‘Could it have been Milo?’
Her sigh was long and weighed with sadness. ‘I would have said no, but I don’t know him anymore.’
They needed to speak to Milo. ‘What time does he normally come home?’ West saw her shrug, knew she’d no idea. ‘Is there somewhere Milo would store paint and brushes? A garden shed maybe?’
Rather than answering, she turned in her chair to peer out of the grubby kitchen window. Andrews rose to look out. ‘There’s a shed.’ He turned to her. ‘Is it locked?’
It wasn’t. Andrews opened the kitchen door, crossed the garden to the shed and returned a moment later with a small tin of red paint and a paintbrush. ‘The paint is already dry on the brush,’ he said, holding it up. ‘He won’t be using this one again.’
‘We can get forensics to match the paint fragments I took,’ West said. There was no doubt, but he’d do things by the book. It was safer that way.
‘More trouble.’ It was all Joanne Bennet had to say about the matter.
‘If he comes back, get him to ring me,’ West said, handing her his card. ‘My mobile number is on it. He can ring me any time.’
‘I’ll tell him.’
‘You’re still seeing Cecelia O’Dea?’
‘Every Wednesday.’
Her expression didn’t change. She might be going every week but it didn’t look as if she was deriving much comfort or solace from the bereavement counselling. West knew Cecelia to be one of the best. If she couldn’t help, possibly nobody could. He was curious why she kept going. ‘Is it a big group?’
Her eyes brightened a little. ‘Usually five or six. Nice people, full of pain. It’s good to be with people who understand, even for a short time.’
Kindred spirits. West felt a pang of sorrow for her. ‘We’d better be on our way.’
‘Okay. If I see Milo, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.’
If? ‘Okay, well, take care,’ West said, getting to his feet. ‘And please, stay away from the Parsons.’
Back in the car, West shook his head. ‘This is starting to stink. We need to find Milo. It sounds like he’s coming apart.’ A second later, he was speaking to Sergeant Blunt and giving him an update on the situation. ‘Have uniforms keep an eye out for him.’ He tapped his free hand on the steering wheel. ‘His wife says he comes home when it gets dark, so post someone outside his house from about five. I know that’ll be a pain. I’ll clear it with Mother when I get in, okay.’
‘You think he might try something else?’ Andrews said as West hung up.
‘I think Milo Bennet has come off the rails. In fact, I think both he and Mrs Bennet have.’ West remembered Ella Parsons standing on the stairway looking like a ghost. ‘Maybe all of them have,’ he said, pulling the car back onto the road to head for the station.
32
Leaving Andrews to organise sending the paint and the sample to forensics, West went to the office to see if the team had come up with anything to strengthen his theory about Laetitia and one of the Bolger twins. He needed some facts before he went to Morrison.
He wasn’t expecting to be lucky and his first glance around the room at those present didn’t give much room for hope. They were all Monday morning glum. Baxter looked as if he was still suffering from a hangover.
But when they saw him, their expressions changed. Allen almost bouncing on his feet.
‘I hope this is something good,’ West said, perching on the side of a desk. ‘Come on, Allen, spill before you burst.’
Mick Allen grinned. ‘You’re going to like it.’ He reached for a sheet of paper. ‘Does the name Debbie Long mean anything to you?’
‘Yes,’ West said. ‘She’s the librarian in Marino Library where Laetitia Summers works.’
‘That’s not all she is,’ Allen said. ‘She’s the sister of Kim Bolger, the mother of that lad Gary Bolger who was stabbed outside that nightclub in Wexford ten years ago. When the father couldn’t cope, the twin brothers came to live with her.’ He flicked over the page. ‘Ashley and Aaron Bolger. Aaron died from a drug overdose three years ago. Twenty-year-old Ashley is still living with Debbie and her husband in Swords. He’s done a few different jobs over the years. Nothing exciting. He’s currently flipping burgers in McD’s.’
Andrews arrived and Allen went through everything again while West listened patiently. He saw Andrews eyes widen and resisted the temptation to thump him on the arm and say I told you so. Okay, so far, they’d no proof that Laetitia and Ashley were involved but he knew he was right. He knew it. Andrews turned and looked at him with a shake of his head. ‘Looks like you might be right, after all.’
