The Lazarus Bell, an Irish Murder Mystery

by Patrick Dunne

  The rioters were reassembling, converging on the Gardaí, starting another chant.

  ‘Foreigners – out! Blacks – out! Spongers – out! Ireland for the Irish!’

  The ambulance accelerated through the gates. The crowd ran at the Gardaí as my man dragged me to the entrance and shouted to a hospital security guard to allow me in. As he let me go, I thanked him. He turned to join his colleagues, but before he could shove down his visor a full beer can lobbed from the crowd plummeted into his face.

  He staggered back, blood from a rip on his cheek dripping onto the ground. I went to assist him, but he waved me away. ‘Go! Go!’ he shouted, slumping to one knee, dropping his riot shield and starting to remove his helmet.

  The electronic gates had been stalled, leaving me just enough room to squeeze through. A man in a striped tracksuit and white trainers materialised in front of me, wielding a hurley stick. His eyes were glazed and bloodshot, his face a white mask of rage. I tried to run past him, but he crouched down to block my progress with the hurley. We recognised each other. It was Kevin Bolton. He bared his teeth in a grimace of hate, then, raising the hurley like an axe, charged at me.

  I clamped my hands on my head and turned away from him. I saw a blur of legs running past me and heard the whack of the hurley on a riot shield. I turned to see someone ramming Bolton against the wall with the injured Garda’s shield. ‘C’mon,’ he shouted, flinging the shield away and herding me to the gates, standing guard while I wriggled sideways through the narrow opening, then scrambling through himself.

  Once inside, my rescuer bent over, resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. I recognised the thatch of blond hair. It was Peter Groot.

  The gates closed tight. I took the opportunity to dilute my adrenaline overload with some deep breathing.

  The security guard emerged from his hut. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help you there,’ he said to me. ‘It’s my job to control the gates.’ He surveyed the scene outside the entrance. ‘Jesus, some of those people are right animals.’

  ‘We thought it had blown over,’ said Groot, upright again, hands on hips. ‘But when that ambulance arrived, we could hear the uproar from the canteen. I said I’d come down and take a look just in case you were trying to get in.’

  ‘What happened earlier?’

  ‘After this black guy was admitted coughing up blood a few hours ago, that crowd showed up at the entrance,’ said the guard. ‘They wanted him kicked out of the hospital and deported. A doctor with a beard, a foreign guy, came down and tried to persuade them to go home. They went apeshit, calling him names, shouting at him to leave the country. Then someone threw a bottle. The doc had to run back inside, but I got the gates closed just in time. It all died down for a while, until that ambulance arrived – with a woman in labour inside, for God’s sake. They forced the driver to tell them her nationality. I think she’s Polish—’

  ‘Watch out!’ Groot pulled me on past the security barrier as a salvo of stones and bottles sailed over the gates.

  The guard ducked inside his hut.

  ‘Good to see you again,’ said Groot as we headed towards the canteen.

  ‘I thought you’d become more like Dr Frankenstein than you realised, hiding away in here.’

  ‘I’m more like the monster, really. I hadn’t behaved in the most honourable fashion towards you on Monday night, so I thought it best to lie low for a while.’

  ‘Most people have sympathy for the monster.’

  ‘If they knew what was really on his mind, they wouldn’t.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There I go again, you see?’

  I stopped and turned to him for a moment. ‘You should get out more,’ I said, rising on tiptoe and kissing him on the cheek. ‘And thanks for coming to my rescue.’

  Gallagher and Groot were not technically in the canteen; they had taken a table outside to have their coffee in the sun, which had gained the upper hand for now in the changeable day.

  ‘Looks like you two guys were taking a break,’ I said, taking an extra plastic chair they had dragged out with them.

  ‘Well, this man here deserved one,’ said Gallagher, inclining his head towards Groot. ‘As far as I can make out, he’s had one hour’s sleep in the past two days. But I could be wrong, maybe it’s two. As for me – I hate hospitals.’

  ‘Coffee? Tea?’ Groot asked me.

  ‘Just some still water, thanks.’

