Murder in Ballyhasset

by Noreen Mayer

  He hesitated. 'They're confidential. I'm not allowed to.'

  She said, 'Ah go on, this is a big case for me.'

  The sergeant glanced around and saw no one at the reception desk. 'Okay, seeing as it's you, I'll get them out. They're still on my desk. Hold on a while. I have to search under the piles of papers.'

  Libby stood and waited. He emerged a few minutes later with the photos, which the forensic officer had taken.

  Libby studied the victim lying face-up on the bed. Kathleen was slim and fine-boned. She wore a pink T-shirt and a black skirt, and her legs were long. They were bare and smooth. Her arms lay by her side. The quilt lay at the bottom of the bed.

  Libby scrutinised a close-up photo of the victim's face. Kathleen had a classically beautiful face, big eyes, straight nose and a full mouth. The lifeless green eyes stared out. Her hair was chestnut in colour, long and thick. Libby studied Kathleen's face, but saw no marks except a slight redness on the nose tip.

  She glanced through other photos. She noted the doctor's white coat hanging neatly on the back of the white chair in her pale hospital room. Kathleen's handbag lay closed on the floor, and her shoes sat neatly under the bed.

  'Were you able to get any useful fingerprints?'

  Sergeant Sean sighed. 'No, the door knob and the light switch had smudges, but we got no clear prints. I'd say the killer wore latex gloves.'

  'Did the forensic team find any tablets in Kathleen's hospital room?'

  He shook his head. 'No.' He was silent for a second. 'Anyway, she was on duty, she had to stay alert, I'd imagine.'

  'Did you talk to everyone at the hospital?' she asked.

  He nodded. 'We had to interview them all. Everyone on duty that night, doctors, nurses, the lot. It took the four of us ages. We asked all the routine questions. Detective Inspector Flood was in charge.'

  Libby nodded absently as she continued to sift through the pictures, 'I asked them the same stuff, especially the doctors on night duty that night.'

  'No one saw anything useful to us,' he replied, 'or even anything strange. The two doctors who slept on either side of her said they heard nothing.'

  'Any clues at all?' She frowned. 'Did you not talk to the porters?'

  'I did. There's only one on duty at night. He helps the nurses with lifting patients and keeps an eye on the main reception desk. He saw nothing.'

  'Surely, you must have some idea of who killed her?'

  The sergeant grew excited. 'We think it was the husband. Mr Doody says he has an alibi, he says he was abroad till the Tuesday morning.' Sean paused for breath. 'We think he came back earlier than he said. His friends arrived back to Shannon Airport early on the Monday, we checked this with them.'

  Sean leaned closer to Libby. 'Our Mr Doody had booked the same flight as them. However, the friends said he didn't come back with them. He told one of them that he arrived late at the airport and missed the plane. Then Mick took a later one the same day, according to this fella George.'

  'Mick told me he came in early Tuesday morning into Shannon Airport.'

  Sean said sharply, 'Mick's booking receipt showed his flight arrived in Shannon on Monday. He just took a later flight that Monday. He still had time to get to the hospital. The wife was smothered at two in the morning, Tuesday morning.' Sean folded his arms, gazing at Libby confidently. 'Anyway, he must have done it. Who else had a strong motive? There was no robbery or sexual assault.'

  He paused. 'He stands to inherit all her money now, anyway. I think that's a strong motive.'

  Libby's eyes widened. 'What money?'

  Sean said, 'There was a life assurance policy he took out on her. Not to mention the house. His wife's money paid for it. Her parents left her and her sister almost a hundred thousand each when they died.'

  Libby was astounded. 'I didn't know.'

  Sean smiled cynically. 'This puts a different light on things, doesn't it?'

  'Perhaps' Libby replied. 'I need to have a long talk with Mr Doody about this.' She was silent for a while. 'Do you see much of Derek?'

  Sean gave her a blank look. 'Derek?'

  She laughed. 'My ex? You used to work with him, remember? Don't tell me you've forgotten poor Derek already.'

  'Oh sorry. I was thinking of something else.' He added, 'No, I haven't seen Derek much recently. Not since I've moved here to Ballyhasset.' He stopped for an instant. 'I tell a lie - we did meet last month for a pint after work.'

  'That's good. The fact you're keeping in touch, I mean.'

