‘Eamonn was told that out of respect for the family’s loss of their mother, they were not going to execute him, but should he continue with sharing his plight, then they would have no option but to finish him off. His face was a bloodied mess. Cheekbone broken, nose wrecked, one ear drum exploded, never mind the cracked ribs and Ribena-coloured bruises. His own sister, Eileen, didn’t recognise him when he was delivered to her doorway.’
If Eden had been an informer, then surely Special Branch and the security forces would have been desperate to know how the IRA had discovered her role. Had Father Ryan passed on information about her? The family were adamant that their mother had not been a tout. The RUC had denied it too.
Now, the Dunlore murders had muddied the waters further, but somewhere within the swamp of rumour and memory, the truth lay hidden, waiting to be revealed.
CHAPTER 40
Ten days had passed since the murder case had landed on Danny’s desk and he was feeling the pressure. The press had continued to run with the story, and it had even carried across the water. The tabloids had also taken an interest, revelling in the brutal nature of the deaths and the idyllic location. All of which only heightened the sense that ACC McCausland was putting the screws on, creating a renewed sense of urgency to crack the case.
Danny had a meeting booked for twelve to update McCausland and he felt a frustrated knot in his gut. There was little new to tell, and he expected to get a bollocking. McCausland liked to flex his managerial muscle and the Lennon case fuck-up was never far from memory. He envied Rose, coming in fresh from the mainland, no history of messing up to overshadow her current case.
He could feel sweat gathering between his shoulders. He thought of his father out working on the farm, his tweed cap firmly on his head, a farmer’s tan darkening on his arms. He loved that farm and couldn’t for the life of him understand how Danny was prepared to give it all up to spend his days working for the PSNI. Never mind that every year it was harder to make a decent living from it.
But he knew his father spoke proudly of him in company, that he had some sense that what Danny did for a living was worthwhile and rewarding. Except on days like this, when he felt that he was making no progress and he longed to be out in the fields, with the feel of the heat on his back and nobody to answer to except the cattle and the sheep.
Annoyed, he grabbed a cold can of Coke from the vending machine and cracked it open in the hallway. He then checked around the office to see what the rest of the team were up to. Malachy Magee was on the phone, chasing up CCTV footage from the nearby motorway that led to the cottage. Jack Fitzgerald was focused on his computer screen, running through data. He was meticulous and one to get on with the job in hand. A bit lippy at times, but not a bad lad. Cases like this one weren’t going to be solved by painstaking evidence trails alone though. It was going to take something out of the ordinary to point them in the right direction.
‘Listen up. We need to focus our energies.’ He spoke with attitude, a sense of wanting to smash their heads together, to make them care enough to push that little bit harder. He had stopped caring about being liked. It was about getting the job done and making sure he did everything in his power to make that happen.
‘This case is proving to be difficult. The stakes are high with three dead and Dylan Wray hanging on by the skin of his teeth. We need to get something and fast. Dr Lainey has been given the go ahead to talk to Iona Gardener again so I’ll be heading to the Shannon Clinic with her soon. I need one of you good for nothing eejits to bring me something worth looking at by tea time.’
He hoped it would be enough to shake them up.
Now, he had to deal with the boss.
McCausland was waiting on him, sitting watching the corridor with his office door wide open. He was one of those men who liked to assert his authority and managed the squad through a thin veil of intimidation.
‘All right, Sir?’ Danny said, walking into the office. A fan was sitting on the desk, whirring away and blowing the warm air around them.
‘Sit down, Stowe, and get me up to speed on what’s happening with the case.’
Danny folded himself into the chair and began. He ran through the forensics, the autopsy reports and the dire lack of theories.
McCausland’s stony face said it all.
‘I’m heading over to interview Iona Gardener now. I believe that she holds the key to all of this.’ He wasn’t sure if he really believed that or not, but he had to offer up something to make McCausland’s face mobile again.
