by Rob Kitchin
‘He aided the process of natural selection?’ McEvoy said sarcastically.
‘You can mock, Superintendent, but that’s exactly what he did. We all do. What do you think you’re doing when you enforce the law? You take the weak, the criminals, the low-lives and you lock them away. They sink to the bottom. The strong forge ahead. It’s the same difference.’
‘I don’t think so,’ McEvoy said uncertainly. What he did was not about evolution and survival of the fittest, it was about maintaining order. It was just that maintaining order often benefited some groups at the expense of others.
* * *
Cathal Galligan was lying in wait at Athboy garda station. ‘Ah, the invisible detective,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Remember me? I’m trying to do the media work for this case. Only nobody’s telling me what’s going on.’
‘You need to talk to Barry Traynor,’ McEvoy suggested, referring to the press liaison officer, brushing past Galligan.
‘That slick bastard’s useless. He’s been put out to seed. I need to know what the hell’s going on. I’m being made to look like an idiot because I can’t answer half the questions being asked.’
‘What makes you think anyone else would be able to answer them?’ McEvoy stated, stopping outside a blue door. ‘If we had all the answers, Koch’s murder would be solved and the killer in custody. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to conduct an interview.’ McEvoy started to enter an office in which James Kinneally and a young guard in uniform were sitting.
‘The rumour going round is that Koch was a war criminal,’ Galligan said. ‘He worked in Auschwitz. A number of journalists are sniffing about. It’s going to be all over the papers tomorrow; might even make tonight’s news.’
McEvoy let the door close again, remaining in the corridor. ‘I hope to God you weren’t the source of that rumour, Galligan. The accusation has been levelled alright, but the evidence to substantiate it is still being examined. If the papers publish, then Ostara’s lawyers will be all over them like a rash. And all over us as well. Which means all over you.’
‘Don’t try and pin the leak in your team on me, McEvoy,’ Galligan hissed. ‘I’m the messenger here, not the Trojan horse.’
‘If you want to know what the progress is, I’ll tell you. We are following several lines of inquiry,’ he said in a South Dublin accent, mimicking a news reader. ‘As yet, we do not have a main suspect. We want to thank people for their continued help. Now, I’m busy.’ He pushed open the door and entered the office, leaving Galligan fuming in the corridor.
‘Sorry to keep you, Mr Kinneally,’ he said, sitting down on the opposite side of the desk.
‘Am I under arrest, Superintendent?’ Kinneally asked calmly, though his clenched hands revealed his nervousness.
‘Not yet. I need to ask you some more questions.’
‘What do you mean, “not yet”? I didn’t kill Albert Koch.’
‘I know you didn’t. That doesn’t mean you haven’t committed an offence though, does it?’
‘I don’t know what this is about,’ Kinneally said, shifting uneasily in his seat, ‘but I want to leave. I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘Except lie. You weren’t with Marion D’Arcy on Saturday night. You did what you originally said. You stayed the night in your apartment in Dublin. By yourself. We have the CCTV footage from the security tapes. You arrived near to midnight and you didn’t leave again until eight o’clock the next morning. Nobody else came or went either prior to your arrival or afterwards. Deliberately misleading an investigation carries a jail sentence.’
‘Oh, shit,’ Kinneally whispered to himself. ‘I want my lawyer.’
‘Oh shit, is right. If it turns out that Marion D’Arcy killed her father then you’re in big trouble. And if she’s relying on you for an alibi then she has a lot of explaining to do.’
‘Marion D’Arcy didn’t kill her father! I knew this was a bad idea. I told Mark… I mean, I thought it would… I thought…’ he trailed off.
‘You didn’t think; that was the problem. You wanted to help Mrs D’Arcy, but instead you’ve landed her right in it. Even if she’s innocent we’re now going to have to put her through the wringer – see if your lie was needed because she herself had lied. I take it this was Mark D’Arcy’s idea?’
‘I’m not saying another word without my lawyer. And, unless you’re going to charge me, I’m leaving,’ Kinneally said, starting to rise.
