by Anna Sweeney
They made their way down the hill warily. As they reached the last bend before Ambrose’s house, Ronan went ahead to check for enemies. Nessa crossed the roadway and watched from beside a rocky outcrop. She saw him stop suddenly, as if rooted to the spot. Then she heard a shout and saw two figures step out from Ambrose’s gateway. One of them, a stocky bearded man, pointed a camera.
Nessa tried to signal to Ronan without drawing attention to herself. If she ran down to snatch her son from their gaze, she would be trapped too, and she did not want to provide the photographer with a dramatic image of mother and son fleeing uphill.
She scrambled onto the rocky hillock behind her just as Ronan took flight. She called out to him, and then found herself tumbling into a damp field for a second time. She cursed herself for not staying safely away from all public roads. Ronan soon landed beside her and they knelt in the undergrowth, almost crying out when they got stung by a swathe of nettles.
They could hear voices on the roadway.
‘Damn, I’m sure that was the Latif boy from Cnoc Meala. I tried to shoot him but I’ll have to check the pics.’
‘I didn’t see who called out to him.’
‘I think we should head over to the Latif property and suss it out. We’ve had enough of the old geezer at the gate, and with any luck, we’ll catch the boy on his way back. We could do with something meaty …’
Nessa wished she could cover Ronan’s ears as they stayed hidden in the field. She did not know how to explain to him why they had to run away. But she was sure of one thing – she would have to arrange for him to leave Beara and stay with friends elsewhere for a few days at least. She had seen the mix of excitement and genuine fear in his expression when he scrambled to join her in the undergrowth. Whether she and Sal could leave too was a different decision, and she even wondered about hiring a private security firm to protect Cnoc Meala from intruders. But it would be a relief to get Ronan out of harm’s way. Then she could find time to think properly about the hurricane that had brought havoc to their lives since Thursday.
She stood up when the voices nearby died away. Her jeans were soaked below the knees, as were Ronan’s. She whispered to him that they could get out of the field at a gate further along, onto a minor road that ran parallel to the coast road. Darina’s house and studio were only five minutes along that byroad, and their best chance was to ask her for a lift home, out of sight in the back of her van. Otherwise, they would have to pick their way across fields and thickets, like fugitives wrongly accused of a crime they had not committed.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, you startled me!’ Darina’s face appeared out of the gloom of the henhouse at the back of her place. Nessa had put her head around the door when there was no response at the house or the barn she used as a studio.
‘No, it’s my fault, Darina, I’m so jumpy myself that I forgot you might be the same. Have you been hassled by the media crowd yet?’
Darina shood away a hen pecking at Nessa’s feet. ‘Not here at the house, no, but I was down in the village earlier and I was stopped by somebody who wanted to know whether I knew you, and had ever met Oscar, and what I had to say about it all.’
Nessa looked around to check on Ronan, who had been very quiet on the way to Darina’s. He was pulling flowers from the long fuchsia hedge that separated the studio and henhouse, and trying to suck the sweet juice from the purple-red bells.
‘To be honest, I said I didn’t really know you,’ said Darina. ‘I was afraid I’d be pestered with questions, you see, and it seemed the best way.’
‘I think you were absolutely right to say as little as possible.’
‘It all seems unreal, doesn’t it? Have you been to Derryowen today and seen those monster trucks with satellite equipment on top? The place looks like a film set or something.’
‘So it’s true that there’s a big media presence?’
‘The place is swarming, Nessa, and I’ve heard that some of our neighbours are even refusing to open their doors. I’d just never imagined this sort of thing in Beara.’ Darina glanced over at Ronan, who was losing interest in the fuchsia. She handed him a hosepipe and told him to continue what she had been doing, spraying water into the henhouse to clean it. ‘I was talking to my cousin Marcus yesterday evening and he said he saw gawkers just driving up and down, satisfying their curiosity—’
‘Marcus O’Sullivan, did you say? He’s your cousin? The same lad Sal is so keen on?’
