The Dublin Murder Mysteries: Books four to six

by Valerie Keogh

  With a wave he was gone, taking the back stairs two at a time. Inspector Morrison’s office door was open. The inspector had obviously only arrived, still wearing a coat and a wool hat pulled down over his ears. He pulled it off when he saw West at the door and smoothed a hand over his flyaway hair.

  ‘I hope you’re not a harbinger of doom,’ Morrison said as he took off his coat and hung it from a hook on the back of the door. ‘Of course, it could be that you’re coming to see me this early to let me end my week with some good news.’ The chair rocked and squeaked as he sat heavily.

  West dredged up a smile. ‘That’s more or less what I came to tell you. We’re hoping to close all three of those odd cases we’ve been battling with recently.’

  Unfortunately for West’s plan, Morrison focused on the words more or less rather than close and his eyebrows joined in one giant hairy line. ‘I have a bad feeling about this. Tell me.’

  West did, trying to keep the report from becoming more tangled as he spoke. He watched the inspector drop his face into his hand and rub his eyes. ‘We’re hoping when we get a warrant to search Doris Whitaker’s house we’ll find the freezer that was used. It should all fall into place then.’

  ‘Should it?’ Morrison lifted his face and glared at him.

  West took some consolation from the fact that the eyebrows had separated into individual parts. ‘We have the Checkleys for falsely identifying Muriel Hennessy. If we find the freezer, we’ll be able to make a case for their part in freezing Doris Whitaker–’

  ‘But not killing her?’

  ‘Probably not. I’m guessing she died of natural causes and they were using the death for their own ends. They used the prosthetics to pass Lynda off as Doris to change the will in Darragh’s favour.’

  Morrison squeezed his eyes shut for a second. ‘Okay, I can see why they’d want a few weeks to pass between the will being changed and Doris’s body being found but what I can’t understand… why didn’t they simply dispose of the body somehow?’

  ‘Because they couldn’t. If they’d simply reported her missing, it would have taken years to inherit. They were in a quandary, because if they’d left her frozen body to thaw, then rang to report that she’d passed away, there’d have been a post-mortem and the freezing may have been discovered. Their game would have been up.’ West rested a shoulder against the wall. ‘They needed a dead Doris Whitaker to inherit and a fresh body to identify as her. Somehow, they came across Muriel Hennessy.’

  ‘And killed her?’

  ‘Mrs Hennessy would never have been able to walk to Torquay Road where her body was found. Somehow, one or the other of the Checkleys… and my money is on Darragh… enticed her into their car and killed her, then made it look like a hit-and-run.’

  ‘And I suppose you have a logical reason for the dismembered bodies too?’

  There was nothing logical about any of these cases. West rubbed a hand over his head. ‘We know from the DNA that Doris Whitaker was related to the two younger bodies. We also know that Doris’s two children and husband disappeared almost fifty years ago… and Dr Kennedy had previously estimated that the bodies had been mummified around that time.’

  ‘Mummified!’ Morrison’s face screwed up in disgust. ‘There’s no way to prove Doris killed them at this stage although I agree, it does seem the only conclusion.’

  ‘It was possibly some kind of domestic incident… maybe the husband threatened to leave her and she got her revenge by killing him and the two children. The unidentified woman may have simply been in the wrong place.’ West shrugged. ‘We may never know unless there is something in her house that enlightens us.’

  ‘You need a warrant. Okay, leave that with me and I’ll get it done.’ He looked at West suspiciously. ‘There’s nothing else, is there?’

  ‘No, I think that’s about it. We’re waiting for the solicitors to arrive.’ He checked his watch. ‘I’m hoping we’ll have confirmation of our theory from the department of anaplastology by then to strengthen our case against the Checkleys.’

  ‘Anaplastology.’ Morrison shook his head. ‘Only you and your team, Mike. Right, I’ll get on with organising the warrant. Keep me informed.’

  The team were waiting in the detective office, all eyes focusing on West as he came through the door.

  ‘The inspector will organise the warrant for us,’ he said. ‘Any word from Allen?’

