‘I . . . uh . . . I should see Maggie.’
Anna stepped back to let him go through, then followed him up the stairs. Maggie was sleeping when they went in.
‘She’s been waking and sleeping all day,’ Anna said, quietly. ‘Last time she woke up she ate a bit of lunch. She seemed to me to be a little better. She wanted to see Tilly. They had a cuddle, Tilly read one of her stories, and Mags went off to sleep again.’
Peter nodded. Maggie did look a little better, to him at least. Her face had more colour, maybe, than the day before. He went over and touched her forehead. She felt warm, human. He kissed her cheek, and she murmured and moved a little.
Tilly was watching television when they went downstairs. Peter smiled at her and she gave him a small wave but didn’t move as Anna led the way into the kitchen, and closed the door behind them. Anna folded her arms and leaned back against the kitchen counter.
‘What’s going on?’
‘I have to make a phone call,’ Peter said. ‘After that, I promise I’ll tell you everything I know.’
She didn’t like that and didn’t particularly try to hide it.
‘Just one thing, Anna. When did Maggie start seeing Barrett?’
‘I . . . Hasn’t he been her doctor for years?’
‘But when did he start coming to the house?’
‘I don’t know. He came to visit about two weeks after Tilly and I moved in at the start of September. Tilly . . . well, she wasn’t talking at the time. The doctor had come to see Maggie, but he had a look at Tilly too.’ She frowned.
‘What?’ Peter asked, confused.
She shrugged. Her expression was unreadable. ‘I didn’t like him much. And we’ve had enough of doctors, Tilly and me.’
‘Okay,’ Peter said. ‘But he had been coming to see Maggie for a while then, at that stage?’
‘I don’t think it had been that long. I said something about Dublin doctors not doing house calls, and Maggie said it was a new thing, but that Barrett was very good to his older patients. She said he looked after all her friends the same way.’
‘How did she seem to you, before and after he came to see her?’
Anna raised her hands helplessly. ‘She has been getting worse over the last few weeks, but she always seemed in good form when she knew he was due to visit. I never noticed anything that made me think he might be hurting her, if that’s what you’re asking.’
Peter nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m going to make a few calls now. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
With Anna in the kitchen and Tilly in the living room, there was nowhere left in the little cottage where Peter could make a private call. He thought about going back outside and sitting in his car, and then remembered that it was crashed at the bottom of the hill. So he sat on the stairs and dialled Des’s number. It rang a few times before Des answered.
‘Peter? Where are you?’ From the noise in the background it sounded as if Des had chosen to ride out the weather in a pub.
‘I’m at Maggie’s. Can you find somewhere quiet? I need to talk to you.’
The background noise got louder for a minute, then there was the sound of a door closing and the noise died away.
‘I’m here,’ Des said.
‘James Madden is dead,’ he said. ‘I never got a chance to tell you yesterday. He was on my old folks list, but he was dead when I got to the house.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Des said. ‘He wasn’t a bad sort.’
‘Yes,’ Peter said. ‘But that’s not the point. Look, I called Doctor Barrett. He came and examined the body and said it was likely a stroke. What he didn’t say is that he had visited James that morning, that he was probably the last person to see him alive.’
‘So what?’
‘The family say that James had shown no signs of illness over the last while. He was in excellent health.’
‘That’s how strokes happen, Peter,’ Des said, with exaggerated patience. ‘They do tend to come out of the blue.’
‘If James Madden was in excellent health, why was Richard Barrett paying him a visit?’
‘I have no idea. But I suspect Madden wanted a private consultation. His daughter-in-law is the biggest talker in the village. Maybe he didn’t want whatever was wrong with him talked about by every idle eejit in the place.’
‘Listen to me, Des. Maggie was in great health until just a few weeks ago. Then Barrett started to pay her house calls at home, and suddenly her health deteriorates to near the point of death, within months. And Barrett was also Miles Lynch’s doctor. He found the bodies, for god’s sake. They’d been dead a week, and the weather was warm. He would have had to have known they were dead. So why did he enter the crime scene to confirm it?’
