The Dublin Murder Mysteries: Books four to six

by Valerie Keogh

  Edel felt a shiver run down her spine. The boyfriend of Arthur’s dead daughter had better watch his step.

  No, on second thoughts, he had to be warned.

  35

  West had gone straight back to Foxrock station after leaving Joanne Bennet. He saw Jarvis at his desk, the fingers of one hand flying over the keyboard while the other held a mug of coffee that he sipped as he tapped.

  ‘Do not spill that coffee,’ West warned.

  Jarvis merely grinned and shook his head. ‘Never going to happen.’

  West took out the Remembrance leaflet and laid it on the desk. ‘Find out everything you can about this group.’

  ‘Will do,’ Jarvis said, picking it up and turning it over. ‘Pretty basic, isn’t it? No details about who made it.’ He held it up to the light. ‘Home-made would be my guess. The edges are pretty rough.’

  ‘Do what you can,’ West said. ‘It might be important.’

  ‘Will do,’ Jarvis said, putting his coffee down and getting back to work, two hands now flying over the keys.

  Andrews was on the phone, West mouthed ‘my office’ and waited for the nod of acknowledgement before heading there and sitting behind the desk.

  ‘You look as if the weight of the world landed on your shoulders,’ Andrews said a moment later, sinking into the chair opposite.

  West was still trying to make sense of the ideas his brain was spinning. ‘What if–’ He stopped when Andrews groaned and cupped his face in his hands.

  ‘I hate when you start with “what if”, I know this is going to be something that’ll twist my head as well as my gut.’

  ‘Well, it’s twisting both of mine, and you know what they say, misery loves company!’

  ‘Fine,’ Andrews said, holding his hands up in surrender. ‘Go on, hit me with your latest brainwave.’

  ‘What if there was a group where people were encouraged to seek their own justice,’ he said, trying to untangle the ideas in his head as he laid them out for Andrews.

  ‘Like a vigilante group?’

  West wagged a hand side to side. ‘Not exactly, more a group of people who believed they had genuine grievances against a particular person. Say if Debbie Long went there and told some people about Cormac Furlong, for instance, and they decide to make him pay… first he gets sent to prison for allegedly raping Laetitia Summers and when he’s released early, he’s murdered. And say Milo Bennet goes to the same people… tells them about the death of his son and Ella Parsons’ avoidance of responsibility.’

  ‘You’re linking our investigation of Furlong’s murder to the graffiti on the Parsons’ wall.’ Andrews sounded as if he couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Have you lost the plot completely?’

  West explained about the leaflet. ‘Edel brought one home from the library and I found one in the Bennets’ home.’

  ‘Those kinds of leaflets can be found everywhere,’ Andrews said, echoing what Edel had said a short while before. ‘I think it’s a huge stretch to see them as a link.’

  ‘They’re not affiliated to any organisation and they only have one meeting place in Sandymount so they can’t be that widespread.’ West felt a twinge of frustration. He knew he was onto something. If he could only get something solid. ‘They brought Milo Bennet in last night… or rather early this morning. He was out of it, they thought it would be safer. Let’s go and see if he’s sobered up enough to answer a few questions. Maybe he can tell us about the leaflet.’

  West picked up the leaflet as he and Andrews passed Jarvis’ desk.

  ‘I haven’t found out much,’ Jarvis said, his fingers freezing over the keyboard. ‘I sent an email to the address on the leaflet. I haven’t heard back yet.’

  ‘Keep at it.’

  Sergeant Blunt was at the front desk peering at a computer screen.

  ‘Morning, Tom,’ West said, drawing his attention. ‘Has Milo Bennet sobered up enough to speak to us?’

  Blunt’s short, stubby index finger jabbed a key before he spoke. ‘He had breakfast.’ Obviously, that said it all in his opinion: a man who was able to eat breakfast was sober enough for a conversation.

  ‘Good. Have him taken into the Big One, please.’

  Five minutes later, West and Andrews sat opposite the grey-faced, pathetic figure of Milo Bennet. Andrews had read him his rights, explained the interview was being recorded and asked if he’d like a solicitor present. All the time Bennet looked at him blankly.

  ‘You feel up to speaking to us?’ West said.

