‘Why would he lie about that?’ said Cora, closing the door and seating herself once more at the table.
‘Because he’s lying about other things,’ said Groot.
‘And to make it seem less likely that he might have murdered her,’ Gallagher suggested. ‘On the basis that a man’s less likely to be suspected of killing his sister than, for example, his girlfriend.’
Cora sighed in exasperation. ‘But he came here of his own free will to identify her. Is that the action of a guilty man?’
‘Hey, what is it with you?’ Gallagher snapped. ‘You barely know him, but you’ve been acting like his barrister all morning.’
Cora’s face reddened. ‘I asked him some questions on the way here, and I believe him when he says she’s his sister and that he knew nothing about her disappearance. As well as which, I saw my colleague Dr Abdulmalik being subjected to a racist attack at the gates earlier on…’ She glanced over at Groot. ‘And there have been lurid newspaper reports, and scurrilous posters put up around the town… Frankly, I’m trying to make sure that nothing of the kind enters into our dealings with Ben Adelola.’
‘I can assure you, Dr Gavin,’ Groot said coolly, ‘that if racial prejudice were to rear its ugly head in here, I’d be the first to detect it. But then again, why should you take the word of an Afrikaner?’
The level of tension in the room was soaring.
‘I think we should have an Ethnic Liaison Officer present,’ said Cora.
‘You have. I’m it,’ said Gallagher brusquely. ‘Now, did you have anything to do with Dr Abdulmalik’s disappearance?’
‘If you mean did he come with me as far as the checkpoint on the Navan Road, yes. That’s where I’d arranged to meet Ben Adelola. When I came back to the car, Hadi had gone. For a walk in the fields, most likely – nothing illegal about that.’
‘As he’d been in close contact with infected patients, I’d say that was highly irresponsible of him, and you.’
Cora was livid. ‘For God’s sake, Gallagher, what’s this turning into – a witch-hunt? Shouldn’t you be out interviewing the clientele of that lap-dancing club, one of whom is far more likely than her brother to have murdered Beauty Adelola?’
‘Hold on a minute,’ I said. ‘This is getting us nowhere. Why don’t you all calm down and I’ll go and get Ben?’
‘Good idea,’ said Groot. ‘Let me put my case to him, see what he says. Then we can butt out and Matt and his team can take it from there.’
‘I’m butting out right now,’ said Cora, pushing back her chair. ‘This is a hospital, after all, and I have work to do.’ She looked across to me. ‘Make sure they go easy on him, Illaun. He’s in enough pain as it is.’
I joined her on the way out. I wanted to know what was making her so protective of Benjamin Adelola.
‘It’s not him, per se,’ she said, walking briskly along the corridor. ‘It’s what people like him have to face when something like this happens. Because his sister is dismembered by her murderer, it has to be something to do with black magic as far as the media are concerned. And then when he turns up to identify her body it’s as though he’s on trial. Even Hadi – Dr Abdulmalik…those guys in there have no idea how hard it was to persuade him to leave the hospital and go to his family.’
‘You had to persuade him?’
We both came to a halt outside a set of swing doors leading to the ICU.
‘Yes. It had to do with his beliefs. According to the Koran, if a Muslim is caught in a certain place when an epidemic breaks out, then he should remain in that place and not run away. It makes perfect sense from a disease-containment point of view, I guess. But Hadi was interpreting it as an injunction to obey this quarantine to the absolute letter. Then you hear such bullshit about strict Muslims not recognising the law of the land—’ Her pager bleeped. ‘I’ve really got to go, Illaun. Do your best.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I found Adelola sitting staring out a window, his coffee untouched. He had worried his paper tissues into a tube.
‘I’m sorry about your sister, Ben.’
‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘She was my baby sister, you see. I always said I’d look after her. I did it all wrong.’
‘Don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have prevented it. Do you mind coming back to the conference room? Dr Groot wants to ask you something.’
He frowned as he stood up from the table. ‘He’s from South Africa, isn’t he? Or Zimbabwe?’
