by Rob Kitchin
McEvoy nodded his head and rose to his feet. ‘Well, thanks for your time,’ he muttered.
‘That’s it?’
‘I need to get on.’
‘You think it was one of the family?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘The searched files and the fact that there is no sign of a break-in. Someone let themselves in.’
‘Or they were a professional,’ McEvoy said, heading for the door. ‘Wouldn’t have taken more than thirty seconds if you knew what you were doing. And more than the family had keys – yourself, Roza, the farm manager. Perhaps even his good friends, Martin O’Coffey and Maurice Coakley.’
* * *
Roza’s quarters consisted of a large living room-cum-kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom. The space was several degrees warmer than the old house, heated by a wood burning stove that also pumped hot water to a set of radiators. The living room had a contemporary feel – varnished pine roof with spotlights, granite breakfast counter, a silver extraction fan above a gas cooker, and a large abstract painting above the stove.
Roza hadn’t looked pleased to see McEvoy as she opened the door, though she had invited him in, given him a cup of coffee and offered a plate of sliced cake and chocolate biscuits. Her complexion was still pale, her eyes rimmed red.
‘Mr Freel said that you don’t like going into Dr Koch’s house,’ McEvoy said with a mouthful of cake. He was sitting on a red, two-seater sofa, Roza to one side on a wooden rocking chair, her feet tucked up, her hands warming on her mug.
‘It does not feel right. He is haunting it. It makes my back shiver.’
‘But you don’t need to worry about that much longer; Mrs D’Arcy has asked you to leave?’
Roza shrugged as if it didn’t matter. ‘Without Dr Koch there’s no job. I can’t stay here. There are ghosts here – Dr Koch and others. I can feel them.’
McEvoy nodded. Even if Roza didn’t know the story of The White Gallows and the men murdered within fifty yards of her rooms, the place had a haunted feel in the pale afternoon light.
‘You’ll go back to Poland?’
‘I’ll get another job. Here in Ireland. I like it here. Pay is good.’
‘Given the economic crisis there are no jobs.’
‘I’ll find something.’
‘Mr Freel said he’s offered you a job as his personal assistant.’
‘I don’t want to work for a snake.’ She pulled a weak smile. ‘I might get rich, but I might also get bitten.’
‘You don’t like Mr Freel?’
‘He is interested only in himself and money. He looks at you as if you are the next course in a dinner.’
‘You think he’ll treat you like dessert?’
‘I think he thinks that I would be a good fuck.’ She immediately blushed. ‘Sorry, I should not say such things. Maybe he would be okay.’
‘And maybe you’re right,’ McEvoy said. ‘Do you think he could have killed Dr Koch?’
‘Yes. But they were good friends.’
‘You think he’d be happy to get rid of anybody or anything that got in his way?’
‘In their way, yes. He liked working for Dr Koch. He respected him. Not like some. Some people think that all old people are senile or past it; that they should let younger people do everything. Mr Freel does not think that way. He liked Dr Koch.’
‘And Dr Koch liked him?’
‘They were like father and son. They were very close. They both liked making money. They liked doing business.’
‘The files in Dr Koch’s study, have you ever looked through them?’ McEvoy asked trying to steer the conversation in a new direction.
‘No. They were his personal things.’
‘Not even once?’
She nodded her head slightly, conceding her guilt. ‘I once took a quick look but I could not understand them. They were all numbers and funny words. I left them alone after that.’
‘Dr Koch never asked you to file material or tidy it up?’
‘Never.’
‘Did anyone else ever take a look at them?’
‘Mr Freel looks at them all the time – sometimes with Dr Koch, sometimes on his own.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘I once saw Mark D’Arcy looking at them. I disturbed him while I was cleaning.’
‘And Mrs D’Arcy?’
‘No, but I know she was in the room on her own. She left things out of place.’
‘And Dr Koch’s son, Charles?’
‘No, but I think his son, Francis, used to look round the house. I once found him in Dr Koch’s bedroom looking under the bed.’