The ACC leaned back in his superior office chair, all black leather padding and special neck support. ‘I shouldn’t need to spell out what is at stake here. Your career is on the line with this one, Stowe.’
‘Yes, Sir. I’m aware that I’ve a lot to prove.’
‘What about the Lainey woman. How’s that working out?’
‘Dr Lainey has been a great help. She’s the one who got the go ahead to conduct an interview with Iona Gardener.’
‘Well, make sure she earns her keep. I don’t want to be hauled up to justify extra spend on quacks.’
‘I can assure you, Sir, that Dr Lainey is proving her worth,’ Danny said.
Danny knew that every witness was different, and every trauma left its own mark. Iona Gardener was his last hope. What he had told McCausland could be true. While he didn’t for a minute believe she could’ve carried out the murders alone, he knew she had been present and had valuable information. He respected the need to treat her with care, but he was past the stage of making allowances and he had given enough special consideration to her state of mind.
Solving this case was the most effective way of helping her. She had to talk.
He hesitated before he picked up the phone. He hoped he was doing the right thing. Some cases seemed to yield results quickly, one lead turning into another. But this one was brick walls all the way. He needed a sledgehammer to break through and that sledgehammer could be him. Rose could provide the back-up. For now, he wanted to see how Iona reacted under normal police interrogation.
CHAPTER 41
On the way to the Shannon Clinic, Danny filled Rose in on McCausland’s pep talk.
‘He’s out to make a point. If I don’t get a result soon, I’m screwed. You know that the Lennon case didn’t exactly go as it should’ve and I’ve paid for that with the move into HET. The move back to the Serious Crime Unit with this case is a probationary one.’
‘What happened on the Lennon case?’
‘I missed a valuable piece of evidence and cracked the perp’s head against a wall. My mind wasn’t on the job. Shit was going down with Amy and I let it get in the way. Lesson learned.’
‘I wasn’t sure if I should ask.’
He looked straight ahead and changed the subject.
‘This is a tricky beast of a case. We need to make Iona talk, find out what she’s hiding and why. If she had a hand in the murders, we can’t be restricted by medics. We need to question her.’
‘I’ve been in contact with her doctor, Angela Duffy, again. She told me Iona is making progress, but they are reluctant to push her. While she’s happy for us to speak with Iona, we have to do it in situ at the hospital,’ Rose said. ‘And that means playing by their rules.’
Rose looked out at the sun-dappled houses as they drove up the Saintfield Road. ‘Emotional injuries can be as profoundly debilitating as physical injuries. Whatever happened that night, Iona has been psychologically wounded. We have to tread carefully. The collateral damage of what she has experienced is post-traumatic amnesia. It may not be simply a matter of making her talk. Her memories of that night could be wiped.’
‘No, we have to hope it’s all there for the picking. It would be a bit too convenient to say she’s had her brain wiped. That’s like the type of defence you see on an American crime drama. We’re not buying into that. How else would she be affected by the trauma of what went down in the cottage?’
‘Anything from confusi
on, agitation, distress and anxiety through to acting out in uncharacteristic behaviours such as violence and aggression. In some cases, the patient may present as being quiet, docile and compliant,’ Rose said.
Danny nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘It’s likely that Iona has been in a heightened state of fear and panic. Her body will have been filled with adrenaline and this has several effects. The hippocampus is a part of the brain that processes memories. High levels of stress hormones, like adrenaline, can prevent it from functioning as it should. Often, we find that flashbacks and nightmares happen after the event because the memories of the trauma can’t be processed in the normal, expected way. When the stress levels fall, the adrenaline levels get back to normal and the brain is then able to repair the damage itself. The symptoms that Iona is presenting with can occur as soon as the traumatic event occurs, or after a delay of weeks or even months.’
‘I’m relying on you to cut through all of that. Flash her that Rosie smile, the sympathetic nod of the head, and see what gives.’