‘South Africa. But he’s worked in other African countries.’
Adelola’s frown deepened.
Back in the conference room, Groot lost no time. ‘Mr Adelola, last Friday, when you were asked to help carry the statue of the Virgin and Child, you refused to go near it. Why?’
Adelola shrugged but said nothing. I had decided to sit alongside him to make him feel less vulnerable.
Groot continued. ‘Muslims abhor religious images, don’t they? And making a life-size statue of Mary, who is acknowledged and respected by Islam, would be offensive to someone of that faith, right? You have to tolerate seeing such images in a Christian country, but handling one would be a different matter. Which is one of the reasons why I think that you’re of Islamic background and probably a Hausa from northern Nigeria. Am I right?’
Adelola shifted in his chair, pulling the tissue into shreds.
‘Go on, Ben,’ Groot cajoled.
I placed a hand over Adelola’s busy fingers. ‘If it’s true, Ben, I’m sure there’s a good reason why you’ve kept it hidden. But maybe it’s better to admit to it now.’
Adelola took a deep breath. ‘We’re asylum-seekers. My sister was betrothed by our father to a wealthy businessman in Jigawa, a northern state where Sharia law is in force. He was thirty years older, and she heard nothing except bad things about him, you see. In any case, she wanted to be choosing her own husband. She asked me to help her run away, and we both went south to Benin City. I contacted my father from there, and he said that my sister’s husband-to-be was sending men after us and that if we didn’t return with them he – my father – would allow us both to be killed to redeem his honour. So you can see why we had to leave Nigeria.’
‘What’s your real name?’ Gallagher asked.
‘Kazeem Hassan. My sister’s name is Latifah.’
‘Why was it necessary to hide the fact that you were Muslims when you came here?’
‘Because if men came to kill us, they would naturally look for us among the Islamic community. As well as that, when you’re looking for work, not being a Muslim has advantages. Many people here have a negative view of us right now.’
‘So job opportunities increase if people don’t think you’re a Muslim?’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘Have you renounced your faith entirely?’ Groot asked.
Adelola looked aghast. ‘I would never renounce Islam.’
‘And your sister? What about her?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Then why was she working in a lap-dancing club?’ Groot persisted. ‘Not a proper place for a Muslim girl, I would have thought.’
‘We had to live.’
‘Latifah was ashamed of being a lap-dancer, wasn’t she? Is that what you really fought about?’ Groot was relentless.
‘No. We fought over money. Look – I’ve told you the truth, why you giving me such a hard time? Can’t you see it was someone hired by her husband-to-be who killed my sister?’
‘I have a problem with this honour-killing idea,’ said Groot. ‘Why would a hired Islamic assassin – presumably based here – go to the trouble of making it look like a muti murder, especially one designed to make identification difficult? I would have thought identifying her was crucial – so that he could get paid, if for no other reason. And, more to the point, why would he have sex with her?’
It was as if a smart bomb had just landed in the room. I could tell from Gallagher’s expression that Adelola and I weren’t the
only ones who’d been taken by surprise.
‘How do you…’ Adelola began. He shook his head in disbelief. ‘What did you…’
‘There was physical evidence to indicate she either was raped or had engaged in consensual sex for the first time shortly before her death – because of the way she was circumcised, it amounted to the same thing. But, given the fact she was murdered, I’m assuming for now it was rape. So – any other theories as to who might have killed her?’
Adelola bowed his head, took a fresh tissue from his trouser pocket and mopped the back of his broad neck. When he raised his head again he was smiling grimly. ‘It will all come out eventually, I suppose. It’s true we were on the run, but we had to go to a trafficker in Benin City to get false papers, you see. We couldn’t afford to pay him in full, so he said that a businessman in Ireland, Mr McAleavey, would take on our debt and that Latifah would have to work for him.’
‘Mick McAleavey, right?’ said Gallagher.
Adelola nodded.
