me informed,’ Murphy said.

  ‘Of course, sir,’ Cormac said. He nodded once and took his leave.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Henderson case had been talked about enough around the station that Cormac had picked up the basics. Rob Henderson was a married father of three children, the oldest a fifteen-year-old boy, the youngest still a baby. Rob was a bank clerk, his wife Lucy a nurse. The trouble started with the fifteen-year-old at school. A quiet child and a good student, he’d suddenly started acting up, and at a level the school had trouble dealing with. After a day on which he’d picked a fight with two older boys, and been found stealing from the school canteen, the guidance counsellor had called him in for a meeting and the boy had broken down. He’d confessed to being afraid of his father, and worried for his mother and sisters. After that he’d clammed up.

  The guidance counsellor had been concerned enough that she’d called it in to the police. Moira Hanley was on duty. She took a drive out to the house, where she found Rob Henderson climbing about on the roof. When Hanley called him, he didn’t come down. He claimed to be making repairs but to Hanley he seemed nervous, agitated. When Henderson refused her second request to come down and talk, she walked to the back of the house, where she saw a set of industrial gas canisters stacked against the wall, rigged up to what looked like a DIY piping system. Further examination found that the ground floor vents had been blocked with expandable insulating foam. The canisters were clearly marked – the gas was carbon monoxide. Hanley called in back-up, and when Henderson was eventually persuaded off the roof, he was arrested and charged with attempted murder.

  Cormac worked his way through the file, reading every witness statement, every interview transcript. It took time. The case was only a couple of weeks old but Carrie was nothing if not thorough. Her notes told Cormac that Henderson had been denied bail, and was decompressing entirely while in custody. The speed of his disintegration was such that it was hard to believe he’d been functioning normally or even quasi-normally before his arrest. Which raised an obvious question – had Lucy Henderson known of his plan? Had she been complicit? If it had been some sort of murder–suicide pact, the children could still be at risk.

  ‘Sir? You asked for me?’

 
; Cormac looked up to see Moira Hanley standing beside his desk. They were in the squad room. Everyone worked open plan in Galway, only the Superintendent had a private office. Cormac had no problem with it. The layout worked well enough, encouraged communication, even if the relatively close proximity of thirty other gardaí got old from time to time. On that particular day the coffee machine was working overtime, and the smell of coffee almost overwhelmed the ever-present odour of stale gym gear.

  ‘Moira.’ Cormac gestured to her to take the empty chair to his right. She sat, her eyes on the file in his hands. Hanley was in her late forties, heavy-set with a face that gave nothing away.

  ‘You know I’ve taken over the Henderson case?’

  ‘Carrie called me. I mean, DS O’Halloran. Sir, Lucy Henderson just phoned the station. She said she’s not going to make it in for her interview today. Claims she has food poisoning.’

  Cormac blew out a breath. ‘Does she?’

  ‘Hard to know. She didn’t sound great on the phone, but that’s an easy fake.’

  Putting the interview off for a day or two shouldn’t be the end of the world – it would give him a bit more time to prepare. The problem was, he wasn’t sure of the degree to which he should be worried about the kids. Lucy Henderson had been no assistance to the inquiry so far. Based on the interview transcripts she was in complete denial about her husband’s actions. But what if it wasn’t just a bad case of denial? If Lucy Henderson had had some sort of murder–suicide pact with her husband, it would explain her silence.

  ‘Where are the kids?’ Cormac asked. ‘Are they with their mother?’

  ‘The Henderson kids?’ If Moira was surprised by the question it didn’t show on her face. ‘They’re at home.’

  ‘Still living with their mother?’

  Moira grimaced. ‘DS O’Halloran wasn’t keen on the idea. She wanted them taken into care until we could get to the bottom of things. But Tusla didn’t agree. They said there was no evidence that Lucy presented a risk to the children. In the end Lucy’s sister moved into the house to keep an eye on things. That was the compromise. And social workers are going in every day.’ Tusla was the Child and Family Agency. Newly formed out of an amalgamation of the old Children and Family Services, the Family Support Agency and the National Educational Welfare Board, it remained to be seen if it was any less dysfunctional.