McEvoy nodded. Most of Koch’s family seemed to be searching for something. ‘What did he say?’
‘He told me he thought he had heard mice upstairs.’
‘But you didn’t think so?’
‘I don’t know what I thought. I don’t like him – another man who undresses women with his eyes. They are everywhere,’ she said distastefully.
McEvoy stared at his near empty mug, not wanting to meet her eyes, worried that he might do the same. ‘I need to ask you about an East European couple who called to the house to talk to Dr Koch. They said that they spoke to you as well?’
‘They say all kinds of lies,’ she said angrily. ‘I don’t know why they do this! Dr Koch was not an easy man, but he was not a war criminal.’
‘How do you know? He was an old man; what they said happened took place a long time ago.’
‘I do not work for war criminal,’ Roza stated firmly.
‘How do you know he wasn’t a war criminal?’
‘I would have been able to tell. Many of my family died in the war, some murdered by the Nazis, others by the Russians. I could not work for a war criminal,’ she said as if saying it would make it true. ‘Perhaps they killed him, they were crazy; always coming to the house.’
‘They were here on Saturday?’
‘I don’t know. I did not see them. Dr Koch always told them to go away. He never got angry with them, despite their lies. He just sent them away. If he were guilty he would have argued with them. Instead he was patient. He always listened to them and then asked them to leave. They are damaged people looking for… looking for people to blame for things that happened a long time ago. Dr Koch was German. That does not make him a war criminal. And despite Hitler there were some good Germans.’
‘What if they are right? What if he was a war criminal?’
‘You believe them?’ Roza said aghast.
‘I need to see their evidence before making a decision, but you have never come across anything to suggest he was a Nazi?’
‘No!’ Her hand was covering her nose and mouth, her eyes blazing concern, worried that her hands had been bloodied; that she’d been serving a man who might have had a hand in the killing of her family.
* * *
Twilight was already closing in, though it was only late afternoon. Rakes of red-orange leaves were blowing across the road. Charles Koch exited the small church, made his way down to the old wooden gate, framed by ancient yew trees, and slipped into the passenger seat of McEvoy’s car. Ahead of them was a dramatic view across lush, green farm fields framed by whitethorn hedges interspersed with ash and oak trees.
‘Thanks for meeting me,’ McEvoy said.
‘It’s no trouble. I’ve not been sleeping well since his death. I don’t know why I feel so drawn to the church. I haven’t been in years. I think I like the peace and quiet, the space to reflect and mull things over. It feels like a sanctuary.’
McEvoy nodded. He’d spent many hours in the silence of his local church after Maggie’s death. It was another-worldly space; somewhere to just sit and contemplate. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a believer.
‘I still can’t believe he’s gone,’ Koch continued. ‘He seemed so invincible. I half believed I would die before him.’
‘He did a lot with his life,’ McEvoy observed.
‘He made mine seem q
uite trite,’ Koch stated. ‘A run-of-the-mill chemist; hardly Carl Bosch.’
‘You led your own life. Nothing more you could have done.’
‘I could have tried harder.’ Koch paused. ‘But it wouldn’t have made any difference. Even if I’d emulated Bosch he wouldn’t have been happy. He wanted me to be better than he was, and yet he intimidated me and stifled my ambition.’
‘Sounds like you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this,’ McEvoy observed.
‘Years. I think we all know our shortcomings, Superintendent, and we know why they exist. We’re much worse at admitting them to ourselves. I’m a journeyman academic. I’ve had a few insignificant ideas, I’ve taught generations of mediocre students, and I’ll soon retire to obscurity.’
‘That sounds a bit harsh.’
‘The truth is painfully bleak. So, what can I do for you?’ Koch said, more upbeat, trying to redirect the conversation.
‘Information I’ve received suggests you were more interested in your father’s affairs than you first intimated. You wanted your father to invest in some of your ideas, but he refused.’