  Groot went inside.

  ‘This situation has turned very nasty,’ I said. I described my experience, including the injury to the young Garda and Groot’s timely arrival.

  ‘Shit. I’m sorry you had to face that, Illaun. This whole situation is due to irresponsible journalism.’

  ‘You mean to Darren Byrne.’

  ‘Yeah, that gobshite.’

  ‘And Dr Abdulmalik had to leave the hospital?’

  ‘Well, he didn’t have to. But it’s understandable up to a point. Half an hour after he’d tried to reason with the mob, someone threw a brick through a window of his house. His wife and young kids were inside. We think he may be trying to get home.’

  ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘Out the Navan road. Beyond the quarantine zone. He’s been staying at Dr Gavin’s house since the cordon was set up. I suspect she may be helping him get past it, because she’s not here either, dammit, and I wanted her and Abdulmalik at this meeting.’

  ‘I wish her luck, Matt. I mean that. The man should be with his family, especially if there are thugs outside the town as well.’

  Gallagher said nothing.

  ‘So what happened last night?’

  ‘With the investigation?’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  Gallagher shifted his big frame in the chair, making the plastic legs scrape on the concrete apron.

  ‘Your friend Fran’s a very fine woman,’ he said, kicking for touch.

  ‘I know,’ I said, leaving a silence for him to fill in.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I said I’d like to see her again. She said OK, but she had a few drinks on board, so I can’t be sure. No word from her today so far.’

  ‘Should there be?’

  ‘I left a few messages.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Groot came back and I couldn’t answer. Not that I would have anyway.

  ‘I don’t know where you’re at in your conversation,’ said Groot, ‘but, if you don’t mind, I’d like to jump right in and tell Illaun that the pathogen’s been identified by the lab at CRID. It’s melioidosis, as I suspected. And I was telling Matt here how it was relatively unknown until it got spread to US troops at helicopter landing pads in Vietnam.’

  ‘He tells me this, and yet he’s trying to persuade me that there’s no need for these containment measures,’ said Gallagher.

  Groot addressed me again. ‘I’ve been trying all morning to get your health authorities to lift the quarantine.’

  ‘But, Pete, don’t you see?’ said Gallagher. ‘On a tip-off from you, we and a couple of Health Service officials go to this house to look for a knife that you think could have infected the dead boy. And when we get there, guess what? Not only do we find the weapon, but there’s a very sick man lying in bed, coughing his lungs up. What do you expect the Health Service lads to think?’

  ‘But I’m telling you, melioidosis that hasn’t contaminated soil or water is not going to cause an epidemic. Even if Mr Ngozi cut himself with the same implement as Stephen, which would be an amazing coincidence in itself, he’s not going to spread the disease any further once reasonable precautions are taken. And as far as I’m concerned, the man is suffering from TB – which, ironically, melioidosis is often confused with. But I’ve seen enough tuberculosis in South Africa to recognise it straight away. So when the blood and sputum results for Mr Ngozi come back, I’ll expect to be brought on a pub crawl by you two.’

  ‘Hey, don’t drag me into this, I don’t doubt you,
’ I said. ‘And another thing: I wish you’d told me you were going to tell the Gardaí about Aje’s knife. The first I heard of it was on the radio this morning.’

  ‘I didn’t. All I did was alert the Health Service. They were the ones who contacted Sergeant Doyle.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Gallagher. ‘And it was Doyle who rang me last night when they found the knife – a domestic meat cleaver, in fact. Doyle wanted me to hear the boy’s story of how he found it. Apparently Aje and his pals were cycling out the country, over a week ago. Aje raced ahead and went into a field, where he decided to climb up a tree to hide on the others. He was just getting himself comfortable when he noticed the handle of the cleaver sticking out of a hole at the base of his branch. So he lifted it out, and when he noticed blood on it, he came up with the idea of the zombie knife to scare his buddies.’

  I poured my still water into a clear plastic tumbler and took a sip. ‘And did Aje confirm that Stephen had cut his finger with it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gallagher. ‘It happened when they were playing with it in his home last Friday.’