‘He was in shock,’ Des said. ‘It happens.’
‘Miles Lynch had plans to sell his land,’ Peter said. ‘Carl was furious with him about it. They fought for at least a month about it – I have that from two separate witnesses. But I went to see Miles Lynch’s lawyer, and he said Miles had never discussed a sale with him.’
‘So? Maybe he changed his mind. Where are you going with this?’ Des sounded more irritated that interested.
‘Don’t you think it’s worth looking into, that James Madden and Miles Lynch, both lonely, isolated patients of Richard Barrett, have died in suspicious circumstances?’
‘They fucking haven’t,’ Des said. ‘Miles Lynch was murdered by a gurrier from Dublin and James Madden died of a stroke. The rest of it is pure bloody fantasy. Do you think I wouldn’t know, Peter, if someone in this village was a murderer? You think I wouldn’t have seen that coming from miles away?’
‘I just think . . . Listen, you weren’t there when Barrett came to examine James Madden. There was something off about him. Particularly when he talked about signing the death certificate.’
‘Something off about him?’ Des repeated.
‘Look . . .’
‘No, you look,’ Des said. ‘You’ve got some half-baked notion of a motive for the murder of Miles Lynch. Some sort of land deal gone bad, is that it? Well, what about James Madden? Was he selling his land?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ Peter said. ‘But he did come into money. He sent his family on holiday.’ Peter was deeply regretting the call. He should have done more legwork before bringing Des into things, but he hadn’t expected this degree of hostility. He should have known better.
‘You don’t know. Well, how about doing a bit of bloody legwork before you go off and brand one of the most respected men in this county a murderer? A doctor who has been living here looking after this community for at least twenty years, I’d like to point out.’
‘I’ll talk to the Maddens,’ Peter said. ‘Maybe there’ll be something in James’s house, in his papers, about a sale.’ Peter had his head in his hands, phone pressed to his ear.
‘You will in your shite,’ Des erupted, suddenly roaring down the phone. ‘You will shut your mouth and stop your stupid questioning before you spread rumours the length and breadth of Galway. If you have your way, we’ll be defending a defamation suit by next week.’
Peter pushed his right hand through his hair in frustration. It occurred to him that Des might be drunk. How long had he been in the pub?
‘I’ve explained this poorly,’ he said. ‘I know there’s a lot more work to do, to substantiate all of this.’
‘Substantiate what?’ Des said. ‘You’ve gone on a flight of fancy.’ Des took a deep breath, lowered his voice. ‘Is this about Maggie?’
‘In what way?’ Peter said.
‘I don’t know. Is this your way of denying what’s happening with her?’
‘Jesus, Des. That’s not it.’
‘You know what, Peter? Enough of that shite too. You can call me Sergeant Fisher in the station, and Dad at home. That’s the end of this “Des” business. And let me make one thing very clear. You are not going to make up for your fuck-up in Galway by coming to my town and trying to be
a hero with a bunch of bullshit.’ Des hissed the words, almost spitting them out in another sudden rage. ‘You come to the station tomorrow, prepared to do the work that I assign to you and nothing else, or you can fuck off back to Galway and see how long they keep you. I’d give it a week before you get notice that you’re under criminal investigation. And if I hear one word, if you so much as make a single phone call about this bullshit again, I’ll fire you myself. Have you got that?’ He hung up without another word.
Peter pushed the palms of his hands into his forehead, eyes screwed shut in anger.
‘Christ,’ he said.
‘He didn’t believe you.’
Peter turned to see Anna, hidden in the shadow of the staircase. ‘How long have you been there?’ he said.
‘Long enough. Why didn’t he believe you?’
‘It’s my fault. I hadn’t done the groundwork. And he might be right. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong.’
‘I don’t think you’re wrong,’ Anna said, her small face grim. ‘I never liked Barrett. I was always surprised that Maggie didn’t see what I saw.’
‘Maggie has a pathological need to see the best in people. The only person in the world she hates is my father. She looks at everyone else through rose-tinted glasses.’
‘What will you do now?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ he said.