‘So after you’d been trafficked in, you were given temporary asylum by the authorities while your case was being examined, right? But you went “under” and made contact with McAleavey, who then gave you new names and false work permits. And Latifah became indentured to him, working to pay off your debt, yeah?’
‘Yes. But he was pressing her to become an escort.’
‘A prostitute, in other words.’
Adelola nodded again. ‘My sister didn’t want anything to do with it. I think she must have walked out on him.’
‘Is that why you argued about money? Had you promised her to help pay off the debt?’
‘Yes, that is true,’ he said, tears welling up in his eyes. ‘He must have killed her and then mutilated her in that way to scare the other girls working for him.’
‘Well, we’ll see what McAleavey has to say for himself and his sordid little racket. Not that it’s the first lap-dancing club to be used as a grooming centre for prostitution.’ Gallagher closed his jotter and stood up. ‘You may go, Mr Adelola, but I’ll ask you to wait at the hospital entrance until some members of the investigation team arrive to accompany you to your house, where they’ll conduct an examination. We’ll be in touch with you later about the DNA sample.’
‘I’ll leave you out,’ I said to Adelola, noticing that Groot was still frowning.
‘What name do you want people to call you from now on?’ I asked him as we walked along the corridor.
‘I’ll stick with Ben Adelola. But my sister preferred to be called Latifah.’
We were nearing the hospital entrance doors when he asked me, ‘When will I be able to bury her?’
‘As soon as they can verify her identity, I think. Then they’ll issue a death certificate.’ It occurred to me then that Terry Johnston’s body was still in the mortuary too. ‘You knew Terry Johnston, Ben? Did you hear he had died?’
‘Yes, I heard,’ he said.
‘You were a friend of his, weren’t you?’
‘Friend? No,’ he replied emphatically.
The automatic glass doors separated and we went outside.
‘What about Darren Byrne – are you friendly with him? I saw the two of you talking on the bridge last Saturday afternoon.’
‘It wasn’t me. I don’t—’
‘You’ve told too many lies already, Ben,’ I said, cutting him short. ‘It’s time to start telling the truth.’
‘I am not a liar,’ he insisted.
‘You’re not a drinker either,’ I said.
A Garda car pulled up in front of the building and flashed its lights at us. ‘Goodbye,’ he said, walking over to it and getting into the back.
Gallagher came out of the building behind me, talking on his mobile. ‘…CCTV footage seized, and I want every man who ever used a credit card in the place tracked down and interviewed. Find out where McAleavey is, but leave him to me.’ He snapped the phone shut and slipped it into his shirt pocket. ‘I’ve started the ball rolling in Navan. But right now I’m going out to where the cleaver was found, to see how the search is going.’
‘Where’s that, as a matter of interest?’
‘Did I not tell you? About a kilometre upstream from Brookfield Garden. Oh – and I’ve also heard that, thanks to Father Burke and the Reverend Davison, the protest outside the gates has ended. They turned up together and got the crowd to disperse.’
‘Must mean they’ve resolved their differences over the statue.’ My phone rang. I saw my aunt’s mobile number on the screen. I excused myself and let Gallagher go on his way.
‘Betty?’
‘Illaun, I’m in the car with your mother. We’re on our way to the nursing home. I’m afraid your father’s taken a turn for the worse. It’s not looking good, I’m afraid. Not good at all.’
Chapter Thirty
After the initial shock, a feeling of relief that my father’s long confinement in limbo was about to end swept over me. Then that was in turn replaced by guilt that I should be wishing my father dead. But this flux of emotions was soon overwhelmed by the alarming realisation that I was trapped in the town by the quarantine and unable to go to the nursing home.
Betty said they weren’t sure what had led to the deterioration in his condition, so as I drove to the office I phoned Summerhill and asked to speak to the Sister in charge. When Deirdre Lysaght came on the line, I knew there would be no beating about the bush – she understood I would want the plain truth, and that was her style anyway.
‘He’s developed pneumonia in both lungs, and he’s finding it hard to breathe. He’s sedated and we’re giving him oxygen, but I don’t think his heart will put up with the strain much longer.’
