Murder in Ballyhasset

by Noreen Mayer

  Libby recalled her recent conversation with her, at the party, in which Pamela had said how hard her job was. She hadn't seemed depressed though, just a bit weary, which was understandable given how gruelling her job had been.

  Dr Ian Gallagher, the pathologist, arrived carrying his Gladstone bag. The Garda Officer quickly approached him. 'What's our victim's name?' Dr Gallagher asked the officer.

  'Pamela Kelly.'

  'How long has she been missing?' the pathologist asked.

  'I don't know,' replied the Garda. 'Nobody reported her disappearance to us. She's an intern in the local hospital up the road. You may even know her.'

  Dr Gallagher gazed at the dead woman. 'A doctor eh? No, I haven't met this unfortunate young girl before.'

  He took surgical gloves out of the bag and put them on. Then he lifted up the victim's hair gently. He scrutinised the wound on the back of the neck. Next, he turned over the body to examine her face. Pamela's lips and eyes appeared swollen, and the skin on her neck and arms had a green hue. Her face was dark-red. The pathologist pressed on the dead woman's chest, and a white liquid oozed out. 'She has drowned. You can all see this froth coming out of her mouth.'

  The pathologist examined the arms for signs of injury. Libby noted bruising on them. 'How long is she dead, Doctor?' she asked.

  'Hard to say. About three days perhaps. I'll need to examine her in the mortuary to be sure.' He gazed at the waves. 'The strong tide last night must have carried the corpse ashore and left her here. The Garda Officer stood beside him.

  The pathologist pointed to the wound on the back of the dead woman's neck. 'This is what you think is suspicious,' he said to the officer. The officer nodded. 'And I agree with you. Somebody may have hit her before she died.'

  The private detectives then moved quickly away from the taped area of the crime scene. Libby heard the distant chime of church bells for morning mass.

  The wind came in gusts and blew light rain into their faces. The sea appeared grey and cold. Waves battered the rocks along the edges of the shore. A cruel sea, Libby thought, to take the life of such a healthy young woman.

  Libby spotted Brendan staring at the forensic officers as they examined the sand for evidence. 'What are they here for?' he asked her. 'Isn't it obvious she drowned?'

  'It seems that way,' Libby said. 'Still, the police have to take evidence in case there has been foul play.'

  Brendan remained still and kept his gaze on the sea. 'Finding Pamela dead is so weird.' He stopped for a minute. 'I still can't believe it.'

  'Seeing someone young die is a shock,' Libby said, 'especially someone you know well. She was a lovely girl.'

  'I'm going to miss her,' said Brendan hoarsely. 'Pamela was so kind. Such a hard worker too, she burst herself trying to do that hospital job. She was so good to Conor, always. He's going to be so devastated.' Brendan sighed deeply. 'I dread having to tell him.'

  ***

  Libby remembered that Pamela's apartment was located on High Street, overlooking a newsagent's shop. It was straight across from Seapoint Beach, she saw. Pamela had just to cross Seapoint Avenue to arrive at the beach.

  The private detectives delayed entering the apartment until the forensic officers had finished their job searching the flat for evidence. After a short while the forensic officers left. Dawn and Libby entered the front door, which opened straight onto the street pavement, and climbed the narrow stairs. It was a small dark flat.

  Libby peered around the kitchen. She searched for signs of a struggle, broken glass, shifted furniture, bloodstains or spilt drinks, but found none. The white counters and appliances gleamed and the white lino floor was perfectly clean. She flipped open the movable white lid of the waste bin. It held only old food cartons, which smelled musty. She opened the fridge and glanced around inside. All she saw was an old carton of milk in the door compartment. Otherwise, the fridge was clean and devoid of food, as were the cupboards. Pamela didn't cook much, Libby guessed. She wouldn't have needed to, she reflected, remembering that the hospital canteen was nearby and the fact that she spent long hours there.

  Gina, the nurse, walked into the kitchen. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. 'When Pamela didn't turn up for work for the last three days, I just assumed she was sick. She told me last Sunday she had stomach pains. That's what I told the rest of the staff she had.'

