The Dublin Murder Mysteries: Books four to six

by Valerie Keogh

  ‘He’ll probably be charged with murder.’

  A heavy weight of dread pushed Edel back in the chair. One of the men Mike had in custody… Baxter had mentioned their names when he spoke of the sketch artist coming… Bennet and Bolger. Bennet! Oh no! Of course, she remembered the case. The two boys knocked down by a speeding car. One of them had died. Milo Junior Bennet. He’d been an only child. This sad woman’s only child.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ And because she couldn’t help herself, she said, ‘Your husband was arrested in connection with the murder of the man in the church?’ When she saw Joanne’s head jerk up and down in agreement, she frowned. She should stand up and leave. How could she possibly explain to Mike that she accidentally happened upon the wife of a man he’d arrested that morning. But she couldn’t. Not yet. ‘I don’t understand. The man, Cormac Furlong, he’d nothing to do with your son’s death.’

  ‘The perpetrators of crimes wreck lives… all lives.’

  Edel had heard those words spoken only a few hours before. ‘You’ve met Pa?’

  ‘Milo brought him around one evening. He’s very emotional.’

  Very fanatical would have been Edel’s conclusion. ‘I still don’t understand–’

  Joanne held up a hand to stop her. ‘It’s simple. Milo helped with the man in the church, in return he would be helped with that woman.’

  That woman? ‘Do you mean the woman who knocked down your son?’

  ‘Ella Parsons, yes. She refused to accept responsibility, manipulating the system to evade justice.’

  Edel struggled to remember the details. It had happened a short while before she and West had gone to Clare Island. ‘Wasn’t there something about her being unfit to plead?’

  Joanne’s mouth twisted. ‘Unfit to plead but fit enough to drive and kill my son.’

  It was time for Edel to leave. She was well acquainted with pain and anger, but this deep wrenching sadness was beyond her. She had shuffled to the edge of the seat when she heard Joanne mutter something unintelligible. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that.’

  ‘I said Milo wasn’t able to do it.’

  ‘Do what?’ The words were out before she could stop them.

  ‘Kill her.’

  Her? Ella Parsons? Edel couldn’t tell from Joanne’s expression whether she was relieved or disappointed. This was a question she wasn’t going to ask. ‘I’d better be going,’ she said, getting to her feet.

  ‘But I sorted it myself.’

  The words were barely audible. Edel wanted to pretend she hadn’t heard them. She could have done, could have got up and left but one thing stopped her. She remembered that the Parsons had a young child… a baby boy… She couldn’t leave without asking. ‘What do you mean you sorted it yourself?’

  40

  ‘Edel, slow down, I can’t understand you,’ West said.

  ‘Joanne Bennet. A gun. She wrote a letter to Nick Parsons. Told him to end it all.’

  West waved to the others, put the phone down on the desk and pressed speaker. ‘Edel, take a deep breath and tell us clearly what is going on.’ He heard her inhale loudly and let it out in a long hiss.

  ‘I saw Joanne Bennet,’ Edel said, her voice calmer. ‘She was walking along the street, struggling, so I stopped and took her home. I didn’t know who she was, I swear.’

  ‘Coincidences do happen,’ West said, even as he was thinking that Edel seemed to attract trouble like a magnet.

  ‘Yes, well I wish they wouldn’t happen to me.’ Edel took another deep breath. ‘Joanne told me Milo had been given a gun to kill Ella Parsons but he wasn’t able to do it. Joanne wrote a note and posted it with the gun through the Parsons’ letterbox. That’s where she was coming from when I saw her.’

  Nick Parsons had struck West as a man who was out of options. Would he take this one? ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘I’m still here with Joanne.’

  ‘Okay, stay there, I’m sending someone around.’ He hung up, pointed to Jarvis and Allen and jerked his thumb towards the door. They didn’t need to be told a second time.

  West picked up the desk phone and rang the front desk, hoping their dependable sergeant had been less efficient that day. ‘Tom, was the squad car pulled from the Parsons’ house?’

  Of course, it had been. West slammed the phone down on the yes. ‘We need to get to the Parsons’ house.’

  They all knew the score and seconds later they were running from the station. ‘Baxter, you drive,’ West said and everyone veered across the car park to the red Volvo. Baxter was a good choice. He drove like a maniac.