  Andrews shook his head. ‘Not yet. Nor any sign of the solicitors. They’re not rushing to the rescue.’

  ‘Don’t blame them. Darragh Checkley’s an arrogant git and the wife’s a piece of work,’ Baxter said.

  Edwards turned to West and rolled his eyes. ‘Lynda told him he drove like he was a bit-part actor in a third-rate US cop show.’

  ‘What does that even mean?’ Baxter said, decidedly unimpressed at this slight on his driving.

  West left them to it and went into his office, unsurprised when Andrews followed a minute later, a mug of coffee in each hand. ‘Did you get Checkley his Earl Grey?’

  ‘As you said. In the canteen, ten years past its use-by date. I had to shake a moth out of the packet but it probably won’t affect the taste.’ Andrews sipped his coffee. ‘Morrison was really okay about it?’

  ‘I think he was a bit stunned, Pete. It is one for the books, this case, isn’t it?’

  ‘Every time we get a weird case, I think we can’t get weirder but this… we couldn’t possibly beat this one.’

  West’s desk phone rang. ‘Hopefully, good news.’ He answered and listened in silence. ‘Okay, good job. See you back here.’ He hung up, met Andrews’ eyes, and grinned. ‘Closer and closer.’

  ‘The department of whatever coughed up?’

  ‘The department of anaplastology did indeed cough up. It appears that to fund a growing number of cases where people can’t afford to have prosthetics made, the department has a lucrative, and official, sideline making masks for people. Checkley told the department manager that his wife wanted an old woman mask for a fancy-dress party, he paid a deposit and was supposed to pay the remainder when the mask was delivered. In what seems typical of Checkley, he waited until the department threatened to take legal action before paying the rest. That, it appears, is what he was doing the night we saw him in the hospital.’

  ‘All done to fool Ashley Pritchard.’

  ‘And to get their greedy paws on an estimated five million euro.’ West looked up when Baxter appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Two solicitors have turned up to represent the Checkleys.’

  ‘Right,’ West said, getting to his feet. ‘Let the games begin.’

  38

  West told Baxter and Edwards to watch from the observation room. ‘But as soon as that warrant comes through, I want you over to Doris Whitaker’s house looking for a freezer. Give Shankill the heads-up that we may need someone from the technical team to take samples.’

  He turned to Andrews. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Who are we going to start with?’

  ‘The weakest link,’ West said, heading for the Other One.

  Lynda Checkley sat with her elbow casually resting on the chairback. Studied elegance. Too studied, and it couldn’t conceal the shiftiness in her eyes or the way her clasped fingers tightened on one another.

  The sharp-suited man beside her stood as they entered. ‘I’m Xavier Bradshaw, acting for Ms Checkley.’

  ‘Detective Garda Sergeant Mike West and Detective Garda Andrews.’ West pulled out a chair and sat. ‘Now that we’ve all identified ourselves for the recording, I’d like to ask Mrs Checkley some questions.’

  Bradshaw held up a hand. ‘My client tells me that she is being accused of falsely identifying a hit-and-run victim and of concealing the death of her husband’s cousin. She denies categorically that she was involved in any wrongdoing. She was traumatised by seeing a woman lying injured… nay, dead,’ he added with dramatic flair. ‘And further traumatised by the realisation that it was someone she knew – a reali
sation which was triggered by the dead woman wearing clothes similar to ones her cousin-in-law regularly wore and by the woman being of the same age and colouring. If there was an error, she insists that shock was the reason.’

  West opened the file he’d brought with him, took out a photograph and slid it across the table. ‘Do you recognise this ring?’

  Lynda glanced at it and shook her head.

  West nudged the photograph further towards her. ‘Muriel Hennessy’s husband had it made for her as an engagement ring. According to her family, she never removed it.’ He tapped the photograph. ‘Yet, she wasn’t wearing it when her body was brought to the mortuary and the ring subsequently turned up days later, on the finger of the dead woman we now know to be Doris Whitaker.’