  Gina sat down on a kitchen chair. 'So they never checked yesterday or the day before to see where she was.' The nurse took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. 'I rang this flat again at eleven this morning, but I got no answer. So then, I walked over here from the hospital. I got a fierce shock when I found all these police officers wandering around Pamela's home. Then they told me her body was down on the beach.'

  Tears welled up in Gina's eyes. She searched in her handbag and took out a packet of cigarettes. She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

  'Did the Gardaí say how they got in here?' Libby asked. 'Was the front door left open, I mean?'

  'The front door was closed. They got a spare key from the newsagent's shop downstairs, they told me.' Gina found herself an ashtray. 'Pamela had left one with the owner of the shop in case of emergency.'

  'It's like a nightmare,' Gina said. 'First Kathleen Lynch is killed, and now Pamela is dead. It seems like someone is out to punish lady doctors.' She grimaced. 'It makes me glad I'm a nurse.'

  'When did you last see Pamela?' Libby asked.

  'Last Sunday around seven. We had drinks and sandwiches in the Green Lemon.'

  Gina directed her and Dawn to Pamela's bedroom. The room's furniture consisted of only a double bed, a wardrobe, a locker and a chair. The bed was neatly made. Libby spotted that a clean work suit was still lying on the chair. A laundry basket containing a dirty shirt and a few pairs of socks stood in one corner.

  The only room that had any personality was the study. A comfortable chaos prevailed there. Books and papers sat on a desk beside a computer. Libby flicked through them; they were all medical texts and magazines. A few photographs of herself and Conor were pinned to the wall.

  Libby went into the bathroom. She opened the bathroom cabinet, finding it empty except for some pills in a small bottle labelled Aspirin. Pamela kept her house spotlessly clean, Libby noted. She seemed the sort who felt grieved at finding a stray trace of toothpaste in the washbasin.

  It seemed as if Pamela had cleared up the whole place before she left that Sunday night, the night she disappeared. On the other hand, had someone cleared up for her? If you were going to kill yourself, why would you bother to tidy up so well? Libby wondered. Maybe someone cleaned the place to cover his or her own tracks?

  She went back into the bedroom. A novel sat on the floor beside the bed. Libby picked it up, gazing at the front cover. 'Gone with the Wind' was the title. Gina came into the room, came over to Libby and gazed at the book. 'Pamela loved this book. I lent it to her. She admired Scarlett O'Hara so much.'

  'Pamela looked like Vivian Leigh,' Dawn said. 'She was very pretty.'

  'She liked dressing up,' said Gina, a wistful expression on her face. 'She wanted to be an actress once. I didn't know Pamela very long. Just this year I met her in the hospital, but I liked her a lot.'

  ***

  'Why did Pamela go for a swim on her own at that hour?' Dawn asked, as she drove them both back to their office.

  'Perhaps someone threw her in,' Libby said, 'after they killed her. I saw a wound on the back of her head, on her scalp.'

  'There's nothing else to show she struggled with an attacker,' added Dawn.

  Libby said, 'True. I saw no bruising except on the back of her head.'

  Dawn flinched. 'He would have to be strong, the killer.'

  Libby sighed. 'A fit young woman like her would be hard to overpower. We can only guess what happened, at this stage. The pathologist will tell us more.'

  'The whole murder thing does seem a bit unreal,' Dawn said. 'I mean not only far–fetched, but very hard to do.'

  'T
he killer must've waited for Pamela, followed her without being seen and then held her under the water.' Libby's brow furrowed.

  Dawn nodded. 'Or else, he killed her first and threw the body into the sea afterwards.'

  'It could be a suicide,' Libby said, 'but there's no note. We'll just have to see what Dr Gallagher says.'

  In the afternoon, the two investigators took a stroll along Seapoint Beach. The place was deserted, all the officers were gone, and Pamela's body had been taken to the mortuary. The rain had stopped, but the wind had picked up, and the seas were choppy. After taking a ten-minute walk, the two women arrived at the west pier.

  Ballyhasset Harbour was shaped like a circle, its two piers stretched out in the bay like the pincers of a giant crab. They continued their stroll along the stony promenade of the west pier. A few yachts were anchored away out in the deeper waters of the middle of the harbour, their white sails tinkling in the breeze.

