‘I don’t know. I mean, we were introduced, I suppose, in like, first year?’ Mark pushed both hands back through his hair. He was flushed now, and his eyes darted one direction, then another, as if looking for an audience, or a saviour or both.
‘But you saw her more than once, Mark, didn’t you?’
‘I might have seen her around the campus, sure,’ Mark said. ‘I mean, we weren’t friends or anything. She was just a girl, you know?’
‘Just a girl.’
Mark shrugged. He must have been aware of seeming callous, because he spoke again quickly. ‘It’s shit that she died. She was only twenty, right? Same age as us. But it was an accident. A shitty accident. Whoever hit her, I’m sure they’re scared. It’s probably a fucking lecturer who had a few too many and was too fucking scared to own up to it.’ He said fucking in a south Dublin accent – focking – and looked a little more confident.
‘She wasn’t the same age as you, Mark. She was sixteen when she started college, and eighteen when she died. And it wasn’t an accident. You know that. Someone hit Della so hard that she bounced off the front bonnet of their car. Her head hit the ground so hard that her skull fractured in fourteen places. That first impact would almost certainly have killed her, but it wasn’t enough for whoever was behind the wheel.’ Cormac turned and nodded back in the direction they had come. ‘First they drove straight over Della where she lay on the road, crushing her pelvis. Then they drove to the other end of the road, turned their car, and drove over her for a second time. That time the car crushed her nose, broke a cheek bone, an eye socket, ripped the skin from her face.’
Mark grimaced. He swallowed once, then again. His hands were buried deep in his pockets but Cormac could see his fists clench through the fabric. ‘If you think I had something to do with it, you’re wrong,’ he said. ‘I never touched Della. Never would have. And not like that. Jesus.’
‘Della and Carline were friends, weren’t they, Mark? You saw them together. At the apartment, around college?’
‘You can’t seriously think Carline had something to do with this?’
‘I’m not suggesting that Carline killed Della, or even that she knows anything about her death.’ And if Mark believed that, it would surely be the worst possible case of wishful thinking. ‘But we know that Carline knew Della. She knew her well. She gave Della her ID. An ID that allowed Della to access the Darcy labs, where extremely valuable and secret research was stored. Why did she do that, Mark? If there’s a reasonable explanation, I need to hear it.’
‘For God’s sake. You think Carline could kill a girl she knew, a girl she befriended? Run her over with a car? That’s just sick.’
‘You might be right, Mark. Maybe I have Carline all wrong. But I’ve met a lot of murderers. A couple of them were even good-looking blondes from nice families.’
Mark looked at him as if he were pleading for Cormac to take it back. When Cormac said nothing. Mark pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, face set.
‘Rich people commit murder too, Mark,’ Cormac said. ‘They have a couple of things in common, these people who have everything and still feel the need to take a life. The first is that, more often than not, when they finally confess, they give us some convoluted story. They want their reasons to be heard. That’s because deep down, right down to their core, rich people believe that they are different, that they are special. So even when they’re snivelling, having a good cry and telling us all about it, telling us how sorry they are, how much they regret it – even then they really believe that they had the right to do it. Your average gouger, he’ll keep his mouth shut, because he knows what he did was wrong, and that no amount of explanation will change that. The wealthy though, they’re convinced that they have the right to kill, and that if they can just get us to listen, we’ll understand.’
Mark was staring back at him now, hypnotised and horrified by his words.
‘They have one other thing in common, Mark, and I mean this sincerely. Every single time I arrest someone with money, there’ll be some fucking sacrificial lamb standing in the wings, all prepped and ready to take the fall. Sometimes they’ll even volunteer for it. Is that you, Mark? Tell me you’re not going to be that idiot. Tell me you’re not willing to lie for Carline Darcy, when there’s so much evidence her story is bullshit that we’re knee deep in it.’
There were tears in Mark’s eyes as he slowly shook his head.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Cormac brought Mark to the station, where he took his statement. They sat in a grey interview room with the recorder running and Rory Mulcair quietly taking notes, while Mark told them everything he knew.