‘He knew they had little commercial value,’ Koch laughed. ‘He wasn’t stupid.’
‘And yet you still asked him to invest.’
‘I had to do something; give some indication I was trying.’
‘Why?’
‘Because that’s what was expected. Call it duty.’
‘You also wanted your son fast-tracked into a management post,’ McEvoy prompted.
‘I wanted him to have the same opportunities afforded to other members of the family.’
‘You mean Mark D’Arcy?’
‘Yes. Marion has been pushing strongly in Mark’s favour. I reciprocated for Francis. I was trying to be a good father.’
‘You were worried that your father’s fortune would all end up on Marion’s side of the family?’
‘I was worried that Francis would get overlooked. Look, Superintendent, being part of the Koch family is not easy. Everyone is so damn competitive. My father owned several businesses. Marion has a successful law company. Uncle Frank’s children seem to own half the car showrooms in Ireland. I had a duty to fight our corner.’
McEvoy nodded, noting the second use of duty by Koch. ‘Did that extend to spying on your father’s work?’
‘What?’ Koch said irritably.
‘You used to look through your father’s files.’
‘Is that what Roza said? No, no, I bet it was that weasel, Freel. The man who thinks he’s the son my father never had. If I was going to look anywhere for a prime suspect that’s where I’d start.’
‘Are you denying that you ever looked through his things?’ McEvoy said, ignoring Koch’s accusation.
‘No. Every child on the planet has sneaked a look through their parent’s belongings.’
‘Usually when they were a child, not when they are approaching retirement. What were you looking for?’
‘Evidence as to who he might promote – Mark or Francis. I’m not proud of what I did, Superintendent. I did it for Francis. And, as it happens, I didn’t find anything.’
‘You were at the house on Saturday? You met an East European couple?’
‘They were talking nonsense. They were trying to persuade us that my father was a war criminal. They’ve been at it for weeks. The whole thing is a fantasy. You should be questioning them. They had motive and seemed the type to break-in and search the place.’
‘We are questioning them,’ McEvoy admitted. ‘They have a pretty convincing story about your father’s activities during the war.’
‘The key word there is story. Yes, my father was a chemist during the war. Yes, he worked for IG Farben, but no he did not work at Auschwitz. He was based in Austria working at one of their subsidiary companies. They’re mud slingers after a pay day.’
‘They claim to have evidence that your father was a war criminal.’
‘Most of the files from that period were destroyed. God knows what evidence they’ve concocted. None of it’s true. None of it!’ Koch hissed. ‘If this allegation leaks out through the guards, I’ll be speaking to our lawyers. It’s bad enough that you seem to be taking this nonsense seriously, but my father’s not around to defend himself.’ He pushed open the passenger door. ‘You should think carefully about how you’re conducting this investigation. Ostara is a powerful organisation.’
‘Is that a threat, Professor Koch?’ McEvoy said evenly.
‘It’s free advice.’ Koch slipped out of the car. ‘I might not have been as successful as my father, but I am his son. I will fight any slander on this family.’ He slammed shut the car door.
‘Shit,’ McEvoy muttered. Another interview that had not gone as planned.
* * *
Athboy’s main street was traffic chaos, cars parked seemingly at random in any available space. The town had managed to keep its small town feel, lots of small, locally owned shops, with an odd assortment of frontages, and no chain stores beyond a couple of corner shop franchises. Further down the street and on the opposite side to where McEvoy was parked were the three units of McElhinney’s department store – an old-style clothing emporium.
He glanced at his watch – 5.15 – and cursed John Joyce. They’d been due to meet Koch’s solicitor at five o’clock, though McEvoy had only just arrived himself and he’d been fortunate to grab a space across the road from the Darley Lodge Hotel. His mobile phone rang and he checked the screen before answering.
‘Kelly?’
‘Do you have a minute?’
‘Yeah, go on. I’m just waiting for Dr John to turn up.’