  Bennet slowly turned his head to look at him. ‘Why not.’

  ‘Did you paint the graffiti on the Parsons’ wall?’

  Bennet considered the question for a few seconds before shaking his head slowly. ‘No, I didn’t paint it.’

  West caught the emphasis on the I. ‘But you know who did. You supplied the paint and the brush.’

  ‘I was supposed to do it.’ Bennet’s mouth twisted in self-disgust. ‘I got there, opened the paint can… and couldn’t bring myself to paint those words. Lord knows, I hate that woman for killing our son and destroying our lives but–’ he heaved a sigh ‘–it’s not who I am. I thought I could. I promised I would.’ His voice faded.

  ‘You promised who? Who did paint those words?’

  Bennet wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. ‘Mutually beneficial.’ A tear trickled down his cheek. He didn’t brush it away and it plopped onto his creased, stained shirt. He was giving every indication that he was a man falling apart.

  Mutually beneficial? West looked at Andrews and raised an eyebrow. Now maybe he’d believe him. He looked back to Bennet and felt a stirring of pity. ‘Can you explain what you mean?’ he said gently.

  ‘It seemed like a good idea.’

  This was going to be like wading through porridge. ‘What was?’ West said eventually when the silence stretched too long.

  ‘Working together to get justice.’

  West had been right but his satisfaction was tempered by a deep unease. How many people were involved in this?

  ‘For your son’s death?’

  A jerky nod.

  ‘And for others?’

  Bennet pressed his lips together as he looked from one to the other. His eyes looked haunted. ‘I thought it was going to make things better… making them pay for what they’d done… but you know, it doesn’t take the pain away… that desperate loss… that gaping hole where once there was a life full of joy and hope.’

  ‘Who did you make pay, Mr Bennet?’

  ‘I wanted the Parsons to move away,’ Bennet said, ignoring West’s question. ‘I thought if we knew they’d left Dublin completely, that there was no chance of bumping into them anywhere, that it might help. The graffiti was to be the first step in the campaign… if it didn’t work, the next step would be more drastic.’

  West looked at Andrews in alarm. The Parsons had no intention of moving.

  ‘What do you mean, “drastic”?’

  Bennet shrugged. ‘An extra push. I’m not really sure.’

  Because he isn’t the one making the decisions. Frustrated, West said, ‘Who is sure, Mr Bennet? Who makes these decisions?’

  ‘Pa.’

  Now they were getting somewhere. West leaned forward. ‘Pa? Short for what… Patrick? Pascal?’

  ‘I don’t know, he introduced himself as Pa. We only ever used first names, for confidentiality.’

  Pa? West looked at Andrews who shrugged. Neither of them knew anyone involved called Pa.

  ‘Okay,’ West said. ‘Mr Bennet, can you take us through it? Who else did you make pay?’

  ‘I was only involved with one. I was to help with that, then they’d help me with the Parsons.’

  ‘And who was that one?’ West was beginning to feel his patience fraying at the edges. He was right. He knew he was.

  Bennet covered his face with his hands. ‘The man in the church.’ The words were almost smothered but they heard them and West looked at Andrews with a quick nod of satisfaction befo
re turning back to Bennet. ‘You’re talking about Cormac Furlong, the man who was found dead in the church last week?’

  ‘I didn’t know his name.’

  ‘But it was Pa who wanted him punished?’

  To their surprise, Bennet shook his head. ‘No, it was a young man in the group. He said his life had been destroyed by him and he’d never been punished enough.’

  ‘What was his name?’ West said softly, holding his breath as he waited for the reply.

  ‘Ashley.’

  Ashley Bolger.

  ‘And you helped with this punishment?’ Andrews said.

  West held up his hand. ‘Before you answer that, Mr Bennet, I must ask you again if you would like legal counsel.’

  Bennet almost smiled. ‘To save me from myself? No, I think it’s too late for that. Yes, I helped with the punishment of that man.’ He sat back and folded his arms in a movement that might have seemed relaxed except that his hands gripped his shirtsleeves, tightening and loosening in a manic rhythm. ‘People speak about talk being cheap, don’t they? Well, that was us, with our brave plans.’ His voice was suddenly devoid of emotion. ‘We thought it would be easy. Ashley had told us of the man’s guilt, and Pa convinced us to be judge, jury and executioner.’