‘Carline introduced us. To Della, I mean. She brought her around and introduced her to everyone.’
‘When was this?’
‘Maybe back in first year. Early on.’ Mark was sitting upright in his chair, his hands clasped in front of him on the table. He picked at a hangnail on his left thumb. ‘It was weird. It wasn’t like Carline, to just rock up with someone new. Vee, yes, all the time, but Carline didn’t make friends with new people.’
‘Tell me about Della,’ Cormac said. ‘Did you like her?’
‘She was all right. Quiet. Didn’t seem very interested in us.’ Mark clasped and unclasped his hands. ‘Look, I’m not being harsh. We only met her I think twice. She dropped out of college, and we never saw her again.’
‘You never saw Della after she left college? Never saw her with Carline?’
Mark swallowed. ‘Not … officially. I bumped into her coming out of our building one night. She said they’d been hanging out but when I got upstairs Carline said she’d been alone all evening.’
‘Did you tell Carline that you’d met Della? Confront the fact that she’d lied to you?’
Another swallow. A shake of the head.
‘Why not?’
‘Just, there didn’t seem to be much point. I mean, Carline was entitled to see who she wanted. She didn’t answer to me. And if she wanted to keep her thing with Della a secret, that was up to her.’
‘Her thing? Are you suggesting that Della and Carline were in a romantic relationship?’
He offered them a shrug, looked down at his hands.
‘Mark?’
‘I don’t know.’
Cormac nodded, decided to back off for the time being. ‘Why did Della drop out? Did you ever talk about it?’
‘Carline told me her parents were wiped out in the crash. Lost the family business or something, so Della had to work. Couldn’t afford the fees, or her rent, and she didn’t want to move home. I got the impression that her mother was a nightmare.’
‘Carline told you a lot,’ Cormac said.
Mark shook his head. ‘No. She didn’t, actually. Once Della dropped out of college Carline never spoke about her, never mentioned her.’
Cormac said nothing for a moment, let the silence sit until it thickened into pressure.
‘But Carline continued to see Della,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘And she hid this from you, and from your other roommate.’
‘Yes.’
‘If Carline hid the relationship from you, how did you know they were still seeing each other?’
Mark’s picking at his hangnail intensified. ‘Carline … she’s sort of self-contained. She’s not really interested in other people’s lives. So if she starts asking you what your plans are for the evening, it’s pretty obvious she wants to know where you’ll be for reasons of her own.’
‘You followed her,’ said Cormac.
A nod. Very little embarrassment in Mark’s face, a hint of self-righteousness if anything. ‘She went to Della’s apartment. Stayed there for a few hours, then went home. And that wasn’t the only time.’
Cormac let the silence draw out again, waited until Mark shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Why do you think they kept their meetings secret, Mark?’
Mark rolled his eyes, shook his head.
&nb
sp; ‘You think they were in a relationship, but they weren’t willing to go public.’.
The corners of Mark’s mouth went down. ‘What other reason could there be?’
‘Is Carline a lesbian?’
Mark let out a breath, making a show of reluctance, but he was more relaxed now. They had come to the point of the interview, as far as he was concerned. He spread his hands, telling this story, getting into the flow of it. He had very little self-awareness, didn’t seem to realise that he was unzipping his own bitterness, leaving it on show. ‘Before Della, I never saw Carline in a relationship with anyone. Nothing. Not even a snog or a one-night stand. She just had zero interest. Before Della I figured maybe she was asexual, or just playing the virgin to keep her grandfather happy. Then after she met Della I figured she was just gay, and afraid to tell her grandfather.’
‘Her grandfather? You mean John Darcy?’
A nod.
‘You think Della kept her sex life secret to try to please her grandfather?’
‘I’m not saying he would have cared one way or the other,’ Mark said. ‘I mean it’s not like I know him personally. I’m just saying that Carline lives her life to try to impress him. And her mother’s a complete slapper. She was basically a high-end hooker when she met Carline’s father – you know that, right?’ He waited for nods of acknowledgement. Cormac kept his face impassive, but it didn’t knock Mark off his stride. ‘So I think maybe the whole sex thing, maybe she was just trying to differentiate herself from her mother. Like, show Darcy, I’m not like my mother, you know? Either that or maybe she saw shit when she was younger that fucked her up. She lived with her mother for a few years when she was a kid.’