  The sergeant became hesitant. 'Derek told me you left him.'

  'True, we've split up.' She sighed. 'But he's lying about the rest. He left me.' She smiled bitterly. 'He met someone else while he was in Africa. You really don't want to know the full story.'

  She wanted a divorce. Until they change the law in this backward country Derek and I are still stuck together, she thought angrily, we're stuck with this permanent separation, an Irish-style divorce.

  The sergeant glanced at her with concern. 'I knew Derek took a year off work. However, I was shocked when he told me about the separation. Gobsmacked, I was. How many years were you together?'

  'Let me see,' Libby said and thought for a moment. 'My son is sixteen now, so it's seventeen years in all since Derek and I got married. How time flies, doesn't it? Anyway, I'd better let you get back to work. Thanks for all the information.'

  'Keep in touch,' he said, as she left.

  Chapter 4

  A woman of about ninety came into Libby's office, that same Wednesday afternoon. After she asked to speak to a private detective, Dawn buzzed Libby on the intercom, and she came out.

  Libby gazed at the woman, who weighed about six stone and stood leaning on a walking stick. A strong gust of wind would blow her over.

  Libby showed her into her office and the two of them sat.

  'My Bob is missing,' the woman said in a frail voice, 'he never came home last night.'

  'Oh, that's sad, I'm sorry to hear that. Why don’t you sit down on the couch here and tell me a little bit more about Bob,' Libby replied.

  'I'm terribly worried. He's on medication, and he hasn't been feeling the best lately.'

  Taking out a pen and notebook, Libby began to write. 'What's your name?'

  'Susan Keogh.'

  'What's wrong with your husband?'

  She stared at Libby, puzzled. 'Him? Oh, he's been dead for six years. No, it's Bob. He's the one I'm worried about.'

  'Who's Bob?' asked Libby.

  The old woman smiled. 'My Jack Russell Terrier, I've lost him. I want you to find him for me.'

  Libby smiled at her own misunderstanding. 'Where did Bob go missing?'

  'On Seapoint Beach, near that large rocky area. I heard both of you girls live around there. Bridie told me about your agency, she told me to give ye a call. Bridie's a neighbour of mine. I live near Seapoint too. That's why the little fecker strayed down there.'

  'I don't know Bridie, I'm afraid.' Libby said. 'But the large rocky area - I know it well, it's beside the area used for swimming. Give us a few more details and we'll search for Bob.'

  'Okay, as long as you don't clock up too many hours. I'm not a rich woman.'

  'I won't charge you.' Libby smiled. 'I've got a soft spot for dogs.'

  'Do you need a description of Bob?' The woman rummaged in her big handbag.

  'He's a Jack Russell isn't he?' said Libby. 'Don't all those little fellows look the same?'

  'No, actually he's quite unique.' The old woman flashed her eyes. 'He's got a black patch over one ear. Here, I have a picture of him.' The woman handed Libby a large photo.

  'You can keep the picture,' said the woman.

  'Fine, Mrs Keogh. We'll be in touch if he turns up,' Libby said, gazing at the close-up of Bob. 'He's quite pretty isn’t he,' and probably stolen, she thought. She turned to his worried owner. 'We'll contact the Kinsale pound and the police also.' She paused. 'Hopefully Bob will come home on his own when he’s finished snoop
ing around the neighbourhood.'

  'Thank you so much, I appreciate your help. My poor little Bob doesn’t know how to be alone.' The elderly woman left, walking slowly and leaning on her stick.

  'I've a job for you,' Libby said, going up to Dawn at the reception desk. 'Looks like old Bob is taking a break from his owner.' Dawn, looking amused, agreed to take care of the matter.

  ***

  That evening, at around eight pm, Libby went for a walk with her young springer spaniel on the beach. The Ballyhasset vet had told her clearly that Buddy was a high-energy dog and needed daily walking. At the time, she had been angry with her son for not getting a small toy dog. That sort of dog would be happy to curl up on the couch all day. However, she was coming around to the idea that this exercise lark was not such a bad thing. It keeps me fit for chasing the odd criminal if I have to, she thought.