‘Did you not realise, Nessa?’ Darina chewed on her lips as she regarded her. ‘But of course that was the reason … The party we went to the other night, Sal wanted me to get us both invited, that’s how it came about, you see. I mean, I wouldn’t have bothered on my own account, because I’m not into his crowd.’
Nessa felt a splash of water on her feet as Ronan whirled the hosepipe towards the hens scratching on the open ground. She tried to steady her own thoughts as she steered him away. She could see that Darina was wired up about the media invasion of the area, and she did not want to pressurise her to tell tales on Sal.
‘You were very good to go to the party as a favour to Sal,’ she said gently. ‘I hope she appreciates it.’
‘Oh, I’m sure, yes …’ Darina looked uncomfortable, pulling on a lock of hair that fell onto her face. ‘Sal is mad about him, Nessa, but I don’t know …’
‘I hope she hasn’t been underhand, Darina, or given you any reason to be angry?’
‘Oh no, I’m not angry at her, it’s nothing like that.’ Darina paused again and glanced over at Ronan, who was still slopping water in all directions. She led him down the path firmly and told him he could fill an empty wheelie bin which she pulled out from beside the hedge. When she returned, she had clearly decided to say her piece.
‘I’m fond of Marcus, Nessa, or at least, I used to be fond of him when we were younger. But ever since he came home from Spain, I don’t know …’ She spoke rapidly, her eyes avoiding Nessa’s. ‘I think Marcus just suits himself, do you know what I mean? And the thing that gets me is, I saw him with another woman recently, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I was going for a swim and his car was parked by the sea, and there he was, draped over a woman is the only way I can describe it.’
‘That was before the party, I presume?’
‘Yes, but the same kind of thing happened another time recently – and I’m not even sure it was the same woman each time. So I wouldn’t like to bet that he’ll devote himself one hundred per cent to Sal, that’s what worries me. But please, Nessa, don’t tell her that I said so.’
NINE
Monday 21 September, 3.00 p.m.
Fergus Malden was nervous, his eyes flitting from Redmond to Inspector O’Kelleher. As several witnesses had already agreed, Oscar Malden had passed little of his self-belief on to Fergus – if anything, Oscar’s surfeit of confidence might have overwhelmed his son.
The gardai were on their fourth interview with him. Superintendent Devane had spoken to him the first time, soon after Oscar’s body was found, and O’Kelleher had gone over the same painful material twice on Sunday, along with another senior colleague. This was Redmond’s first opportunity to see him close up. It was hard on Fergus to be scrutinised so often, of course, but he must have known Oscar better than almost anyone else, and in addition, a heavy shadow of suspicion inevitably fell on the next of kin of a murder victim. The gardai had to check whether he varied his story from one interview to the next, as well as digging for new details.
O’Kelleher spoke in his quiet, unhurried way. ‘How would you describe your father as a person, then?’
Fergus examined his hands, another of his nervous habits, before he put together his answer.
‘I suppose he was …’ His eyes shifted around the room. ‘My father was … He was friendly and cheerful, just as the newspapers have been saying. He was a strong person, as I’m sure you know, and he believed he could …’ Fergus looked at his hands again and eventually settled on an answer. ‘He always belie
ved he could achieve whatever he set out to do, that’s what I mean.’
‘That was certainly his reputation in business.’ O’Kelleher’s voice sounded softer than ever. ‘But on a personal level, is it possible that he antagonised other people in his zeal to get what he wanted?’
‘Antagonised? Well, no, that’s not the word … No, it’s not true that he antagonised me, but if you’re asking …’ Fergus stopped and looked over at the small camera recording each interview. ‘But certainly in business matters, he wasn’t afraid to antagonise people, if he felt he needed to.’
‘A few of the guests at Cnoc Meala told us they sensed some tension between you and your father.’ This was Redmond’s first attempt at a question. ‘If so, what was the cause of that tension?’
