The Doll's House (22 page)

I stop talking, press the stop button, and again listen back.

I phone Dominic. When I hear his voice, I feel instantly reassured.

‘Dominic, it’s Clodagh.’

‘Are you okay?’ His voice is soft.

‘Where are you, Dominic?’

‘I’m at home.’

‘Are you alone?’

‘Val’s gone out with friends.’

‘I was wondering if I could call over. I’ve been remembering stuff.’

‘You sound hassled. Martin hasn’t hurt you?’

‘No … Well, yes, but that’s not it.’

‘I’ll kill that prick if he’s hurt you again.’

‘Shut up, Dominic, it doesn’t matter.’

‘It matters, Clodagh.’

‘Dominic, will you stop talking for a minute? I’m not ringing you because of Martin. I need to talk to you about Mum.’

‘Clodagh, when are you going to let that go? It’s all history.’

‘It’s not about our argument. It’s about her and a guy called Keith Jenkins. Do you remember him? He used to visit Mum in the afternoon when Dad wasn’t there. Someone has killed him.’

He doesn’t answer. I wonder if Dominic remembers him. He must do. I couldn’t have been the only one to know. ‘Dominic, I want to talk to you about Keith Jenkins.’

‘What about him?’

‘I remember the two of them together. Dad didn’t know.’

‘Are you sober?’ His question sounds loaded.

I want to lose it with him, but if I’m going to get anywhere, I
need to keep calm. I say, ‘I’m perfectly sober. I haven’t been drinking, I’ve been remembering. I’m seeing someone. He’s a hypnotist. He’s helping me to regress.’

‘For God’s sake, Clodagh, what the hell are you going to one of those fraudsters for?’

‘He’s not a fraudster.’

‘How do you know?’

The truth is, I don’t, but I’m not going to admit that to Dominic.

‘Dominic, I need to remember.’ I hear another silence at the end of the phone. Before he has a chance to speak, I say, ‘Dominic, you know more than you’re telling me, don’t you?’

‘Know what, Clodagh?’

‘You knew there was someone else. He used to call in the afternoons, when Dad was at work. I know his name. I know who he was. Dominic, are you still there?’

‘Of course I am.’ He pauses. ‘Clodagh, this isn’t going to do anyone any good, least of all you. None of this matters.’

‘What do you mean, least of all me?’

‘It’s not going to help, all this looking back.’

‘It’s my past, Dominic, not yours. My choice.’ I’m screaming at him now. ‘If you know something, you’d better tell me.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why can’t you?’

‘I promised Mum.’

‘Fuck Mum! Tell me.’

‘Calm down, Clodagh. If it mattered, I’d tell you.’

I take a deep breath, speaking calmer. ‘Dominic, the man I remembered, the one with Mum, he’s dead. He was murdered.’

‘I know that.’

I don’t know why I feel surprised, because then he says, ‘I heard about it on the news, same as you, no doubt.’

‘Do you remember him, Dominic?’

‘Yes, but it’s a long time ago.’

‘What do you remember?’

‘I remember he was a prick.’ Dominic isn’t even trying to disguise his anger, but then he calms down. ‘Clodagh, there’s something else, but before I tell you, I want you to promise me you’re not going to start going off on any wild tangent.’

‘What is it?’

‘Promise me, Clodagh.’

‘I promise.’ Again I attempt to sound calm.

‘Jimmy.’

‘Uncle Jimmy?’

‘He was never our uncle, Clodagh. You know that.’

‘What happened?’

‘You promised to stay calm.’

‘I’m fucking calm.’

‘We haven’t seen either of them in years.’

‘Dominic, will you goddamn tell me?’

‘He’s dead.’

My silence feels deafening. Dominic continues to talk, but I don’t hear him. When I speak, my voice sounds slower, as if it belongs to someone else, someone in control, someone who will be able to take in this information and make sense of it. ‘Dominic, tell me how he died.’

‘I don’t want you to worry.’

‘You are worrying me.’ My head hurts. ‘Dominic, tell me.’

‘According to the news, he died the same way as Keith Jenkins.’

‘I can’t believe what I’m hearing.’