  With sirens on and Baxter driving, they pulled up outside the Parsons’ house only minutes later.

  Nick Parsons’ car was parked in the driveway. West, Andrews, Baxter and Edwards piled out of the Volvo and looked around the typical upmarket, quiet suburban street before focusing on the house. It too looked quiet. Ordinary. They all hoped they were wrong. That it would remain ordinary and not turn into a statistic.

  West rang the doorbell and the other three stood back observing, alert and ready to move.

  ‘I’ve a ram bar in the boot,’ Baxter said.

  ‘Let’s give it a minute before we start bashing their door in.’ West leaned forward to peer through the glass panels at the side. There was nothing to be seen. But anything could be happening behind the doors. A memory flashed through his mind. Brian Dunphy lying dead on the doorstep of that house in Finglas. The woman and three children dead upstairs. He felt his throat thicken. ‘Okay, Seamus, grab your ram bar. Let’s get inside.’

  The uPVC door yielded easily to one blow, the loud crash followed by a silence that was heavy with foreboding. Each of the men unclipped their holsters. Someone in the house had a gun; they might have need of their own.

  There wasn’t a sound to be heard. It didn’t bode well. West took slow, careful steps towards the first door and pushed it open with one hand. The room was empty.

  The next door, leading into the large open-plan kitchen and living room, was ajar and swung open at a nudge. At first, West thought the room was empty. It was Edwards who saw the figure curled up on the floor in the corner. ‘Sarge, look!’

  It was Nick Parsons. His eyes were shut, arms clasped around his knees. Hanging from one hand was a revolver. It was impossible to know if it had been used. There was no sign of Ella, no sight… or sound… of the baby.

  ‘Search upstairs,’ West said, nodding to Baxter and Edwards who immediately left the room. Andrews stayed where he was, never taking his attention from the man on the floor.

  ‘Mr Parsons?’ West waited a beat before saying loudly. ‘Mr Parsons, can you open your eyes?’

  A grunt was followed by the flicker of eyelids.

  West took a step closer. ‘Put the weapon on the floor.’

  Parsons’ forehead creased. ‘What?’

  ‘The weapon you’re holding. Put it on the floor.’

  Nick Parsons looked at the revolver in his hand and shook his head slowly. ‘There was a note with it. It explained that this was the best way. And do you know, they were probably right.’

  From the corner of his eye, West saw Andrews slowly take his SIG Sauer from his holster. He was right. It might come to that. But not if West could help it. He took a step closer to the man on the floor. ‘Listen to me, Nick, it’s over. The Bennets are under arrest. They’re not going to cause you trouble again.’ It was bending the truth a little. Milo Bennet would certainly serve time for his part in the murder of Cormac Furlong. Joanne would serve time too if Nick had used the weapon she’d supplied to kill his wife and child. There was no sound from upstairs, no shouts of horror or relief from Baxter and Edwards. But if there was death in the house, he didn’t want another.

  He hunkered down, meeting Parsons eye to eye. ‘It’s over. The Bennets won’t interfere with your life again.’

  Parsons shook his head. ‘Ella killed that boy. It’s never going to be over.’ He lifted his hand and looked at the gun he he
ld. ‘I gave it a lot of thought, you know.’

  West remembered Ella holding her son when they’d come to arrest her months before. Had she protected him to the end? Sadness washed through him. Her stupid and reckless act in speeding that day had caused so much sorrow, so much waste.

  He thought he’d imagined the cry. Wishful thinking. But then it came again, louder, longer. A baby’s hungry wail. He glanced towards Andrews, saw the relief that he was sure was echoed on his own face. The baby was alive.

  ‘Where’s Ella?’

  Parsons frowned and waved the revolver, pointing it towards the ceiling. ‘Upstairs.’ The baby was still crying, joined now by the sound of male voices. ‘Sounds like Max is awake.’

  ‘Nick,’ West said, dragging the man’s focus back to him. ‘Put the weapon on the floor.’

  ‘Yes… yes, of course.’ But Parsons continued to wave it about. ‘It isn’t that easy, is it? To shoot someone?’

  West drew a breath. ‘Ella is okay?’