  Bennet held a hand over his trembling mouth for a moment. ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘that even though he’d used that word, executioner, I never… not for a moment… thought that was what we were going to do. To execute a man.’

  ‘How did you convince Furlong to enter the confessional?’

  ‘Ashley knew where he lived, knew that he came home on the DART every evening, and we waited for him.’ Bennet sniffed. ‘He was a big man, but not particularly brave. I expected him to be harder, tougher… meaner… but he came along without a whimper when Ashley held a gun to his ribs.’ Bennet unfolded his arms and rested his hands flat on the table. The fingernails were dirty and chipped, he stared at them as if they belonged to someone else. ‘The church was almost empty and the few people who were there paid us no attention. Cormac went into the confessional without argument. Pa was already in the priest’s box. We knelt outside and waited.’

  Andrews leaned forward, a puzzled frown between his eyes. ‘You said you weren’t expecting an execution? What did you think was happening inside the box?’

  ‘Pa is a quiet, gentle man. I thought he was talking to Cormac, trying to persuade him to give himself up, to confess to killing Ashley’s brother and serve his sentence for it.’

  West saw the truth in his eyes. Bennet really hadn’t known what he’d got himself into. No wonder he was falling apart. It wasn’t only sorrow for the loss of his son anymore, now he was also wracked with guilt. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Ashley and I were sitting in separate pews outside, trying not to draw attention to ourselves. After a few minutes, I heard a thud but before I could do anything, Pa came out and squeezed into the penitent’s box with Cormac.’ He shook his head at the memory. ‘I still didn’t have a clue, you know. Honestly, I would never have believed I could be so gormless.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Pa came out and told me and Ashley to go into the other penitent’s box to hide while the church was being locked up. I wanted to leave but he insisted we stick to the plan. He said they never checked the confessionals before locking up so we’d be safe.’

  ‘You both went into the penitent’s box?’

  ‘Yes, it wasn’t very comfortable, we had to stand. We were afraid to speak but Ashley kept getting a fit of giggles and I was half afraid he was going to give us away, half hoping he would so we could put an end to it all.’

  Bennet’s voice faded away and a stricken expression tightened his mouth and hardened his eyes. ‘Pa had told us to stay there until he called us out. He is the kind of man who commands obedience, you know, he has a way of looking at you. Anyway, me and Ashley were beginning to get restless then the door opened and Pa stood there grinning.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘He told us to take Cormac out.’ Bennet stumbled over his words. ‘We still had no idea. I remember hearing Ashley gasp beside me when we opened that damn door and saw him slumped there surrounded by a puddle of blood. It was already clotting so was gloopy and slippery as we tried to manoeuvre him out. Ashley caught him under the armpits and I got him under the knees and together we carried him to where Pa pointed.’

  ‘There was no chance that he was alive at that point?’ West asked.

  Bennet shook his head. ‘No. His body was already getting cold.’

  ‘What happened then?’ Andrews asked.

  ‘Pa had some black rubbish bags. He told us to strip the body and dump everything inside.’ Bennet’s nose screwed up. ‘Death isn’t pleasant. We had to use his clothes to wipe away the excrement. Pa handed us clean boxers. We put them on, then between us we got him hanging the way you found him.’

  ‘Why in the church?’ Andrews asked.

  Bennet gave an age-old answer, one that hadn’t pardoned others before and wouldn’t excuse him. ‘We did as we were told to do.’

  It was an answer sufficient to dispel the lingering sympathy that was troubling West. ‘And what about the Parsons? Who painted the graffiti?’

  ‘Ashley. He had to pay back, you know, for the help I gave him with Cormac.’

  ‘The Parsons have a baby boy, Max,’ Andrews said. ‘He’s not even a year old. Is he at risk?’

  ‘I wanted to stop at the graffiti,’ Bennet said. ‘Even if it didn’t work, it was enough for me.’ He clasped his hands together. ‘I’m not sure Pa sees it that way though. I think once injustice is pointed out to him, he can’t rest till it is righted. He’s very much an eye-for-an-eye kind of person.’