Further up the Saintfield Road they saw the sign for the hospital and pulled into the long driveway of the vast grounds. A sign listed the names of the buildings and units – Inver, Copeland, Divis, Donard and others, obviously named after Irish mountains, islands and rivers.
Tall, well-established trees populated the lush green grounds. Danny drove slowly up the hill and found the grey building where the Shannon Clinic unit was situated. When they parked the car and made their way into the unit, they came across a sign stating ‘High security area. All visitors must sign in’.
Rose pressed on the buzzer. ‘There’s a risk that any information we get from her is actually only a reaction to placate us. The mind can turn on itself when it has been exposed to something traumatic. You saw that cottage. Anyone would be disturbed to have lived through that rampage. She’s vulnerable.’
Danny sighed. ‘The false confession only messed this case up even more. We have discounted her claim that she did it on the grounds that she couldn’t have murdered them. According to the pathology reports, the force and entrance of the knife wounds mean that the killer was male and bigger than average. So, if Iona was involved, it was in some capacity of assistance. Plus, there’s no motive yet that we can attribute to her.’
A voice came through the intercom, asking them who they were expecting to see.
‘Patient Iona Gardener and Dr Duffy,’ Danny replied.
‘One minute please.’
‘We can talk to her, see where we stand, and if she’s willing, there’s techniques the psychologists can use to help her recover memory. I’ve had a couple of conversations with Dr Duffy and she isn’t so keen, so it may not be an option.’
‘That’s something we can fall back on,’ Danny said as the automatic doors slid open.
The staff were more welcoming when they saw their credentials. It took a couple of nurses and questions before Danny tracked down Angela Duffy in her office. ‘You found us, Detective,’ she said, as she stood from her desk and reached out her hand to shake theirs.
‘Aye, we did, so. You’ve spoke to Dr Lainey on the phone,’ he said, by way of an introduction.
She nodded to Rose.
‘I wondered, could we have a word before we go in to see Iona?’ Danny asked.
‘Of course. What can I do for you?’
‘Have you seen anything like Iona Gardener’s case before?’
‘What, you mean a patient suffering from complex post-traumatic stress disorder?’
Danny nodded.
‘Yes, we’ve seen cases like this before. The memory can be distorted when someone experiences a traumatic episode.’
‘Yeah, I get that, but she has confessed to a crime that we know she can’t have committed. She said she did it, not that she was involved or knew who had done it. Why would she do that?’
She leaned against the wall. ‘You have to realise that recalling an episode from even the recent past may involve a blend of fiction and fact. There is a type of trauma-focused cognitive behavioural therapy that can help, but like anything of this nature, it can’t be rushed.’ She looked towards Rose, as if to say, this is all obvious.
‘And can you tell if she is trying to fool us? Trying to hide what she knows by pretending she is so traumatised that she can’t remember?’ Danny asked.
‘Detective, I can assure you we can tell the difference between someone who is presenting with clinical symptoms as opposed to someone who is putting on a show of pretence.’
‘Aye, I’m sure, but you know, I have to check.’
‘What’s her recovery process been like?’ Rose asked.
‘We are working with her using a mixture of therapy and drugs, but it will take time to see progress and that’s why you can’t expect a breakthrough for your case any time soon. I’m sure you are aware of the need to be cautious of any information Iona may give you. She is starting to respond and to speak more, but I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that it is a process. One that we can’t force.’
‘So, you’re saying she isn’t a credible witness in her present state,’ Rose clarified.
‘I’m saying she is at risk of giving you flawed testimony, that she can process the events and come up with a different version of the truth. She may have survivor guilt and may feel a huge sense of injustice that this has happened to her friends. Whatever she tells you, treat it with care.’
‘Anything else we should know?’ Rose asked.
‘Iona was seeing a university counsellor before this happened. Mild depressive episodes. We’ve no reason to think that this was related to anything other than stress – the pressures of modern living and exams looming – but I just wanted to mention it.’