  ‘Asleep. Max was awake most of the night so she’s catching up.’ He looked at West. ‘You thought I’d killed them?’

  ‘It crossed our minds,’ West admitted, getting to his feet. He took a step closer to the crouched man and held out his hand. ‘I think you’d better give that to me now.’

  Parsons released the revolver into West’s hand and struggled to his feet. ‘It might have crossed mine for a second when I read that awful letter. But despite everything, I love Ella. Plus–’ he dragged up a faint smile ‘–I was never one for taking an easy way out. We’ll struggle on and make it. That’s what life is all about.’

  Baxter came through the door carrying Max who was snuffling now rather than crying. ‘Mrs Parsons is on her way,’ he said, jiggling the baby. ‘I think this boyo is hungry.’

  Nick Parsons reached for his son. ‘Thank you, I’ll get him something.’

  ‘We had to break your front door in,’ West said. ‘I apologise, but we did have just cause to be concerned.’

  Nick Parsons shrugged as if having his door caved in by the Gardaí was an everyday occurrence. ‘I’ll get it fixed.’ He buried his nose in his son’s neck, making the child gurgle. ‘Is it true, what you said?’

  ‘About the Bennets? Yes, Milo Bennet will serve time for murder. I’m uncertain about Joanne Bennet but I will guarantee she won’t bother you again.’ West would speak to Morrison: between them they’d come up with something. The Parsons family had been through enough.

  41

  Back in the station it was organised chaos. Solicitors had arrived to represent Kevin McComb and Milo and Joanne Bennet, and all wanted to speak to West.

  ‘Tell them I’ll be with them shortly,’ West told Sergeant Blunt with a wave as he headed up to fill the inspector in.

  ‘What a wicked woman,’ Morrison said when he heard about what Joanne Bennet had done. ‘She’s in custody?’

  ‘Yes, her solicitor is waiting to see me.’ West shrugged. He’d been a solicitor, he knew what the argument would be. It was one he himself would have used… Joanne Bennet was suffering from severe depression following the death of her son, it wouldn’t serve any justice to have her locked up. It might come down to a trade-off.

  ‘I assume McComb’s solicitor will deem him unfit to plead,’ Morrison said, his brows meeting in one hairy line.

  ‘I have no doubt. He’ll be sent to Dundrum for assessment.’

  ‘And Bennet and Bolger will carry the can for Cormac Furlong’s murder.’

  West folded his arms and leaned against the wall. ‘The courts may be more lenient with Bennet, but Bolger–’ he shook his head ‘–his was a continued, calculated effort to destroy Furlong.’

  ‘With that woman’s help.’

  ‘Laetitia Summers, yes. I’ll have her picked up. She’ll be prosecuted for perverting the course of justice. Hopefully, the Director of Public Prosecutions will push for jail time.’

  Morrison smiled. ‘You didn’t like her?’

  ‘I would have been happier if I’d been right, that she’d done it for money.’

  ‘What was her motive? Love?’

  West pushed away from the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘No, I think the only person Laetitia Summers loves is herself. That’s what makes my blood boil, Inspector, I think she did it for fun.’

  ‘This has been a nasty case, Mike. Glad it’s coming to a close.’

  That was West’s hint to leave. He made his way, slowly, back to the main office, planning what to say to whom.

  As it turned out, it was easier than he’d expected. The solicitor for Kevin McComb, an officious man by the name of Malachy de Burgh, insisted his client wasn’t in a fit state to be questioned.

  ‘I’ve organised an ambulance to have him transferred to the Central Mental Hospital in Dundrum,’ he said, as if that was the end of the conversation.

  It probably was.

  Milo Bennet’s solicitor turned out to be an old friend of West’s.

  ‘A nasty case this,’ Drew Masters said, crossing one perfectly-creased trouser leg over the other. ‘My client is willing to confess to his part in the unfortunate death of Cormac Furlong but I think you and I both know he was in a very vulnerable state of mind following the death of his only child and only too open to be manipulated by someone as evil as Kevin McComb.’

  ‘Indeed,’ West said with a raised eyebrow. ‘So that will be your approach.’

  Masters smiled. ‘I can be very convincing.’

  West didn’t doubt it. ‘What about his wife?’