‘How long do you think he’ll last?’
‘Impossible to say exactly, but not much beyond twenty-four hours.’
‘You know we have this quarantine…’ I had to pause to stifle a sob.
‘I know, Illaun. But because of that, your mother had to stay with her sister, so now she’s able to get here. It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good, as they say.’
‘I think it’s going to be lifted soon. In a matter of hours, I’d say. I’d like to go there as soon as that happens.’
‘Come at any time, day or night.’
I thanked her and rang Betty back. They had just parked the car outside the home. I talked to my mother and put her in the picture. ‘Maybe it’s for the best,’ she said bravely.
‘It is,’ I reassured her. ‘I’ll ring Richard now, and as soon as this quarantine’s lifted I’ll be there.’
My mother asked me to collect various items of her clothing and toiletries and bring them with me as soon as I could leave Castleboyne; she joked that she’d had enough of borrowing her sister’s clothes, and that Betty’s sense of style was too racy for her. We both tended to use humour as a defence. She said she intended staying put, because even if the quarantine was lifted, the town might be cordoned off again, and in any case Aunt Betty’s was closer to the nursing home.
We finished our conversation as I was arriving home. I drove around the back and parked outside the office. For a few minutes I sat there, juggling with a heavy weight of emotion that seemed to be both lifting from me and also threatening to crush me.
Then I went inside and phoned Finian. I tried to sound on top of things. ‘Busy afternoon,’ I said. ‘I got caught up in a race riot at the hospital…and…’ My voice was faltering. ‘I’ve been…’ I left a long pause as I struggled to keep it together.
‘What’s wrong, Illaun?’
‘Dad’s dying, Finian…’
‘I’m coming over there now,’ he said. ‘Don’t move.’
After I’d composed myself, I phoned my brother’s home in Chicago. Richard’s wife Greta answered; Richard had taken a day off to bring their son Eoin to see a working farm in Lake County and would not be back until evening, their time. I wondered if I could get him on his cellphone, but she said he would only turn it on to call her if necessary – and i
f he did she would obviously tell him. But it would more than likely be the early hours of the morning before I heard from him.
The phone rang as soon as I put it down. It was Father Burke. ‘I hear your father’s not well, Illaun,’ he said.
‘How did you know, Father?’
‘Bad news travels fast, as they say. But, in the end, it will be a blessed release. I’m sure you wish this quarantine was over so you can be with your mother.’
‘It won’t be long, from what I gather.’
‘Please God. Does that mean we’re getting the statue returned to us – the town, I mean?’ Some compromise had been worked out between him and the rector.
‘Er…why would that be?’
‘Well, to my mind, this quarantine business was Our Lady’s way of saying she didn’t want to leave Castleboyne. I don’t expect many to believe that literally, but it’s the way I see it.’
‘I’m afraid I have to disappoint you. It looks as if what we discovered in the graveyard isn’t the original image that was kept in Our Lady’s Priory, but a reliquary that was commissioned and never installed there.’
‘I’m not sure I follow you.’
‘It would take too long to explain. But it wasn’t the only thing hidden away at the time, and you might be able to help us figure out what else was.’
‘How?’
‘Remember you said you’d turn up whatever you could on Miss Duignan, the woman who paid for the stained-glass window, and anything else you could find out about it?’
‘Yes, of course. And that’s one of the reasons I rang. I’m afraid it’s my turn to disappoint you. Apart from some invoices and records of payments, there’s nothing in the archives about the design of the window itself, although we know it was commissioned from Mayer of Munich. It was one of the biggest stained-glass studios in the world at the time, and it’s still in existence today, I believe. But the correspondence in the archives is with their London branch in Grosvenor Street. That’s where the details you’re looking for were probably filed, but it didn’t survive the First World War, alas.’
‘What about Miss Duignan? Is there any correspondence in which she stipulates what she wants included in the window?’
The Lazarus Bell, an Irish Murder Mystery Page 23