  ‘Which lends support to my hunch that the cut was the entry point for the infection.’ added Groot. ‘Transmission of melioidosis through blood or body fluids is rare, but there have been reported cases. There might also have been traces of contaminated soil or detritus on the blade. Matt’s had samples from the cleaver passed on to CRID for pathogen analysis.’

  ‘And the weapon itself went to our forensics people,’ Gallagher said.

  ‘But not before I’d checked to see if it could possibly have been the implement used on the woman found in the stream,’ Groot added. ‘I can’t be certain, of course, but it’s damn close.’

  ‘Which would mean…’

  ‘That she either had full-blown melioidosis or was a carrier. That the cleaver infected Stephen Bolton when he accidentally cut himself with it – a fact confirmed by Aje – and that she also infected your site employee, Terry Johnston.’

  ‘The question is, how did that happen?’ said Gallagher, before I could make a comment. ‘Did Johnston cut himself with the cleaver too? And, if so, what was he doing with it at the time?’

  A shadow fell across our table. Cora Gavin was standing there, but her slight frame wasn’t sufficient to block out the sunlight. The shade was being provided by the substantial bulk of a man familiar to me.

  ‘This is Benjamin Adelola,’ said Cora. ‘I was on duty when he rang the hospital early this morning. He’s been staying in Navan, unable to come back home. In view of the circumstances, I arranged to have him allowed through the blockade. The reason he rang St Loman’s was because he hasn’t been able to contact his sister by phone or at her place of work. He thinks she may be the woman found dead in the stream last Friday.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ‘What’s your sister’s name?’

  ‘Beauty Adelola.’

  ‘Where does she live?’

  ‘We share a house in Castleboyne.’

  ‘What does your sister do for a living?’

  ‘She works at a club in Navan…a lap-dancing club.’

  Gallagher and Groot, sitting beside each other, exchanged glances. Gallagher had moved us all to a conference room, to make matters a little more formal and to avoid the stares of people in the canteen. He was doing the questioning.

  ‘What’s this club called?’

  ‘Perfume.’ He pronounced it ‘Fer-pume’. I put it down to nervousness.

  ‘How long have you both been living in Ireland?’

  ‘Six months. We came to here together, you see.’ Adelola’s voice was deep and powerful, almost too big for the low-ceilinged room.

  ‘When did you last see your sister?’

  Adelola mopped his brow with a wad of tissue. Cora Gavin was sitting beside him like a lawyer, with Groot and Gallagher as the investigators on the opposite side of the polished wooden table. My presence at the end of the table was the only clue that this was not a police interrogation.

  ‘A week ago last Monday.’

  ‘That’s a long time not to notice that someone you were sharing a house with was missing.’

  ‘It had to do with his job – and hers,’ said Cora.

  Adelola glanced in my direction. ‘Until last Friday I was employed by Miss Bowe as a night watchman. My sister work in the club until about three in the morning. So when I was coming home, she be in bed, you see. And by the time I was getting up, she be gone to work or out visiting friends, except maybe on a Monday – that was her day off, you see. On Friday I started a new job in Navan, working the same hours. But early on Saturday afternoon I started into drinking, because I wasn’t to go back to work until Sunday night – I also like to have one night off a week. I admit I got quite drunk and stayed with a friend of mine on Saturday night. On Monday I came back to Castleboyne and realised my sister hadn’t been home for a while – but since then I had to stay in Navan because of the quarantine, you see. But I did try to phone her every day, and eventually I went to the club. They told me she had not been there since I last spoke to her. Only then did I think she might be the lady who was found murdered, so I rang the hospital.’

  ‘When did you hear about a black woman’s body being found?’ Gallagher asked.

  ‘On Saturday, I think. My friend told me.’

  ‘Where are you from originally, Mr Adelola?’ said Groot, out of the blue.

  ‘Nigeria.’

  ‘Where in Nigeria?’

  Adelola looked surprised. ‘Benin City,’ he said.

  ‘Do you mind me asking, are you a Christian?’