‘If we could get a different doctor to visit Maggie, to . . . I don’t know, check her blood or something? Maybe we could prove then if he’s been messing with her.’
He stared at her. ‘That’s a bloody brilliant idea.’
Anna gestured helplessly towards the window. ‘But we can’t. The weather.’
‘I’ve got a friend,’ Peter said. ‘She might be able to help.’ He dialled Aoife’s number, felt a great surge of relief when she answered. He quickly filled her in on James Madden’s sudden death and his suspicions about Maggie’s drastic decline. Aoife listened in silence, and didn’t tell him he was mad or paranoid, in denial or trying to save his own skin.
‘Have you got all the medicine she’s been taking?’ Aoife asked. ‘I’m in A&E. I can’t stay on the phone. But put all the meds together, and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.’
Peter filled Anna in, and she gathered Maggie’s various jars of pills, and brought them all into the kitchen. Peter and Anna waited, and, half an hour later, Aoife called back.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m here and Anna’s beside me. We’ve got all the medicine here.’
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I got caught up with a patient.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Okay, first, this man you mentioned, the one who supposedly died of a stroke. It is possible to kill someone and make it look like a stroke, but you would need access to certain medication, and you would also have to ensure that there’s no autopsy. Doctors in small villages like Roundstone are generally dispensing doctors, so I’m going to assume Barrett is too. That means he would have access to, say, a massive dose of insulin, enough to kill an elderly man. And if Barrett treated James Madden within the last month, he can legally sign the death certificate without an autopsy. Which would mean no one would ever look too closely at the body.’
‘That’s exactly what he is doing,’ Peter said. ‘What about Maggie?’
‘Read out her medications to me.’
Anna was sitting across from him, four little jars of tablets in her hands. She handed them across one by one, and Peter read out the names.
‘I don’t know,’ Aoife said. ‘Those are all fairly standard drugs for an elderly person. What about dosages?’
Peter looked at the bottles. ‘There are dosages for all of them written on the labels, except for one. Do you want me to call them out?’
‘Which one doesn’t have a dose?’ Aoife asked.
‘Uh . . . Digoxin,’ Peter said. ‘Ten milligrams.’
‘Put me on speaker,’ Aoife said. She waited for a moment, then continued. ‘Anna, can you hear me?’
‘Yes,’ Anna said, nodding.
‘Did you help Maggie with her meds? Give her her tablets every day?’
‘Yes,’ Anna said again. ‘I didn’t, in the beginning. And then Doctor Barrett asked me to start putting them out for her. He said that he was worried she would forget.’
‘How many of the Digoxin do you give her?’
‘Four tablets,’ Anna said promptly. ‘One tablet, four times a day, always with food.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ Aoife said. Then, ‘Peter, can you take me off speaker again?’
Anna locked eyes with Peter, alarmed, as he picked up the phone.
‘Okay, Aoife. It’s just me.’
‘Peter, that is probably more than double what Maggie should be getting. That sort of dose, it would make her confused and nauseous, she would lose her appetite, and she would probably suffer from heart arrhythmia. Basically, every symptom Maggie has could be explained by Digoxin toxicity.’
Peter felt sick. Anna was watching him anxiously.
‘Okay. What does that mean? Do I need to try to get her to the hospital?’
‘Ideally, yes,’ Aoife said hurriedly. ‘If she were my patient I’d want her on an IV. But given the weather . . . look, if she’s resting comfortably now then it should be safe to keep her at home until the weather clears a bit. But you need to stop all Digoxin and keep a close eye on her. And you should get her in at the first opportunity. She needs to have her potassium checked.’
‘Okay. We can do that,’ Peter said.
‘I’m so sorry, Peter, but I have to go,’ Aoife said. ‘There’s an emergency here. I’ll call you when I can.’ She hung up, and Peter put down the phone.
Anna sank slowly into a chair. ‘I’ve been poisoning her. That’s what she said, isn’t it?’
Peter nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘But that’s what Doctor Barrett told me to give her. I’m absolutely sure. I would never make a mistake like that.’
‘Did he ever write it down for you anywhere?’
She shook her head and her face was very pale.