It occurred to Cormac that this sneering twerp sitting across from him was one of Carline Darcy’s two best friends in the world. Despite himself, Cormac felt a pang of pity for her.
‘But you’re suggesting all that changed when she met Della.’
Mark shrugged. ‘I mean, I don’t know for sure. But why else would they keep it secret? Why spend hours holed up in Della’s apartment?’
Cormac let nothing of what he was feeling colour his tone. He kept his voice neutral, showed no judgement. ‘Friendship?’ he suggested.
Mark grimaced, a twist of the mouth. ‘They had nothing in common. Della’s parents had nothing. She was just a country girl. Carline has so much. Even to see them together. I mean, Della was such a mouse. I couldn’t believe that Carline would choose to be with her, but I suppose that was the appeal. She probably thought she could control Della. You know, maybe have her as a quiet bit on the side.’
Cormac sat back in his chair, looked over the younger man. ‘They were in the same class,’ he said in the end. ‘Studying the same subject. I’m told Carline is a dedicated student, that she’s talented. If Della Lambert had the same interest, had similar ability, isn’t that the basis for a friendship?’
Mark was sceptical and didn’t try to hide it. Something in him couldn’t imagine a friendship between two people who weren’t equals in wealth or social status. Which said something about his own relationship with Carline Darcy. How much of that was based on mutual convenience, mutual advantage? Carline’s position in the world, or rather her possible future, was clearly of great importance to Mark. Did he look at Carline and see only the advantages a friendship with her could bring his way? And if so, why was he in such a rush to give away all her secrets?
‘But you never asked Carline about her relationship with Della?’
Mark shook his head. ‘Not then. I figured it was her business, and if she ever wanted to talk about it she would.’
Relationships could be complicated, Cormac knew. It was possible to hold a range of contradictory emotions towards those you were close to. It was certainly conceivable that somewhere inside him, Mark held a true affection for his friend and roommate, but what came across most clearly in that interview room was that whatever his more positive emotions might be, Mark also carried an undiluted streak of resentment towards the blonde girl. He wanted to have her, and failing that, he wanted to hurt her.
‘But you did speak to Carline about it at some point,’ Cormac said.
‘It was after you guys had been around. After it got out at college that you’d identified the body. That it was Della. And we didn’t talk about their relationship exactly. I just asked Carline if she was going to tell you lot that she’d known her.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing. Carline has no intention of telling you the truth about knowing Della. She said that she had no idea what had happened to Della, had no idea who had killed her, and she didn’t intend to do anything to draw you on her again.’
Cormac drummed his fingers on the table again. ‘Maybe that’s not unreasonable,’ he said. ‘She’s sitting exams. Most people aren’t that comfortable with police coming around, asking questions. Isn’t it perfectly possible that she knew Della, had a friendship with her, but feels she knows nothing that would assist police in figuring out who killed her?’
That was Mark’s cue to agree. He could salvage his position as a friend of Carline’s, assuage any guilt he might feel about what he’d said, backtrack on his insinuations. Or he could double-down.
Mark pursed his lips.
‘It seems to me that you’re worried about something, Mark. I think there’s something on your mind.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. I just can’t help but wonder, if Carline wanted to keep their relationship quiet … but Della didn’t?’
Christ, he was a contemptible little shit. Cormac would also have bet money on him being wrong. This wasn’t about a romantic relationship turned to bitterness. That was all a creation of Mark’s sad little mind. But something had been going on between Della and Carline, and that something had led to Della’s death. Cormac drummed his fingers on the table, and Mark flinched at the sudden noise.
‘Where were you last Friday night from nine o’clock?’ Cormac asked.
Another flinch. ‘What?’
‘It’s a simple question Mark.’
‘I … I went to dinner with friends, and then I went home. I’m not sure what time exactly.’
‘What about Carline? Were you with her?’