‘Oh, don’t worry, we’re going to charge you. If nothing else, we’ll do you for wasting police time. I guess you’ll be wanting to make a phone call,’ McEvoy said standing and heading for the door. ‘You might as well make yourself comfortable; you’ll no doubt be here for a few more hours yet.’
* * *
‘Hi, it’s me. How’re things?’ Once again, he was sitting in his car outside Ballyglass GAA club. The sky had already faded to night, the wind still occasionally gusting, large droplets hammering onto the roof from the leafless trees. Off in the distance an orange glow revealed the location of Athboy.
‘Not too bad,’ Caroline said. ‘What’s the story?’
‘The story is we’re getting somewhere, but I’ve no idea where. It’s been another long day, running from one thing to another. I’m going to hold a team meeting and try and head home. I’d thought I’d pick Gemma up and then head back to the hospital to see Hannah Fallon.’
‘You could always just come here, have some dinner, and relax for a bit. Have a beer and unwind. Jimmy’s hoping to watch a match later on Sky. Man U and someone. Or take Gemma out for a meal or to the cinema or something.’
‘I really need to go and see Hannah. She’s a good friend. I know it’s a shitty double-up, but I think Gemma will want to see her again as well.’
‘You’re going to need to find time for family, Colm. We can fill the gap, but it’s not the same.’
‘I know, I know. But what can I do? I’m up to my neck in cases. The good news is, I’ve sorted out Friday. I’m taking the day off.’
‘Well, that’s a start. Look, Gemma’s hovering here. I’ll pass you over.’
‘Dad?’
‘Hiya, pumpkin. How’re things?’
‘Okay. Miss Cassidy wants me to appear in the school play. It’s a musical. Annie, or something. I told her I’d think about it. She said she’d be having a word with you.’
‘I take it you’re not too keen on the idea?’
‘Acting’s for freaks. Doing the sound or lighting though would be pretty cool. They have this massive mixing deck. You can do some really spooky stuff with it. Robbie Travis did it last year and he says it’s amazing. He said I can be his assistant, if I want.’
‘If I talk to her, I’ll tell her. Look, I’m going—’
‘I was hoping, you know, that you might be a little more proactive?’ Gemma interrupted. ‘I really want to do this. It’ll be well smart. I definitely don’t want to be prancing about with all the posers on stage.’
‘Right,’ McEvoy said uncertainly, wondering where Robbie Travis fitted into his daughter’s ambitions. Gemma was twelve going on eighteen, except in one respect – she hadn’t yet gone through her teenage girl phase. He knew that at any point soon his daughter would transform into a young adult and all that would bring – hormones, rebellion, temper tantrums, make-up, clothes, smoking, binge drinking, drugs and boys. He’d broken up enough teenage parties, and arrested enough youths turned delinquent, to know how things could turn out.
‘I’ll talk to Miss Cassidy tomorrow,’ he conceded. ‘I’m thinking of going to try see Hannah again tonight. Do you want to come?’
‘Only if you’re not going looking like a scarecrow this time.’
‘I’ll make sure I’m presentable. I’m not sure what time I’ll be back, but no later than seven thirty, okay?’
‘I’ll be ready. You are looking after yourself, aren’t you, Dad? You’re eating and drinking?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ McEvoy lied, having missed lunch yet a
gain. ‘I’m fine. Look, I’ve got to go. Be good and I’ll see you later.’ McEvoy ended the call. Every time he spoke to his daughter it always ended with him feeling guilty. He rested his head against the steering wheel and tried to shift his mind back to the case. He’d need to ask Kelly Stringer to track down Miss Cassidy’s number.
His mobile phone rang. ‘Jenny?’
‘They’re both sticking to their story. She was shopping in Caher, he was working in Bansha. She’s one cool bitch. Just answered the questions as if I was asking her about what she had for her dinner – absolutely no emotion. I’m beginning to wonder whether she did it and not the husband.’
‘And what’s your evidence other than the phone records?’ McEvoy asked.
‘Nothing, beyond the fact that she was Brian O’Neill’s mistress. Her phone records place her in the vicinity of Kylie’s house at the time of the murder and she had a strong motive.’