  ‘She’s broken, not bad, Mike.’ The solicitor uncrossed his leg and leaned forward. ‘Mrs Bennet has a sister in Cork who has been asking her to come and live with her. I can arrange for Mr Bennet to serve any time he is given by the courts in Rathmore Road.’

  It would be the perfect answer. Get the Bennet family as far away from Dublin as possible. There was one slight problem. ‘Isn’t Rathmore Road a committal prison for Cork, Kerry and Waterford only?’

  Masters waved a hand dismissively. ‘Don’t you worry about that. If I can persuade the DPP, will you agree?’

  ‘It’s the Director of Public Prosecutions who makes those decisions, not a mere detective Garda,’ West said.

  ‘Yes, but he’ll listen to you. It’s for the best, Mike.’

  West wanted to remind him about the deal he’d made for Ken Blundell and how quickly that had gone wrong but truth was, Masters was right. This would be best for all concerned. ‘I’ll do what I can,’ he said.

  It was enough for Drew Masters. ‘Right, I’ll go and get the ball rolling. We’ll have to meet some night, it’s been too long since I’ve chatted to the lovely Edel.’ With a mock salute, he was gone.

  Andrews came into the office as the solicitor left. ‘Bolger’s solicitor is here wanting a word.’

  ‘Has Bolger said anything else?’

  ‘He admitted that the friend–’ Andrews crooked his index fingers in the air ‘–he got the revolver from is none other than McComb. He gave it back to him afterwards.’

  ‘Then McComb gave it to Milo Bennet.’

  ‘Bennet said he’d never expected his wife to do what she did,’ Andrews said, sitting and rubbing a hand over his head. ‘He seemed more horrified by that than the prospect of going to prison for murder.’

  ‘Drew Masters is going to try and cut a deal. It seems Joanne Bennet has a sister in Cork.’

  ‘And he can organise that Bennet will do his time there?’

  ‘He says he can.’

  Andrews, always the pragmatist, said, ‘Sounds like the perfect solution.’

  West thought of Nick Parsons, his quick anger and smouldering despair and wondered if anything, apart from turning the clock back, would be a solution for them. ‘I’m not sure, but it’s the best we can do.’

  Andrews got to his feet and stretched with a weary yawn. ‘Baxter and Edwards have taken Laetitia Summers into the Other One. She’s not a happy lady. What’ll she be charged
with?’

  ‘Perverting the course of justice, probably, perjury definitely. She put that poor man in prison with her lies. She’ll do some time.’

  ‘Do you think he did it?’

  West didn’t have to ask what Andrews was talking about. It was something he’d been wondering himself. ‘I think it’s highly likely that Cormac killed Gary Bolger but I’d guess it was probably a stupid, drunken accident. If he’d owned up at the time, he might have done a stretch, but it was unlikely to have been long. Instead, he gave himself a life sentence.’ West got to his feet. ‘I think I’ll listen in to the interview.’

  He met Bolger’s solicitor as he left. In less than a minute he disabused him of any idea of leniency. ‘Ashley Bolger set out to destroy Furlong for a crime he assumed he’d committed. When the first attempt didn’t do the job sufficiently for his sense of justice, he plotted with others to murder him. If you can tell me anything in that grim tale that screams leniency, I’d be pleased to hear it.’ West waited while the solicitor opened and shut his mouth. ‘I thought not. The file will be sent to the DPP. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’

  An observation room linked the two interview rooms. Bolger had sat in the Big One. He’d been taken back to his cell and that room now stood empty. In the other, Laetitia Summers sat back with a smile that was as fake as her blonde hair and thick, dark eyelashes.

  West sat to listen. It sounded as though they were nearly finished. It would soon be the end of what had turned out to be a crazy day.

  ‘You admit to setting Cormac Furlong up to help your boyfriend?’ Baxter was saying.

  ‘There’s not much point in denying it if he told you I did, is there?’ There was no apology in her words, a sharp statement of fact.

  ‘You must love him very much.’

  The question amused West. Baxter, crazily in love with his beautiful fiancée would forgive anything for love. But Laetitia Summers was a different kind of woman.

  She laughed. ‘Give it a rest. He’s okay, a fit body and all, but now he’ll be banged up for years. I’m not the hanging around type. Anyway,’ she shrugged, ‘I wouldn’t say I did it for love.’