‘We need proof.’ West looked around the room. ‘Right, let’s bring our burger-flipping friend in for questioning. We don’t know that’s he’s guilty of anything apart from having two dead siblings, so let’s tread softly.’ He looked at Allen. ‘See when his shift finishes and pick him up.’
West’s step was lighter as he headed up to speak to Inspector Morrison. They were still a long way from solving the murder of Cormac Furlong but he was confident they were on the right path.
Morrison didn’t seem convinced. ‘It’s all a bit airy-fairy, isn’t it? Coincidences and suppositions.’
West leaned both hands on Morrison’s desk. ‘Inspector, Laetitia Summers, who accused Cormac Furlong of rape, works with a woman who is related to a man we think Furlong might have killed. That’s a pretty big coincidence.’
‘Yes, I have to admit, I do agree but we need some facts.’ He sat back and twirled his thumbs. ‘Sounds like you’re getting somewhere though. Good.’
It was a dismissal, but West hadn’t finished. ‘There’s something else, Inspector.’ He straightened and explained about the graffiti and their visit to the Bennets. ‘They’re falling apart, and I’m concerned about what Milo Bennet might do next. I asked Mrs Bennet to get him to ring me but, to be honest, I’m not entirely sure she will remember even if she does see him. Sergeant Blunt is going to post a uniform outside their home from dusk and bring him in when he turns up. I’ll come in, regardless of the time.’ West shook his head slowly. ‘I’m concerned.’
Morrison said nothing for a moment and his thumbs had stopped moving. ‘A sad situation,’ he said finally. ‘Yes, go with that. Tell Blunt I’ll approve the overtime if necessary.’
West wasn’t surprised. Morrison had a decent streak carefully hidden away. He stopped by the front desk to let Blunt know the good news. ‘Give me a shout when they pick him up and I’ll be in.’
‘Okay,’ said Blunt, a man who used words as if afraid he’d run out of them.
West headed back to his office. He’d no sooner switched on his computer than Andrews appeared, a sandwich in each hand. ‘Chicken or ham and cheese?’
‘From the canteen?’
‘No, the deli. Can’t afford to poison you.’ Andrews see-sawed his hands. ‘Which?’
‘Chicken,’ West said, reaching to take it from him.
‘Hang on and I’ll get us some coffee.’
A minute later, the two men sat munching sandwiches and drinking coffee. West threw the sandwich wrapper into the bin. ‘Did Allen find out what time Ashley Bolger finishes his shift?’
‘Three. They’re leaving soon. It’s the one in Liffey Valley so they’ll take the M50 and be back quickly.’
It was nearly four before Allen and Jarvis returned.
‘He’s in the Big One,’ Allen said from the doorway of West’s office.
‘Any trouble?’
‘Not a bit. But we rang our colleagues in Swords before we went. Ashley Bolger isn’t unknown to the Gardaí. He’s never been arrested but there have been a few warnings and a few visits to the Garda station in Swords. So, he’s no stranger to being questioned. He was slightly surprised to be taken here but apart from asking if we were going to take him home afterward, he didn’t seem too bothered.’
‘Okay,’ West said, getting to his feet. ‘Let’s see what he has to say for him
self.’ In the main office, he gave Andrews a nod. ‘Take Jarvis and watch from the observation room, will you. I’ll take Allen in with me.’
When they opened the door into the Big One, Ashley Bolger was slouched low on a chair. He hadn’t removed his coat or the purple-and-gold-striped scarf that was wound around his neck as if he didn’t plan to stay long. He looked mildly curious rather than worried.
‘Mr Bolger, thank you for coming in to help with our enquiries.’ West pulled out a chair, Allen taking the one beside him. ‘I’m Detective Garda Sergeant West. You’ve already met Detective Garda Allen. For your protection, and ours, this interview will be recorded. Are you happy with that?’
A shrug of a shoulder was the only reply.
‘And to keep things right and tight,’ West said, coming to a decision, ‘Detective Garda Allen will now read you your rights.’