They were shown into Iona’s room and a Filipino nurse, who announced his name was Ernest, sat in with them. Danny took the chair near the window and spoke first.
‘Iona, we need to talk to you again about the night before the murders. Do you remember my colleague Rose Lainey? She is a doctor, but she also works with the PSNI. We both want to help you. Can you go over what you all were doing that evening?’
Iona stared at him, her eyes limpid pools of nothingness. She was ghostly pale. Her skin diaphanous, the blue veins snaking across her wrist, which she kept rubbing with her other hand.
Rose put her hand out and reached over to take Iona’s. ‘I understand that this is hard for you, Iona. You have lost three of your friends. But I am also sure you want to help us find out who did it. Dylan is still seriously ill. If he recovers, he will be able to help us, too, but in the meantime, you are our only hope.’
She nodded ever so slightly. Enough to encourage them.
‘Thank you for seeing me again,’ Rose said.
‘Sure, we’re happy to see a visitor. Aren’t we Iona?’ Ernest said.
Iona didn’t reply. She looked like she could hardly care where she was or who was speaking to her.
‘Shall we have a wee sit outside in the courtyard?’ the young orderly asked.
Rose nodded. It would be good for Iona to get out of the room with the pale green walls and sterile smell.
The walled courtyard was empty except for a table with a parasol and four chairs.
Iona sat first and Rose took a chair opposite her. The nurse sat apart from them in the shade of an overhanging roof.
Iona had that haunted look about her that only the grief stricken wore. Her pallor was greyish, and she had dark shadows in the hollows beneath her eyes. She looked like she hadn’t seen the sun in years, despite only being here for two weeks.
‘Iona, we need to ask you some questions. I am working on a particular angle of the case and have some questions of my own.’
She was staring down at her leggings, plucking the fabric repeatedly.
‘Iona, in the cottage there was some graffiti on the wall of the downstairs living room.’ Rose opened her folder of notes and passed a photograph of the wall towards Iona. Her eyes flickered to it for a
second before looking away again and resuming the plucking of her leggings.
‘It says “Who Took Eden Mulligan?” Do you know who wrote that on the wall?’
Again, that flicker of the eyes. A sharp darting, as if looking for an escape. Her eyebrow twitched involuntarily.
‘Iona, we need to understand why that was written on the wall of the living room. Anything you tell us can help.’
‘It was me. I wrote it.’ Her voice was hoarse and whispery, as if she hadn’t spoken for a long time. She looked directly at Rose, her eyes wide and suddenly brighter.
‘Why did you write it? What connection do you have with the Mulligan family?’
The shutters came down, her face strangely passive and blank.
‘Iona, did someone visit the cottage that night? Was there someone else there with you all?’
Her eyes flickered to the left. Danny noticed Rose taking note. It was a tell-tale sign that she was concealing something.
‘Did you know the person?’
She nodded.
‘Iona, talk to me. Tell me what happened.’
She swallowed hard. Opened her mouth slowly and then closed it again, as if she was unused to speaking. Then she began.
CHAPTER 42
‘In the cottage, we were happy,’ she said softly, barely above a whisper. ‘It was like before, when we were all students, just hanging out, taking the piss out of each other and roaring with laughter. We had a shorthand together, everything was so easy.’ Her voice was low and quiet with a raspy quality to it. Danny watched as she stared into the distance, looking as if she was viewing the scene unfold before her. She kept her hands clasped together on her lap, almost as though she was in prayer.
‘It felt like a holiday at first. We had finished university and we were all about to start the next phase of our lives. We missed spending every day in each other’s company just talking, reading, drinking and eating. At university, we would go to our separate lectures and then come home to study together, and spend the evenings hanging out. It was a golden time. We felt like it would never end. That’s why when Henry suggested renting somewhere long term we all agreed.’
Who Took Eden Mulligan? Page 19