‘It’s all circumstantial, Jenny. Keep working at her. I’ll be the bad cop. Tell her that your superiors want to charge her with first degree murder. She might serve up O’Neill to save herself. Try the same with O’Neill.’
‘I’ll give it a go, but I’m not promising anything.’
‘And get onto Caher garda station and check out her shopping story. If she was there someone must have seen her.’
* * *
‘Right, okay, let’s make a start,’ McEvoy said to the group of guards assembled in the incident room. ‘Come on, let’s settle down.’ He waited for the room to quieten, scanning across the tired looking-faces, Galligan’s scowling back.
‘Right, I’m going to keep this short and sweet. You’re all probably aware we now have a bit of momentum behind this case. The problem is that it all focuses on Albert Koch’s life history, not his killer. The history’s important, but we need to keep a focus on the murder itself. Someone was searching the house. Koch’s past might provide a motive for whoever killed him, and the hanging noose tells us that whoever killed him knew something about the history of The White Gallows, but it doesn’t necessarily tell us who that person might be.
‘I want the alibi of everyone who came into contact with Koch in the two weeks before he died checked and double-checked. We’ve already had one person’s alibi unravel. Three other’s are looking shaky,’ he said referring to the East European couple and Marion D’Arcy. ‘How solid is everybody else’s? I want people really pressed on this. If there are other witnesses, I want their stories corroborated. John, you’re to take charge of that, okay?’
He carried on without waiting for an answer. ‘Tom, George, if there is a secret compartment or room in Koch’s house then I need you to find it. Draft in as many local hands as needed.
‘Also a reminder. This case is difficult enough without any of its details being leaked to the media. Koch’s life was surrounded by rumours, some of which might be true, others not; I don’t want to see any of them printed in the papers. Or if they are, then they better not say, “According to a Garda source.” The last thing we need is a slander case being taken against us. And believe me, Ostara will do it if they can.
‘Anyone got anything they want to add?’
The room stayed silent.
‘Right, well you all know what to do.’ McEvoy glanced at his watch and grimaced. If he left in the next fifteen minutes or so, he should be able to drop in on the team in Trim and make it back to Finglas in time to pick up Gemma, assuming the traffic was free-flowing, which was a dangerous assumption.
Kelly Stringer sidled up next to him. ‘We’ve managed to track down Marion D’Arcy. She says if you want to talk to her, then she’ll meet you at her home. If you want to talk elsewhere, then you’ll have to arrest her first and she’ll want her lawyer present.’
McEvoy glanced at his watch again. ‘Sugar,’ he muttered, then more clearly, ‘Tell her I’ll be out to her shortly.’
* * *
Marion D’Arcy had the front door open before he had pulled to a stop. She was wearing a dark brown trouser suit over a cream blouse, a large amber pendent lying high on her chest. Her make-up was professionally applied, her fingernails copper brown. Her blonde hair had been re-dyed, covering up her grey roots.
‘This is harassment, Superintendent,’ she said as he rounded his car. ‘I’m being harassed by you and I’m being harassed by the press. My father’s died and I’m being hounded by imbeciles and blood-sucking leeches.’
‘I’m sorry if it comes across that way, Mrs D’Arcy,’ McEvoy said with little sympathy, ‘but I’m afraid I need to ask you some more questions.’
‘Down at the police station!’ she snapped, referring to Stringer’s original request. ‘Am I now a prime suspect?’
‘Not as such,’ McEvoy conceded. ‘Can we go inside?’
Marion D’Arcy opened the door wider and ushered McEvoy into the hall. He followed her into the living room and sat on the arm of a sofa.
‘Now, what’s this about?’ Marion D’Arcy asked curtly, glancing at her watch, letting him know she was being little more than courteous.
‘I need to check your alibi for Saturday night.’
‘I’ve already told you, I was here all night,’ she replied testily.
‘Alone?’
‘Yes, alone. My husband was away in France.’
‘So you weren’t with James Kinneally?’
‘No. I mean, yes. I was with him until around ten o’clock, and then he left.’
‘And where did he go?’