This got a reaction. Ashley Bolger’s eyes came out on stalks. ‘What? I haven’t done anything!’
‘Then you’ve nothing to be afraid of,’ West said calmly and signalled to Allen to read the suddenly nervous man his rights.
Whether it was nerves or the heat being belted out from the radiator in the corner of the room, Bolger unwrapped his scarf, took off his coat and threw both over the back of the chair beside him.
‘It’s interesting,’ West said, looking at the discarded items. ‘The last time I saw that coat and scarf they were hanging on a coat stand in the hallway of Laetitia Summers’ house.’
A wily expression crept into Bolger’s eyes. ‘Lots of coats and scarves like them around.’
‘Maybe, but I bet if we look at your coat, we’ll find a poorly-mended tear below the right-hand pocket. Am I right?’
‘Well, so what? Yes, I was in Laetitia’s house that day. What of it? It isn’t a crime.’
‘No, it’s not. So how long have you been seeing one another?’
Bolger shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. ‘What’s this all about then? Why is it any concern of you lot who I do or don’t shag?’
West waited.
‘Over a year, if you really want to know.’
‘Thank you. And your aunt, Debbie Long, she knows you two are in a relationship?’
‘Yea, what of it?’
‘Did you meet Laetitia in the library?’
‘Yea, what of it?’ Bolger sneered as he gave the same answer.
West took a photo from the file he’d brought with him. He slid it across the table. ‘Do you know this man?’
Bolger gave the photograph of Ian Moore a cursory glance. ‘Never saw him before.’
‘What about this man?’ West pushed a second photograph across.
A quick flick of his tongue over suddenly dry lips gave Bolger away before he spoke. ‘Yea, I know that bastard all right. Cormac Furlong. The man who destroyed my family.’
‘You held him responsible for the death of your older brother, Gary?’
‘He was responsible, everybody knew it.’
‘They were supposed to be best friends,’ Allen said. ‘Why would he have wanted to kill him?’
‘I was only a kid but I heard rumours. It was something about a girl. They both fancied her but that night in the club it seems she’d decided on Gary and was all over him like a rash. That was why Cormac left the club early.’
‘According to his mother, Cormac was home before the attack took place.’
Bolger sniffed. ‘Yes, she probably believed he stayed there too. She didn’t know that Cormac used to sneak out at night, same as Gary did. Our houses are the same and both Cormac and Gary had a bedroom in the same part of the house, one where the window overlooked the flat roof of the garage. Me and Gary shared the room and I remember Gary sneaking out when the parents thought he was in bed asleep, then he’d sneak back hours later smelling of smoke and alcohol. It would have been easy for Cormac to do the same, get out and creep back to the nightclub like the coward that he was and lie in wait until Gary came out for a fag and jump him. All because of a stupid woman.’ He glared across the table. ‘Afterwards, my mother fell apart and my father couldn’t cope. Me and Aaron were sent to live with Debbie.’
He pressed his lips together for a few seconds and when he spoke again his voice was softer, as if he was struggling with the words. ‘She did her best, you know, but we were both so shook up and shocked. She’d never had kids of her own so she wasn’t sure what to do with us. We missed our parents too. We didn’t see much of them over the years: Ma was in and out of hospital and eventually Da gave up and left her, went off with someone else. Debbie never forgave him for that.’ Bolger’s mouth twisted, his voice thickening as he spoke. ‘Ma never recovered from Gary’s death. She died four years ago. Aaron was devastated and started taking drugs not long after. I warned him but he wouldn’t listen.’
West remembered the photo he’d seen in Debbie Long’s office. He’d assumed it was her and her family. Now he understood. It was her sister and her family in a happier time. Debbie, he guessed, would do anything to protect what was left of her family… even lie. He gave Ashley a moment to recover before asking, ‘When did you find out that your girlfriend had been raped by Cormac Furlong?’
Bolger shook his head. ‘She told me the man who raped her had been put away. It happened a few months before we met. When I discovered that the man who raped her was the same man who had murdered my brother… if he weren’t already dead, I’d have gone and done the job myself.’