  ‘How odd.’ Lynda injected a note of boredom into the two words. West was expecting her to yawn at any moment, maybe to flap her hand over her mouth for added effect. But she couldn’t hide the tightening of her lips or the flickering of her eyelids.

  ‘I gather you like fancy-dress parties.’

  The question caught Lynda off guard. She laughed nervously and shot the solicitor a look that said he should answer.

  Bradshaw responded immediately. ‘If there’s a reason that my client’s personal life is of interest, I’d like to know.’

  ‘Happy to oblige,’ West said. ‘The department of anaplastology in the Mater confirm that your husband bought a silicone mask… one that would effectively and convincingly age you. He said it was for a fancy-dress party.’

  Lynda took her elbow from the back of the chair and folded her arms across her chest, her hands curling around her upper arms, fingers splayed, red-painted nails digging in. ‘Oh yes, I remember now. Friends were going to have a fancy-dress party.’ She shrugged. ‘They changed their mind so I threw the horrible thing out.’

  ‘All that trouble for a party that never took place.’ West tut-tutted loudly. ‘But perhaps you found another use for it?’

  Bradshaw pushed back the double cuff of his shirt to check his watch, straightening the cuff again before looking across the desk. ‘Is this going somewhere, sergeant?’

  ‘Are you aware that Doris Whitaker changed her will a few weeks ago, Mr Bradshaw?’

  The solicitor gave the question some consideration, weighing up the advantages and disadvantages of replying. Finally, he inclined his head. ‘I am aware. I have been liaising with Mr Pritchard on behalf of the Checkleys.’

  ‘What would you say if I told you, that at the time Doris Whitaker was supposedly changing her will, she was lying dead in a freezer?’

  Solicitors were used to hearing all manner of things and most had perfected a carefully neutral poker face but even Bradshaw couldn’t help widening his eyes at this. He recovered quickly. ‘I would say “show me the proof”, sergeant.’

  West opened the file again and flicked his fingers over the reports before pulling out one. ‘Here you go.’ He laid it flat on the table and pushed it over. ‘It might make more sense to you; the jargon tends to go over my head.’

  Bradshaw scowled. ‘Fake humility doesn’t suit you.’ He picked up the report and scanned it.

  ‘If you turn to the next page, Dr Kennedy has written a summary which states that the body had been frozen for a period of time.’

  Bradshaw turned the page. He read silently, then dropped the report. ‘It says that the freezing and defrosting process would have taken a minimum of eight days… it says nothing about her being frozen for weeks.’

  ‘The cellular change in the body is due to the freezing process, there is no reliable way to estimate exactly how long Doris Whitaker had been kept frozen.’

  ‘Therefore, she may have been frozen for only a couple of days.’

  Ignoring the solicitor, West fixed his eyes on Lynda. ‘The post-mortem indicates that Doris Whitaker died of natural causes so I’m guessing you found her dead. Was it your idea or your husband’s to mount an elaborate charade to have the will changed?’

  Lynda licked her lips. ‘No comment.’

  ‘That’s okay. You don’t need to say anything.’ West reached for the photograph and the report and slipped them back into the file. ‘We have the fact that you falsely identified a woman’s body. We have Muriel Hennessy’s ring miraculously appearing on Doris Whitaker’s finger with the sole purpose of deception. We also have a statement from the department of anaplastology that your husband purchased a prosthetic that enabled you to disguise yourself as an old woman.’ He lifted the file and tapped it on the desk. ‘I think we have enough to go to the director of public prosecutions, don’t you?’

  A knock on the door disrupted the moment. West glanced around in irritation to find Baxter peering around the edge of the door. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Just wanted to let you know we got it, and me and Edwards are heading over there now.’

  Bradshaw lifted both hands up in annoyance. ‘Is this interruption necessary?’

  ‘Detective Garda Baxter is informing me that we have a warrant to search Doris Whitaker’s house. We hope to find the freezer she was kept in. I think we have enough to make a good case without it. But it’s always good to have more.’

  ‘No, you can’t!’