‘Well, I’ve just got off the phone with Marie Hines; she looks after the old military records held at the Cathal Brugha Barracks in Rathmines. She can find no record of a Frank Koch or Franz Kucken in the Curragh records. She recognises the name, okay, and she knows Frank Kock personally – he’s visited the unit a number of times trying to track down old colleagues – but the records are missing.’
‘What a surprise,’ McEvoy muttered. ‘Jesus Christ.’
‘She can’t remember whether the original record was Koch or Kucken, but she assumes it must have been Koch. She says there are other files missing as well – eight of them. There were only fifty-five German internees, so the gaps are easy to spot. She thinks they all relate to the same hut, but she needs to check that out. And she doesn’t think there are copies elsewhere unless one of the historians working on the files took down the details – there’ve been a number of students in doing theses on the Emergency. It seems that there’s a mini-boom of writing about Ireland during the Second World War at the moment.’
‘Any idea as to how long they’ve been missing?’
‘She’s not certain – could be any time in the last year maybe.’
‘Since our East European friends turned up,’ McEvoy observed. ‘They claim to have copies; you’d better check that out.’
‘I’ll get on it right away. Do you think Albert Koch was a war criminal?’ Stringer asked sceptically.
There was a knock on McEvoy’s passenger window and John Joyce’s round face peered in.
‘I’ve no idea,’ McEvoy continued, holding up his index finger to Joyce. ‘We need someone to go through whatever evidence that couple’s got and to try to make sense of it. Look, I’d better go, Dr John’s finally turned up.’
McEvoy ended the call and levered himself out of his car. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘I couldn’t find anywhere to park. The place is a nightmare. I ended up in behind the back of McElhinney’s. You should go in there by the way. I managed to pick up…’
‘What did the doctor say?’ McEvoy interrupted.
‘He kept me waiting and then talked nonsense. He’s threatened to sue us for harassment.’
‘We’ll counter-sue for negligence,’ McEvoy spat frustrated, dashing across the busy road. ‘Is he living on the same planet as the rest of us?’
&nbs
p; ‘Living on his own, more like. I think he’s a wily old bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing – a natural death, a quiet funeral and plaudits all round.’
‘At Marion D’Arcy’s behest?’
‘At Albert Koch’s is my guess.’
‘So she didn’t pressure him into trying to hush the whole thing up?’
‘He claims not, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t glad of the verdict.’
‘For God’s sake! Right, let’s see what his solicitor’s got to say. If anything.’
* * *
Henry Collier looked to be well past retirement age. He was a short, portly man, bursting out of his green tweed suit, his grey hair combed over a large bald spot. Introductions over, he pointed at two wooden chairs with green leather seats and slid behind a huge mahogany desk free of clutter.
‘So, gentlemen, what can I do for you?’ Collier asked, glancing between McEvoy and Joyce.
McEvoy cleared his throat. ‘Well, it’s clear from our investigation into Dr Koch’s death that someone was searching the premises for something valuable. We think it might have been his will. We were hoping we might be able to see a copy.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Collier said gravely, shaking his head. ‘The will can only be read after the murder investigation is concluded and a conviction secured. Until then it remains confidential.’
‘It might contain important clues as to who the killer might be,’ McEvoy suggested, trying to keep his frustration out of his voice.
‘The killer may have been searching for the will,’ Collier said evenly, ‘but they did not – could not have – found it. I possess the only copies, both lodged in safe deposit boxes. Only myself and Dr Koch knew its contents. What the will contains then is unlikely to be the reason for murder, though finding it might have been the motive. As a result there’s no need for you to view it. Indeed, the contents of the will might prejudice any inquiry into his death and therefore, the outcome of any trial. As such, I’m not prepared to divulge its contents until the case is solved and a conviction secured.’
McEvoy nodded wondering why things were never as simple as they could be. ‘Nonetheless,’ he pressed, ‘the will could help us identify potential suspects. It would, of course, be treated in full confidence and it doesn’t need to leave this office, if necessary.’