‘Carline stayed at home. She was at home when I got in.’ He might have been telling the truth, he might have been lying. Something lurked in his eyes that was difficult to read.
‘What time do you think you got home?’
A shrug. ‘Look, I don’t know. I’d say it was before ten. We had a seven o’clock booking at Ard Bia. We took our time. When we’d finished I walked home. I don’t remember checking the time or anything.’
There were cameras at the Spanish Arch. They could check to see what time Mark had left the restaurant, assuming that he was telling the truth. ‘But Carline was there when you got home?’
‘Yes. Definitely.’
‘You saw her?’
Mark hesitated. ‘Yes … no, I saw her. She was definitely home. She was studying. I made her a cup of tea.’
‘And your other roommate, Valentina. She can confirm this?’ Cormac asked.
‘Valentina was out. She didn’t come home until much later.’
‘I see.’
The interview went downhill after that. It was difficult to tell if Mark was lying. He might have been telling the truth, or it might have occurred to him that providing Carline Darcy with an alibi for a murder could be a valuable proposition. He had laid the trail of a theory – Carline and Della in a secret sexual relationship, Della wants to come clean or blackmail Carline, Carline kills her to keep her quiet – then balked at the finish. Cormac couldn’t tell if Mark really hadn’t seen the obvious conclusion to the story he was telling, or if he had rushed up on it in a fit of pique, and only when he was staring it in the face realised what he had done, and the price he would possibly pay. He backtracked where he could, obfuscated where he couldn’t, and resorted to tears when he had no other option. Cormac let him go after an
hour. They weren’t going to get much more of use from him. Carline Darcy was the one they needed sitting in that chair. She was the one with the answers.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
While Rory walked Mark out, Cormac returned to the case room. The room was unusually quiet, he picked that up from metres away, and when he reached the door he saw why. Brian Murphy was there, leaning against a desk and having a quiet word with Dave McCarthy. It was all very casual, but he’d no doubt picked up a fair bit just by being in the room. Dave looked up at Cormac’s arrival, acknowledged him with a nod. Murphy took his time finishing his conversation, then stood, and finally looked Cormac’s way.
‘A word in my office, detective, if you have a moment,’ he said.
Cormac followed him downstairs, took a seat. Murphy looked him over, his grey eyes unreadable. For once the pristine white desk was less than immaculate. There was a case file open on the table; notes, reports, photographs spread out in no apparent order.
‘Tell me where you are on the Lambert case,’ Murphy said.
Cormac held his gaze. ‘I want to bring Carline Darcy in,’ he said. ‘I have a statement from her roommate that she was friends with Della Lambert, may have been in a relationship with her, and that she deliberately misled us about that relationship.’
Murphy didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘You think Carline Darcy killed the girl?’
‘I think it’s possible she was involved,’ Cormac said slowly. ‘She certainly knows more than she’s telling. At the very least, if someone else killed Della Lambert, I believe that Carline Darcy knows why.’
Murphy nodded slowly. He held a pen in his right hand and turned it intermittently as he stared Cormac down. ‘What have you got?’ he asked. ‘Other than the roommate’s statement, that is.’
Cormac didn’t have much choice but to walk him through it. He started with the evidence connecting Della with Carline. There was the ID. The fact that Della and Carline had been in the same class in college for a few months. That they had been friends and had taken the trouble to hide their relationship. He talked about the money found in Della’s apartment, the deposits to her bank account. Carline the likely source for both. He acknowledged Mark Wardle’s theory that Carline and Della’s relationship had been a romantic one, the possibility that blackmail had been the motive for murder, though that theory didn’t ring true to him. The next step was obviously to question Carline Darcy. Presumably she would continue to deny her connection with Della. That denial, in the face of Mark Wardle’s evidence to the contrary, would give them the basis for a warrant for her bank accounts, and with those they should be able to prove that she had paid Della. Murphy said nothing as Cormac recited the facts, but the pen in his hand stilled. The job wasn’t finished, not by a long shot, but Cormac had too much now for Murphy to persist in holding the investigation back from the Darcy family.
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