  She arrived at Seapoint Beach, delighted to listen to the sea lapping softly against the rocks. She loved the salty, fresh smell of the sea. The sky was orange and the hills beyond were a darker shade of orange. The sea appeared dark-blue. She walked down to the water's edge. Buddy paddled a little, but refused to follow a stick she threw further into the waves for him to chase. 'Coward,' she said to the dog. A light ocean breeze blew a strand of hair into her eyes.

  She walked the length of the west pier. At the furthest end, she saw two small fishing boats in bright shades of blue and green. They were moored along the edge of the pier. In the distance, she could see the town's hospital, high up on a hill overlooking the town.

  She walked away from the strand and up along Seapoint Avenue. She crossed the road and walked up High Street. She walked along past a pointy church and its green leafy bushes that surrounded the property. Most of the shops had hanging baskets bursting with purple and white petunias.

  Libby then called into Pamela's small apartment, located above one of the shops. Pamela had told her she lived over O'Brien's newsagent shop, at Number 29, on High Street. She wanted to ask her further questions about Dr Kathleen Lynch. The apartment was a small cosy place, obviously chosen because of its proximity to the hospital.

  Pamela asked her to come in, along with her dog. 'I love dogs,' she said, patting Buddy's brown head. He wagged at her.

  Pamela introduced Libby to Conor Reilly, her boyfriend. He smiled at Libby warmly and invited her to sit beside him on the sofa. Conor was narrow and around five feet ten in height. He had a small pale face, fine features and blond hair, cut in a pageboy style. He wore flared brown corduroy trousers and a white polo-neck jumper. He looked like a girl, Libby thought, a pretty girl.

  'Did you ever meet Dr Lynch?' she asked him, 'Pamela's old boss.'

  'Yes, I met her a few times in the Green Lemon,' answered Conor, 'that's the pub across the road from the hospital. I was drunk one night, and I got into an argument with her.

  'Oh. What did you say to her?' Libby asked.

  Conor sighed. 'I told her she made Pamela's life a misery.'

  'How did Kathleen react?'

  'She hit the roof. She started telling me how stupid Pamela was, that she'd no cop-on. The next day I remembered the argument.'

  'You did Pamela no favour there,' Libby said, 'attacking her boss. Pamela had to work with her.'

  'I realised that, so I rang Kathleen at her home the next day, to apologise. I really grovelled and begged her to forgive me.'

  'And did she forgive you?'

  Conor answered, 'Yeah, she accepted my apology and that ended the whole argument.'

  'Conor might have made things worse,' said Pamela, looking at Libby. 'But strangely enough that didn't happen. Kathleen wasn't any nastier after the row than she was before.'

  'How long had Kathleen been working in St Gabriel's, do you know?' Libby asked.

  'Only since January of this year.'

  'Where was she before that?'

  'The Bon Secours in Cork,' said Pamela. 'She delivered babies there. She told me she preferred this work to treating gynaecology patients.'

  'I wouldn't blame her,' Libby said. 'Being around young mums and babies must be more cheerful.'

  'Still, I love some of our older patients because they are so hardy. They accept pain better than younger women.' Pamela smiled. 'Some of them have had ten children.'

  'Ten children, how awful.' Libby made a face. All those painful childbirths. Once was enough for me, she thought.

  'That's why the poor women have womb problems and end up in St Gabriel's,' Pamela added.

  'At least you can cure them,' said Conor.

  'True,' Pamela said, in agreement with him. 'They're fine after a hysterectomy.'

  'Dr Lynch won't be doing any more of them,' said Conor.

  'Has the hospital found a replacement for Kathleen?' asked Libby.

  'Yes,' said Pamela with relief, 'a doctor from Dublin is due to arrive in the next few days.'

  Chapter 5

  The next day, a Thursday, the private investigators called over to St Gabriel's mortuary. Painted white and containing a flat roof, the mortuary was a small one-storey concrete building located next to the main hospital building. They had an appointment to see the pathologist.

  Libby said, as they entered the room, 'I know Dr Gallagher socially; I met him with my estranged husband Derek.'

  'Your husband?' Dawn stared at her blankly. 'Is he a policeman?'

  'Yeah, he's a detective inspector. He works in North Cork Garda Station.'

  Large white marble tiles covered the whole floor, and small stone tiles lined the walls. Of the three metal trolleys which dominated the room, the central one contained a corpse, concealed with a sheet. Libby shivered, feeling the coldness of the room.