  All eyes turned in surprise to Lynda who sat with a shaky hand over her mouth. Whereas before, her eyes were restless with duplicity, now they were wide in fear. ‘You can’t,’ she said again, her voice little more than a whisper. She turned to the solicitor. ‘Tell them they have no right to go into her house. That it’s under probate… or something.’

  ‘Unfortunately,’ Bradshaw said with a glance in West’s direction, ‘if it’s a properly executed warrant, I have no right to prevent it being enacted.’

  West looked to where Baxter still stood in the doorway. ‘You have it?’ He took the folded sheet of paper from his hand and passed it across to the solicitor.

  Bradshaw’s lips narrowed as he read. Folding it, he handed it back and turned to Lynda. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.’ He place a hand on her arm. ‘If there’s something you need to tell us about the house, now is a good time.’

  39

  Lynda Checkley took her hand away from her mouth and rested it on the table in front of her. It was trembling slightly. She kept her eyes on it rather than look up to meet any of the eyes that were staring at her.

  West looked at the bowed head of the woman. She was a chameleon, changing rapidly to suit the circumstances… but what was it about the house that worried her? ‘What is it you need to tell us, Mrs Checkley?’

  It was a few seconds before Lynda lifted her head but she kept her eyes down. ‘Doris Whitaker was a second cousin of Darragh’s. They’re not a close family so he didn’t know she existed until two years ago when his mother died and he was clearing out her house. He found her address book and was flicking through it when he came across Doris’s name and address.’ She looked up then and met West’s gaze. ‘Darragh knows property. He knew roughly the value of a house on that road and when he went to see it – when he saw the road frontage it had – he was gobsmacked.’ She took a deep breath and let it out on a shuddering sigh. ‘It didn’t take him long to sus out his relationship to Doris, then he was around in a flash to introduce himself. He can be very charming, especially–’ a sour expression twisted her mouth, ‘–when he wants something.’

  ‘Was the charade his idea?’ West asked.

  Lynda’s eyes flicked to her solicitor. When he said nothing, she pressed her lips together for a few seconds. ‘Yes, it was,’ she said finally as if deciding that the truth was the best option. ‘I called around to see Doris about once a week. I liked her but she was an eccentric woman.’ Lynda gave a sad smile. ‘Maybe that was why I liked her. She was a recluse, you know, rarely went out, then only to the local shops. Emotionally, she seemed quite fragile and she had this weird hoarding disorder – I don’t think she ever threw anything out. Over the years, stuff was piled high in towers almost as tall as she was, leaving narrow paths thr
ough them. I never understood why they didn’t fall, but when I voiced my concern she laughed and waved it away. It’s a huge house, but she used only a small part of it. The only room I’d been into before she died was the kitchen.’

  ‘And that was where you found her?’

  Bradshaw laid a hand on her arm. ‘I don’t think you should answer that, Lynda.’

  She looked at him. ‘You’re a good man, Xavier, but you haven’t a clue.’ She turned back to West, her face set. ‘Darragh had convinced her to give us a key in case anything ever happened… like one of those blasted piles of rubbish falling on her and trapping her. When I called that day, she didn’t answer, so I went home to get the key.’ Her eyes clouded over. ‘She was sitting in the kitchen as if she were waiting to have coffee with me. At first, I thought I’d made a mistake. I started to apologise for barging in on her but then I saw I’d been right.’ Lynda stopped. She swallowed, held a hand over her mouth and shut her eyes. When she opened them again, they were tear-filled. ‘I’d never seen a dead body before. I felt for a pulse in her wrist but there was nothing. Her skin–’ the memory made her shiver, ‘–it was so cold I knew she must have been dead for a while.’

  ‘You didn’t ring an ambulance?’

  She shook her head slowly. ‘No. I wasn’t really sure what to do, so I rang Darragh. He came over straight away, but when he arrived he had a grin on his face. I knew he was up to something, then he told me his idea.’

  ‘You could have refused to go along with it,’ Andrews said.

  ‘You don’t know him. He’s like a tidal wave, pushing you along, pulling you under. You fight a bit but after a while it’s simply easier to go the same direction.’

  ‘You put her body in a freezer. In her house?’