‘Home, I presume. You’d need to ask him, Superintendent. I’m not his keeper.’
‘But you are his lover?’
‘What the… I… I think you should leave,’ D’Arcy said haughtily, momentarily rattled. ‘I’ve told you where I was that evening. I was here by myself. And no, I don’t have any proof!’
‘Given you haven’t denied it, I’ll take that as a yes then,’ McEvoy said, staying put.
‘You can take it any fucking way you want, Superintendent,’ she said, losing her cool. ‘You are meant to be investigating my father’s death, not prying into my life.’
‘Can you think of any reason why James Kinneally would state that he spent Saturday night here with you?’ McEvoy asked, ignoring her ire.
‘What?’ she snapped, her brow furrowing, trying to fathom Kinneally’s lie. ‘He said that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then he was lying! As I’ve told you, he left around ten o’clock.’
‘Why would he say he was with you when he wasn’t?’
‘Again, you’d need to ask him. All I can tell you is that he’s lying.’
‘But why would he do that?’ McEvoy pressed. ‘Unless he either needed an alibi himself or he wanted to help protect someone who didn’t have an alibi.’
‘What are you suggesting? That James killed my father?’ Marion said without emotion.
‘It’s a possibility. If he wasn’t with you, where was he?’
‘I’ve no idea, but I don’t believe for a minute that he killed my father. He respected him greatly. He worked for him for years.’
‘Well, the alternative is that he was supplying you with a false alibi. The question is why? Especially given you are denying his alibi and your alibi can’t be verified.’
‘Well, he… well, he obviously wanted to try and protect me,’ she suggested uncertainly. ‘Perhaps he wanted to try and stop you harassing me? And let’s face it, that’s what this is. Are you satisfied now?’
‘Not really,’ McEvoy said shaking his head and shifting position. ‘I have one false alibi, one that can’t be verified, and two supposed lovers that don’t really seem that in love. You haven’t once asked how he is or what’s happening to him.’
‘Our relationship is none of your business, Superintendent. And it’s none of anybody else’s either,’ she said, warning him to keep the information to himself. ‘I’d like you to leave now.’
‘He’s being held at Athboy garda station on charges of seeking to mislead an
investigation and wasting police time,’ McEvoy said without moving.
‘He’s what? You can’t do that!’
‘It’s called the law, Mrs D’Arcy, as you well know. What was he, your insurance policy? One way or another you’d get your hands on Ostara?’
‘That’s it. Out!’ Marion D’Arcy demanded. ‘Go on, get out! I’m not answering any more of your questions. If you want to speak to me again, you’ll have to speak to my lawyer.’
Reluctantly, McEvoy slid off the arm of the sofa and headed for the door. Once again he’d handled Marion D’Arcy poorly, reacting to her prickly personality and inciting her further. One thing was clear though – she didn’t have an alibi for the night her father died.
He turned at the threshold. ‘By the way,’ he said, ‘I’ve spoken to the pathologist. She’s now happy to release your father’s body for burial. If you tell me the name of your undertaker, we’ll arrange for him to be picked up and transferred to their premises.’
* * *
He’d been thirty-five minutes late picking up Gemma from his sister’s house. The meeting in Trim had been quick but unproductive, with no progress reported. However, the low cloud cover, infrequent street lighting, and wet, twisting and potholed roads had slowed his progress. An accident on the M50 had further delayed their progress back towards Blanchardstown and James Connolly Hospital. It had at least given them time to catch up on things and swap small talk about school and friends.
His mobile phone rang and he reluctantly answered it using the hands-free system.
‘McEvoy.’
‘Colm, what the fuck is going on!’ Bishop snapped.
‘I’m driving to see Hannah with Gemma.’
‘I don’t give a fuck what you’re doing now, what the fuck’s happening with the Koch case!’
‘Can you tone down your language please, sir, I have you on hands-free,’ McEvoy reasoned.
‘We use fuck all the time at school,’ Gemma said. ‘I’m not a child.’
‘I don’t care,’ McEvoy said. ‘Anyone else swears and I’m ending this call.’