  ‘Yes. Of course, Christian.’ He mopped his forehead.

  ‘What do you know about muti?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it, that’s all.’

  Groot sat back in his chair, observing him. Gallagher was saying nothing, making notes, so I stepped in. My instinct as a sibling told me something was amiss. ‘The previous week, Ben, when you were still working on the site in Castleboyne. You didn’t talk to Beauty at all after Monday night, not even by phone. Was that normal?’

  Adelola looked at Cora.

  ‘Well, was it, Ben?’ she said gently.

  He mopped his forehead. I could see beads of sweat popping out again almost immediately. It was hot in the room, admittedly, but he seemed to be suffering more from it than the rest of us. What had been a crisp white shirt when he arrived was soaked in sweat and clinging to his grape-dark torso.

  ‘We had an argument on Monday night,’ he said eventually.

  Gallagher and Groot both sat up straight.

  ‘An argument. About what?’ said Gallagher.

  ‘About some money I owed her, you see.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Not much. A few hundred euro. She say I mustn’t talk to her again until I had the money in my hand. So I didn’t. Now, please, I’d like to see her body.’

  Groot stood up and looked out a window. ‘Quite honestly, Mr Adelola, I don’t think seeing the body is a great idea.’

  ‘We’ll be relying on DNA tests to confirm her identity,’ said Gallagher. ‘Which means we need your permission to examine the house for some items of hers, and probably to take a swab from you too – to confirm you’re siblings.’

  Adelola nodded his assent, then closed his eyes and began to dab his forehead.

  ‘There is one distinctive feature we should mention,’ said Groot, coming back to the table and gripping the back of his chair as he stared at Adelola. ‘Had your sister been circumcised?’

  Adelola stopped dabbing. ‘Not to my knowledge,’ he said slowly. ‘But you don’t know everything that happens in your family when you’re young. Now, I’d like to see her. If she’s my sister, I’ll know.’

  Groot and Gallagher exchanged glances again.

  ‘Go ahead, then.’ Groot raised his hands resignedly. ‘Perhaps, Dr Gavin, you’d bring Mr Adelola to the mortuary.’

  When they had left the room Groot sat back down. ‘Somet
hing’s not right,’ he said.

  ‘You bet,’ Gallagher agreed. ‘Having a row the night before she vanishes, leaving it for the best part of a week before making any effort to contact her…’

  ‘It’s not so much that. I think he’s lying about his background,’ said Groot. ‘The way he pronounced the name of the nightclub – pronouncing P as F and vice versa…that’s characteristic of the Hausa people. And Hausas are Muslims.’

  ‘We’ll check him out, starting with his passport and work permit. Illaun, since you’re here, tell us what you know about Benjamin Adelola.’

  ‘I can’t tell you much. He was recommended to us after he’d done some security work at the Town Council’s plant and machinery depot. I know he was popular and utterly reliable. That’s partly why they called him “Big Ben” – regular as clockwork.’

  ‘Was there anything unusual in his behaviour in the last week he was in your employment?’ Gallagher asked.

  ‘Yes. Gayle Fowler, who was my Finds Assistant on the dig, mentioned something. On Friday, after we found the lead coffins, she asked Ben to give her a hand with the statue. She said he wouldn’t come anywhere near it, seemed scared of it.’ I said nothing for now about seeing Adelola on the bridge with Byrne.

  ‘That confirms it for me,’ said Groot. ‘I definitely think Benjamin Adelola has been lying to us.’

  Cora Gavin opened the door. ‘The woman in the mortuary is Ben’s sister, all right,’ she announced. ‘He’s pretty upset. I asked a nurse to bring him to the canteen for a cup of coffee.’ She made to leave the room again.

  ‘How can he be so sure?’ Gallagher asked.

  ‘Before we went in to identify her, he told me she had an unusual way of painting her toenails – she liked to leave the middle toe untouched.’

  Gallagher looked surprised. ‘That certainly confirms he was close to her, I’ll grant you.’

  ‘But not necessarily that they were brother and sister,’ added Groot. They were becoming quite a double act.