‘I’m not sure … That is, I couldn’t say there was anything like that, except maybe …’
‘Except what?’
‘I don’t mean anything big, just that …’ As Redmond watched Fergus, he hoped he hadn’t interjected his supplementary question too quickly. It was important to allow witnesses enough time to add to their initial response, without leading them on. Redmond was very conscious of the inspector listening to him.
‘I’m sure you understand,’ Fergus continued with more assurance, ‘that it’s not always easy to talk to your parent when you’re grown up. That’s all I meant.’
‘Well, perhaps that was the reason you needed to escape from your father’s company on occasions? Fellow guests have also said you went out for a solitary walk on a few of the evenings at Cnoc Meala, is that so?’
‘Yes, but … I didn’t go out that much, and anyway I wasn’t trying to escape, as you put it. I just like to be on my own now and then, that’s all.’
‘Did you meet up with anyone else while you were out on these walks? Another guest from the house, for example?’
‘I’m sure I talked to whoever I met on my way, but …’ Fergus started fidgeting again, picking at the cuffs of his shirtsleeves. ‘I can’t remember exactly … I met a few people when I went out, but I’d no arrangement to meet anyone, if that’s what you mean.’
‘And suppose it’s true that Oscar was attracted to a woman he met on holiday here?’ Redmond tried hard to hold onto Fergus’s eyes. It was difficult to listen fully to his answers while thinking of the most productive follow-up questions. ‘I wonder did you feel obliged to stay out of his way for that reason?’
‘What do you mean, obliged …?’
‘Did your father make it clear that he wanted some private space too?’
‘No, that wouldn’t be … My father and I didn’t really talk about things like that.’
‘I think it’s fair to say that he had a certain reputation, all the same? A reputation for attracting women, that is to say? It’s been reported over the years that he had a series of relationships since his separation from your mother?’
Fergus looked out the window and Redmond tried not to step into the silence as he had earlier. This must be the art of questioning, he thought, to recognize when to make a reluctant witness sweat, or to give him just enough breathing space to utter the unsayable sentences.
After a long moment, he decided to add to the pressure on Fergus. ‘We’ve heard from colleagues of Oscar’s that at least two of his women employees left their jobs without notice, following rumours of a sexual relationship in each case. So anything you can tell us about his patterns of behaviour, or about particular relationships, could be crucial to the investigation.’
‘We understand this is difficult for you,’ said O’Kelleher after another pause. ‘But we need to know who had cause to be angry with Oscar, or jealous of him, or to have some other motive to kill him.’
Fergus looked from one to the other. ‘I know all that and I’m trying to think of what I can tell you. Really, it’s just that … I never asked him about, you know, other women in his life. I preferred not to know the details, can’t you understand that?’
Redmond tried not to feel impatient. However difficult it was for Fergus, at least he had not insisted on the presence of a solicitor throughout his interviews. But the gardai had a difficult job to do too.
‘As you know,’ he continued, ‘some people believe Oscar became involved with Maureen Scurlock during the week, even though she was on holiday with her husband Dominic. Do you believe it’s true that they became involved? And if so, would your father have set out to get what he wanted, in that determined way you described earlier?’
‘That wasn’t what I said exactly.’ Fergus reddened but then he spoke more firmly than before. ‘No, you see I don’t believe my father was attracted to her at all. I think he played a sort of game with some women … Women like Maureen, for example.’
‘What game was that? And what do you mean, women like Maureen?’
‘She wasn’t the sort of person …’ Fergus was still blushing. ‘I’m sure Maureen Scurlock is a fine person. But I think my father preferred a different type of woman … I suppose I mean a more sophisticated woman, and probably younger too.’
‘OK. And the game?’
‘Maybe game is the wrong word. All I’m saying is that my father liked to flirt. He liked the fact … He liked to be reminded that he was attractive to women, but that doesn’t mean he had a relationship with every woman he looked at twice.’