  Libby saw a few small bright-blue fishing boats anchored at the edge of the water below them. A ten-foot barrier wall ran along the outer edge of the walkway. It protected the harbour inlet from the ravages of any stormy waves. The inner side of the stone walkway allowed people access to yachts and boats moored in the harbour inlet.

  'Was Pamela's death an accident or not? That is the question. If Pamela took a stroll along here, perhaps a giant wave swept her into the sea,' Libby said.

  'She could have fallen in, I suppose,' Dawn replied.

  Libby glanced at the high wall to her left. 'Not on that side anyway, but here on our right side.'

  Dawn looked to her right, at the water directly below her. 'You're correct. There's no barrier along here, Pamela could have slipped in there, in the dark.'

  Libby remained silent for an instant. Dawn waited for her to speak.

  'I can't picture how her body washed up at Seapoint if she fell in here. Surely Ballyhasset Harbour would keep the body in its circular area.'

  'Okay,' Dawn said, biting her lip, 'you're saying she never walked as far as the west pier?'

  Libby replied, 'I don't know. Seapoint Beach is where we found the body.'

  'Currents can carry a body anywhere,' Dawn said.

  Libby thought for a few seconds. 'Anyway, my guess is she went into the sea down there at the Seapoint bathing area.' Libby pointed back towards the area where they had found the body. 'She didn't fall in anywhere along here, I think.'

  ***

  Libby rang the pathologist when she got back to the office. 'When did Pamela die, Dr Gallagher?'

  'About three days ago, I'd say, around last Sunday evening.'

  'Gina saw her at seven last Sunday,' Libby said. 'So Pamela drowned later than that, anyway.'

  'She may have been swept in by a huge wave when she went for a walk,' he said.

  'How will I find what the tides were like last Sunday?'

  'I'm not sure,' he replied. 'Try the Irish Sailing Association, maybe they'll tell you.' He paused. 'Or an old Irish Times might.'

  'I don't keep old newspapers. No, I'll ring that sailing crowd so.'

  'You do that,' the doctor replied. Libby thanked him and rang off.

  Libby rang Met Eireann, and a woman answered. She asked the woman about last Sunday night's weather in Ballyhasset. No strong winds had gusted on this particular night or the next morning, the woman told her.

  Libby rang Brendan Sullivan about recent extremely high tides. His house was located near the beach, so she thought he might know about them. 'Does the seawater ever come up to the road?' she asked.

  Brendan replied, 'Once or twice it has. Why are you asking me this anyway?'

  Libby added, 'Could a person be swept in by walking along Seapoint beach or the west pier?'

  'It's never happened yet,' Brendan said curtly. 'Who'd be stupid enough to go walking on that type of night, anyway?' He put down the phone.

  Next Libby rang the Irish Sailing Association as the pathologist had suggested. 'Ballyhasset had no extremely high tide that night, Sunday, the eleventh of June,' the receptionist informed her.

  Later on, Dawn brought Libby in a cup of tea, pulled up a chair and sat down beside her.

  'We've no proof for the accidental drowning theory as yet,' Libby said with a sigh. She sipped her tea slowly. 'Thanks, I needed this badly.'

  Dawn said quietly, 'Drowning must be a painless way to die. Perhaps Pamela didn't suffer much.'

  'I'm sorry Dawn, I can't agree. It's surely not painless. I'd imagine struggling for air is a horrible experience.' Libby shuddered.

  Chapter 16

  The following day Libby drove to the St Gabriel's mortuary to talk to Dr Gallagher again. A metal trolley in the centre of the room held Pamela's corpse, covered by a sheet.

  She gazed at Dr Gallagher as he finished his writing. 'Is it hard to drown a person?' she asked, after a while.

  He lifted his head. 'Not if you can overpower your victim. If you can manage to hold someone underwater, you can drown him or her in a minute.'

  Libby's eyes widened. 'I never realised it.'

  The doctor peered at her through his glasses. 'Realised what?'

  'That drowning happens so fast.'

  He nodded and then added, 'I finished the post-mortem on Pamela Kelly an hour ago.'

  'Right, that's what I came to see you about.'

  Libby was struck by how quickly the dead are tidied away once their corpse has been discovered. They are moved from the public view and examined on a mortuary trolley within the space of a few hours.