‘So you found out when?’ West persisted.
‘After you called to tell her the bastard’s real name. I couldn’t believe it. When she told me he’d been murdered, I was relieved. Happy.’ He looked from West to Allen. ‘Do you know what we did? We celebrated, that’s what. Celebrated that finally someone had the balls to get rid of that piece of trash.’
‘And you had nothing to do with his death?’
‘Apart from celebrating it, absolutely nothing but when you find out who did, let me shake his hand.’ Bolger sat back and crossed his arms, his look of satisfaction quickly disguised by a scowl.
‘What about Ms Summers? She also had a reason to want him dead, didn’t she?’
‘You having a laugh?’ Bolger sneered. ‘She’s a titchy little thing, he had to be over six foot. How do you think she’d have managed to–’ He stopped suddenly, mouth opening and shutting.
‘Managed to what?’ West said.
‘Kill him. That’s what I was going to say. How do you think a little bit of a thing like her would be able to kill him?’
It wasn’t what he’d been going to say; he’d been going to say how did a little bit of a thing like Laetitia Summers haul Furlong’s dead weight from the confessional to the foot of the altar, then string him up the way he had been. And Bolger was right. There was no way she’d have been able to. Not alone anyway.
‘Where were you last Sunday night?’
‘Me and Laetitia went to a movie, then we went back to hers. I spent the night there.’ He sneered. ‘I can give you the details if you like.’
‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’ West got to his feet abruptly, startling Bolger who reared back, eyes wide. ‘That will be all. For the moment. We may have more questions at a later date. Detective Garda Allen will organise transport to take you home. Thank you for your time.’
West left without another word and returned to his office, frowning as Andrews and Jarvis joined him. ‘Well?’
‘I don’t know,’ Andrews said, sitting on the only spare chair. ‘I think he was being honest when he said if he’d found out who Furlong was, he’d have gone and murdered him himself. He’d have acted there and then, not set the elaborate scene we found in the church.’
Jarvis perched on the desk. ‘Yes, but I think he knew about it… that slight slip where he said she wouldn’t have been able to manage, he made a quick recovery but he was lying, wasn’t he?’
‘I think he’s involved somehow,’ West said.
‘But not the mastermind.’ An
drews clasped his hands behind his head.
‘No, I agree.’ West pushed a hand through his hair and groaned. ‘For once, could we manage to get one solid piece of evidence?’
‘Morrison getting to you?’
Jarvis gave a short laugh. ‘It’s been a whole week after all.’
‘This case is getting to me,’ West said, glancing at the clock over the door. ‘Okay, first thing in the morning I’m going to speak to Debbie Long, see if I can shake some information from her.’ He drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘It’ll be another fishing expedition, though, I’ve no idea what we’re missing, but we’re missing something.’
‘Like, why kill Furlong in that way, and why in that particular church. Why not a church in Swords or Marino, or in fact, why a church at all?’ Jarvis said, drawing two sets of eyes on him. He coloured slightly. ‘If it were Bolger and Summers, working together, why would they have chosen a church? A church here in Foxrock?’
‘All good questions, Sam,’ West said. ‘Tomorrow, find me some answers.’
33
West woke early on Tuesday morning. The only light in the room came from the luminous dial of his bedside clock. He turned his head to look at it and groaned when he saw it was only 4.30 and lay back with an arm crooked under his head. To his left, Edel snuffled softly. The murder of Furlong rolled around his brain. Sometimes, when all other distractions were shut off, clarity came bouncing in. Not today. It was no clearer now than it had been a week before.
Another worry forced its way in. There’d been no call from the station regarding Milo Bennet which meant he mustn’t have turned up. It was hard to see a happy ending for the Bennet and the Parsons families.
Trying not to disturb Edel, West pushed back the duvet, took a T-shirt from the chair and headed downstairs. Coffee might clear his thoughts. He walked barefooted into the kitchen, disturbing Tyler who lifted his head and glared at him. But it was too early even for him: he curled up and went back to sleep.
The Dublin Murder Mysteries: Books four to six Page 42