  A long narrow desk lay against the whole of one wall. Dr Gallagher sat with his back to them on a stool at the bench, writing up notes. His assistant labelled samples.

  The doctor raised his head and turned around when he heard the two women approach. A small energetic man of fifty plus, he had a red complexion and white unruly hair. He occasionally wore large thick glasses, which he kept dangling from a silver chain around his neck when not in use. Dr Gallagher was one of two State Pathologists for the whole Cork area.

  'Hey Libby, how are you?' he enquired, with a grin. 'It's been a while.'

  'I'm great, Doctor,' she replied.

  'How's the new job going?'

  'We're busy enough.' She smiled. 'You're looking good yourself, Doctor, very tanned and healthy. Have you been abroad?'

  'Sadly no. I went fishing last weekend though, and fell asleep in the sun, hence the tan.' He glanced at her with curiosity. 'So what brings you here?'

  He knows exactly why I'm here, Libby thought. Everyone in this town is talking about this murder. 'The young doctor who was murdered up in the hospital.'

  'Terrible tragedy. I met Kathleen once - she was a fiery girl, all right. She gave out to me for being too slow producing a report, on one of her patients.'

  Libby asked with amusement, 'And were you really too slow?'

  'Not at all,' he replied. 'Kathleen wanted the report quickly, because she was going on holiday.'

  He rummaged through a pile of papers on the bench. 'I did the post-mortem last week. I have the photos here somewhere.'

  'Can I see them?' she asked.

  'Hang on a second.' He grabbed a pile of large photographs. 'Here we are.'

  'So what's your conclusion on how she died, Dr Gallagher?' Libby asked.

  'Someone suffocated our poor wee lady.' He flicked through the pictures, stopping at one. 'Here's the one I want.' He pointed at the photo. 'See these bruises,' he said, 'they're called petechiae.' Libby noticed little dark-red blotches on the white surface of the victim's eyeball. 'There is slight bruising to the tongue,' he added, showing her another photo.

  'See this red mark on the nose, the mouth is swollen and her larynx is bruised.' He paused, then he added, 'Notice her tongue is injured.' Libby examined the graphic images carefully.

  The doctor sai
d, 'All of these signs are consistent with someone holding a pillow forcefully over her nose and mouth, stopping her breathing. The police forensic team found fibres around her nose, which they tell me, are from the pillow.'

  Libby stared at him. 'So this was our killer's weapon, the humble pillow.'

  He nodded. 'The blood tests showed high levels of carbon dioxide.'

  Libby's forehead creased. 'Any sign of sexual assault?'

  He shook his head. 'None.'

  'And no sign of robbery. So we have no clear motive as yet.'

  The doctor put his photographs back in order.

  'What time did Kathleen Lynch die?' asked Libby.

  'I'd say she was dead about eight hours when I first examined her.' He stopped for a few moments and checked his notes. 'Let us see, that was at ten am. So I reckon she died around two am that day, which was let me see...' Dr Gallagher paused. 'Last Tuesday morning.'

  'Kathleen must have really angered someone for them to kill her so brutally,' Libby said quietly.

  'To end up on a trolley in here, after all her hard work.' Dawn shrugged. 'Qualifying as a gynaecologist and all. Doesn't seem fair.'

  Chapter 6

  Finbar Meenan summoned Libby into his private office, first thing on Friday morning. Finbar founded Mooney's Detective Agency ten years previously along with Libby's father. Their main clients were women seeking evidence of cheating husbands.

  Finbar was an army officer who had taken early retirement. Aged sixty-five, he was six feet four in height, with a large stomach that betrayed his fondness for pints of Guinness. He had oversized facial features – big beaky nose, high cheekbones, strong chin set in a long sharp face. On this day, he wore a tweed suit with a waistcoat.

  Libby sat down on the low shiny leather chair in front of his mahogany desk as Finbar loomed over the desk, spilling out of his chair. He always seems too large for this small office, she thought, I wonder if he enjoyed his holidays in Spain.

  'How did your holiday go, Finbar?' she asked.

  'Terrible.' He leaned back in his chair, his arms behind his head. 'The whole thing was a nightmare. The weather was boiling. I got sunburnt so I stayed in bed most of the time.'