  Dr Gallagher produced the graphic post-mortem photos and placed them on the bench in front of her. He then took out his notes from a drawer underneath the bench. 'The skin on the dead woman's fingers and palms shows the typical effect of prolonged immersion in water.' He rummaged through the photos and took out one. It showed a close-up of Pamela's hands. Libby noted that the skin on them was swollen and dimpled.

  He produced another photo for her. 'Here you can see a laceration at the base of the skull.'

  'So, perhaps a bang to the back of the head killed her?' Libby suggested.

  'No, she died from drowning,' he replied. Libby digested this news.

  Dr Gallagher pointed to a photo of the lungs. 'See, they are swollen with water, as you would expect. Pamela's chest expanded, and inhaled water, which entered her windpipe and travelled to the lungs.' He paused for breath. 'If she had been dead on entry to the sea, she wouldn't have inhaled so much fluid.'

  'Oh, I see,' Libby said, as she examined the images carefully. 'So was her death an accident or suicide?'

  'Probably suicide,' Dr Gallagher replied. 'I mean, who goes swimming in the middle of the night?'

  Libby felt confused. The woman she had met was full of life and not in the least suicidal. Therefore, the only other explanation was that she fell in. 'You said yourself someone could have held Pamela under the water and forced her to drown.'

  'That's possible,' the doctor agreed, 'but she would strongly resist. She was a healthy young woman.'

  'What about the laceration, when did Pamela get that?' Libby asked, her brow creasing.

  'Just before she died, or at the time of death.'

  Libby glanced sharply at him. 'How do you know that?'

  'I see no sign of tissue healing here, so death occurred only a few minutes or less after this injury.'

  Libby frowned. 'But you say this blow was not due to being hit by someone?'

  He nodded. 'Pamela probably fell against an underwater rock, and scraped her head at the time she drowned. It's only a superficial wound, it didn't kill her.'

  Libby said, 'Two doctors dead within a short time of each other, and they worked together. There must be a link. I don't buy this suicide theory at all.'

  Dr Gallagher shrugged. 'That's not my worry, anyway. Ask the police, maybe they have an explanation. I've to continue writing my report.' He said goodbye and turned his back to her.

  Chapter 17

  Libby was convinced Conor had concealed somet
hing about the circumstances leading to Pamela's death. She arranged to meet Conor at home with the intention of forcing some truthful answers from him.

  He brought her into his house and she sat on his sofa in the living room. He stood facing her, with a cigarette in his hand. He was pale and his expression was remote.

  'Pamela won't be following you anymore,' Libby said. 'So you can come out of hiding now.'

  He winced and then sighed. 'I wasn't hiding. I've lost my best friend. I was going to ask Pamela to marry me.'

  Libby stared at him with disbelief. A likely story, she thought. 'Pamela won't be marrying anyone now.'

  Conor flinched. 'Brendan rang me yesterday and gave me the awful news.' Conor covered his face with his hands and then stood up abruptly. 'I'm such a fool. Everything's turned out wrong.' He paced up and down, taking deep puffs of his cigarette. 'I'm so confused now; I'm all mixed up. It's all such a mess.' He stubbed his cigarette viciously on a metal ashtray.

  'When did you last see Pamela alive?' Libby asked him, with a critical expression.

  Conor shifted uneasily in the chair, refusing to meet her eye. 'On the night of the party, over a week ago. She stayed on after everyone else went home. I went down to Galway after that. You met me there, remember?'

  Libby's voice grew hard. 'Did you kill Pamela?'

  'No. Never. She killed herself. She must have felt so let down, so alone. I was so terrible to her, leaving her in her hour of need. That's why she killed herself. I never thought in a million years she'd jump in the sea, but...' His voice trailed off.

  'But what?'

  'She did write a note.' Conor exhaled audibly.

  'What?' Libby said, jerking her head towards him. A suicide note? Why was he only mentioning this now?

  'I drove back to Ballyhasset last Monday, the day after I met you in Galway. I rang Pamela late that evening, but there was no answer. I went over to her house. I had a key, so I let myself in. I found the note on the coffee table. I read it and kept it.' He sighed. 'I intended to give it back to her.'