‘Was Dominic wrong, then, when he claimed that Oscar had assaulted Maureen?’
‘I don’t know.’ Fergus hesitated and then found his firm voice again. ‘No, it just doesn’t fit, I don’t believe it was my father who attacked her. Dominic must be wrong about that.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I can’t be completely sure, but … My father wouldn’t do something like that, down a country laneway, losing control of himself. No, I just can’t believe it.’
O’Kelleher spoke softly, but with a steely undertone. ‘Or maybe Dominic knows his wife rather better than you knew your father? Maybe you’re the person who’s wrong about what happened?’
The afternoon wore on amid further questions and faltering answers. The air in the room grew heavier. Redmond began to wonder whether Fergus was putting on an act, hoping that the more he hesitated and fidgeted, the less the screws would be turned in the interview. On the other hand, Fergus had every reason to be dazed – he was young, shy and dealing with a traumatic shock all on his own. There was also a kind of stiffness or formality about him, as shown by his constant use of the word ‘father’ rather than ‘dad’. Redmond could not decide what to make of him.
He jotted notes and questions on his laptop as the interview proceeded. How come Fergus was so sure about Maureen, if he had always kept his distance from Oscar’s relationships with women? When he was questioned about his solitary walks, had he reacted uneasily? And earlier in the interview, why the assertion that his father had not antagonised him, when he had actually been asked about other people?
Fergus told them that he was very disappointed when Oscar decided on Wednesday night to return home to Tipperary the next day. Fergus had booked the holiday in Beara in the first place, as a surprise present for his father. But he repeated several times that they did not have a row about Oscar’s decision. When he made up his mind, he rarely changed it. Indeed, Fergus said that his father was prone to impatience, and could suddenly lose interest in a place or in a group of people.
O’Kelleher pushed him to explain why he had chosen Beara in particular. Had he or Oscar any previous link to the area, or with others in the Cnoc Meala group? Were there any concerns in advance about the likely success of the holiday? But Fergus stuck doggedly to the answers he had given to the same questions already. He found the Cnoc Meala website by chance. They knew none of the other guests in advance. He had been hopeful that they would both enjoy the week.
He explained that he had just got a job in Australia, and booked the holiday as a leaving present, which he told his father about just a few weeks beforehand. It seemed a good idea to spend some time t
ogether before he, Fergus, departed to the far side of the world. Oscar liked to keep fit, and he thought he would enjoy a walking holiday. And being in a group would be easier for the two of them.
He relaxed a fraction while answering such general questions. He had never planned to work in his father’s business, he said, but there was no conflict between them as a result. He had qualified as an engineer, but he was not particularly interested in electronic gates or communication systems that showed you who was ringing your doorbell. His new job in Australia was in solar energy research, developing giant mirrors placed strategically in desert locations.
‘I worked with him. I spent a few months working with my father. That was the year before last.’ Fergus examined his thumbnail for a moment. ‘But I couldn’t …’
‘You couldn’t what?’ Another half-sentence left dangling in the air.
‘My father had a strong personality, as you know by now. I couldn’t … I wanted to stand on my own feet, so I was really looking forward to the new job in Australia. But now I don’t know …’
It was impossible to follow up on every unfinished sentence.
There was a shortage of solar gain in Derryowen that afternoon, Redmond thought, as he looked out the window at a low sky over a grey sea. Plenty of energy in the waves, no doubt, as they beat incessantly on the shore, but he would go out of his mind if he stared at them too long. The gardai had been given the use of an empty house for some of the Derryowen interviews, while others continued in Castletownbere and Bantry stations.
Redmond had noted the times of various events on the day of Oscar’s disappearance, and Inspector O’Kelleher went over the details with Fergus.
10.00 a.m.: Oscar left Cnoc Meala; bought a newspaper in O’Donovan’s shop; had a conversation outside the shop with Darina O’Sullivan and said he might call in to her studio a while later, but did not do so.