  West frowned. Bennet had lost his only son, the Parsons had one son. Would this Pa character go so far as to kill a baby? ‘What about a son for a son?’

  Bennet’s eyes widened. ‘No! No, he wouldn’t kill a baby. Would he?’

  36

  West and Andrews, galvanised into action, rushed from the room. They stopped for a second at the front desk to explain the situation to Sergeant Blunt.

  ‘We’re heading to the Parsons’ house now. Send uniformed backup. We’ll need to leave a Garda unit there until we can find and pick up this Pa character. And send a car to pick up Ashley Bolger too. He’s under arrest for murder.’

  They used sirens to clear the traffic and pulled up outside the Parsons’ home ten minutes later. They were in luck: Nick Parsons’ car was parked in the driveway.

  The doorbell was answered almost immediately. ‘I hope you’ve come to tell us you’ve arrested the Bennets,’ Nick Parsons said when he saw who it was. He didn’t seem inclined to invite them in, standing with one hand on the door and another on the frame.

  ‘May we come in?’

  There must have been something in West’s eyes or an unusual tightness about his mouth because Parsons immediately stood back.

  ‘Where’s your wife?’ West hoped she hadn’t taken their child out: he wanted them to be safe, to keep them safe.

  ‘In the kitchen.’ Parsons waved to the room behind. ‘What’s going on?’

  West glanced at Andrews who nodded grimly. This wasn’t a time for pussyfooting around. ‘We have a problem. It might be better not to involve Mrs Parsons.’

  Parsons opened a door behind him. ‘We can talk in here. Hang on and I’ll let her know it’s nothing to worry about.’

  Andrews and West entered the small room. A formal sitting room with the obligatory three-piece suite and large coffee table. It was a room that didn’t look as if it were ever used.

  ‘Nothing to worry about,’ Andrews muttered, sitting on one of the sofas.

  ‘Best we keep her out of it. Parsons said she went hysterical when she saw the wall, no knowing what she’d do if she heard there was some maniac looking to dole out punishment for her crime.’

  Parsons returned several minutes later. He was balancing a laden tray. ‘I’ve brought coffee,’ he said, putti
ng the tray down on the table. ‘I realise I haven’t been very approachable recently. Forgive me, it’s not been easy.’ He sat. ‘Help yourselves to sugar and milk.’

  ‘There’s no need to apologise, Mr Parsons,’ West said, adding milk to a mug. ‘These last few months have been difficult for you.’

  Parsons sipped his black coffee. ‘I have the strangest feeling that you haven’t come here to make it any better.’

  West watched Andrews spoon sugar into his coffee. The clink of the spoon against the sides as he stirred was such a relaxing, simple sound. Sometimes he didn’t like his job. Times like now. ‘There’s never an easy way to break bad news,’ West said. ‘We spoke to Mr Bennet, in fact we have him in custody.’

  ‘Well, that sounds good!’

  ‘Not for the graffiti, I’m afraid. He says he didn’t do that but he does know who did. No, I’m afraid the charges against Mr Bennet are more serious than that.’

  Despite Bennet’s conviction that he hadn’t realised that Furlong was going to be executed, he and Ashley Bolger had taken the man by force and led him to his death. He couldn’t imagine the Director of Public Prosecutions settling for anything less than a murder charge.

  West lifted his mug and swallowed some coffee, his throat suddenly dry. ‘In the course of our interview with Mr Bennet, it came out that there is a group of people who are seeking justice for crimes against their families. The graffiti was supposed to scare you into leaving, Mr Parsons. According to Mr Bennet, if it didn’t work the instigator would take more drastic steps.’

  Parsons’ jaw dropped, his mouth a perfect O of horror.

  ‘Until we catch this person… and we will catch them… it might be best if you go and stay with friends or family. If you decide to remain here, we will provide twenty-four-hour Garda protection.’

  Shock had robbed Nick Parsons of words. He slumped in his chair and looked helplessly from West to Andrews.

  West put his coffee down and moved closer to him. ‘We will keep you safe, Mr Parsons. A squad car is on its way. They’ll stay parked in your driveway. Make sure all windows and doors are locked. You’ll need to stay at home so cancel all your appointments… will that be possible?’