‘That absolute bastard,’ Peter said. ‘You almost have to admire it. He manages to get rid of Maggie, and he knows the chances are that no one will look too closely, because everyone trusts him. But even if they do . . . say if Maggie were to die and I were to insist on an autopsy, and maybe the autopsy shows she had too much of that stuff in her blood. Well, it’s very easy to lay the blame for that at your door, isn’t it?’
Anna’s lips were bloodless. ‘He set me up.’
Peter turned to her. ‘He tried to set you up. He hasn’t succeeded.’
She turned to the stairs. ‘Maggie . . .’
‘Aoife thinks she’ll be all right,’ Peter said. ‘We’ll get her to the hospital as soon as the weather clears. But she should be okay.’
Anna lowered her head and pressed the heels of her hands into her closed eyes. ‘I could have killed her,’ she said. ‘I could have killed her.’
‘You didn’t do anything wrong, Anna. There’s no possible way you could have known what he was doing.’ He reached out and gently pulled her hands away from her face. She let him.
‘What are we going to do?’ she said.
‘We keep him away from Maggie,’ Peter said, thinking out loud. ‘Keep him out of the house. And I’ll . . . I’ll call the Maddens. Ask them to search the house for anything that would show that James was planning on selling his land.’
The Maddens would start asking questions, of course, and those questions would set Des off if he heard about them. It looked like his time as a garda in Roundstone was drawing to a close, without the help of Cormac Reilly. Peter picked up his phone to make the call, was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. He glanced at his watch. It was six-thirty p.m. already and they were all but snowed in. Maybe a neighbour? Or Des coming to shout at him in person. Or Barrett, come back for another go.
‘Are you expecting anyone?’ he asked Anna.
She shook her head.
Peter
went to the door, opened it. Cormac Reilly was standing on the doorstep, as if Peter had summoned him by the thought. Reilly looked more tired than Peter had ever seen him. There was a snow-covered Range Rover parked in the driveway.
‘How did you get here?’
Cormac nodded towards the vehicle. ‘I paid an extortionate amount of money for snow chains,’ he said. ‘And the girl at the local shop seemed to think I would find you here. Can I come in?’
Peter led him inside. Anna was still in the kitchen. Tilly was sitting at the kitchen table. She had a slice of bread and an open jar of Nutella – from the look of her face she’d given up on the idea of making a sandwich, and had taken to eating the Nutella straight from the jar.
‘This is Anna Collins. And her daughter, Tilly. Anna, this is my old boss, Detective Sergeant Cormac Reilly.’
‘Not for much longer, I’m afraid,’ Cormac said. He offered his hand to Anna, gave her a weary smile. ‘Hi Tilly,’ he said softly to the small girl, who looked back at him gravely, chocolate all around her mouth. Then to Peter, ‘I have a lot to tell you, and I’m afraid very little of it is good.’
Peter nodded. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘I’ll get you a cup of tea.’
Anna left the room taking Tilly with her when it was clear that Cormac wanted to speak with Peter alone, closing the door gently behind her.
They sat at the kitchen table and Cormac started to talk. He talked about the task force, about garda corruption and drug-running, about Brian Murphy and the disastrous outcome of the raid. And while he talked, Peter thought about Des, about what he had said about Cormac’s paranoia, his burning of bridges. After a while, Peter got up and searched in the fridge. Maggie, he knew, liked the occasional beer. He found a couple of bottles buried at the back of the bottom shelf, handed one to Cormac.
‘I like this house,’ Cormac said. ‘It reminds me a bit of my parents’ place.’
He seemed different. Very tired, yes, but something else. Not defeated, exactly. More like someone who had been fighting something for a long time and had chosen to let it go.
‘So where does all this leave you?’ Peter asked.
‘I’ll be fired,’ Cormac said. ‘Just as soon as they get around to it. I broke all the rules when I took the thing to Matt. I’ve also been sticking my nose into a few other things that weren’t strictly my business. I think I’m about to pay the price for it all.’ Cormac shook his head. ‘I won’t be able to help you, Peter. I’m very sorry.’
The Good Turn Page 29