‘Clodagh, they’re part of the past.’

‘Dominic,’ my voice is more assured than I feel, ‘I want to meet you at the house tomorrow.’

‘What house?’

‘Seacrest, of course – I need the key to the attic. You still have it, don’t you?’

Again he takes his time answering, and while I wait, I can’t get the
image of the attic out of my mind – Dominic, Martin, Stevie and me hiding up there as kids, as if we’d done something wrong. It feels connected to Emmaline, but I can’t work out why.

‘But, Clodagh—’

‘No buts, Dominic. When can you get time out from work?’

‘I’m not in work tomorrow.’

‘Good. I’ll meet you after Martin’s ten o’clock call.’

‘Clodagh, I don’t think this is a good idea.’

‘Dominic, bring the key. I’ll see you there at eleven.’ I hang up before he can say another word.

Kate made good time getting to Benton Avenue, somewhat relieved to arrive before O’Connor. She looked at her face in the rear-view mirror. In the blame game, if she was being honest, she had been part of the problem, but that didn’t make the pain of Declan being with someone else any less. She laid her head against the headrest. She felt utterly alone.

Losing her mother, her only surviving parent, had changed things. Something happens when both your parents die. It’s like all traces of what went before are abandoned to memory. You can never hear their voices again, see an expression change on their faces or touch them. You think there must be some kind of continuation, but of what?

Had that been why she’d been fooling herself, thinking she and Declan could make things work, a desperate desire for family, to feel normal? Surely she of all people hadn’t been that naïve. Charlie was her world now. But if he was, why the hell wasn’t she with him, instead of sitting here waiting for O’Connor?

O’Connor didn’t need her there. He could have handled the interview with Deborah Gahan alone. Yet she’d agreed to meet him. Would she have agreed if it hadn’t been him doing the asking? What the hell was wrong with her? Kate drew a deep breath.

Whatever her reasons for being there, she had to use this time wisely to consider aspects of the case. Was the murder of both men a form of perverted justice on the killer’s part? Had either or both known their killer? The connection to the Hamilton drowning could turn out to be important or send them on a wild-goose chase. She looked in the rear-view mirror again. Passion and emotion were playing a role in the
attacks. If the killer was on some kind of crusade, who or what was he seeking justice for? Himself or someone else? Kate thought again about the eye-witness statement from Grace Power. She’d described the men as similar. There was nothing obviously different about their dress or appearance, meaning Jenkins’s attacker wasn’t some thug he’d accidentally stumbled upon. If the killer was middle class, he might not have a previous record. She thought again about the risk. Was it geographical convenience, a form of familiarity?

Adrian Hamilton had met his death in a similar way. Again, it was a long shot, but a connection. All three men had known each other. It was obvious from what Ozzie Brennan had said that there was no love lost between Deborah Gahan and her late brother. Deborah Gahan wasn’t the killer, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t involved.

Kate sat in her car as she watched O’Connor pull in on the opposite side of the road. Soon they would be talking to Jimmy’s only surviving sibling.

Stevie’s meeting yesterday evening hadn’t gone according to plan. The smooth bastard had gained in arrogance over the years, becoming a lot more powerful than Stevie had realised. Still, timing was everything. Ruby McKay was only seventeen, and even if she wanted to keep her mouth shut, that didn’t mean Stevie had to.

She had opened up completely, once she’d got some coke inside her, believing she had a listening ear, thinking, like most spoilt brats, that it was her way or the highway. Stevie wasn’t so green. He’d fed her full of the crap she’d wanted to hear. Once she’d believed he was on her side, it had all come spluttering out, every last rotten bit of it. And anything little Ruby didn’t care to share wasn’t too difficult to fill in.

He had wondered if their new trust would mean getting more intimately acquainted. But he wasn’t on her radar. Nor was he about to start meddling with the bag of candy that might furnish him with a good pay-off. If the situation had been different, he would have given her one for sure.

Stevie had thought long and hard, waiting for his mark to arrive. The guy had had plenty of accusations levelled against him – suspected fraud, corruption, back-handers – but nothing had stuck, and the recent spate of government tribunals hadn’t bothered him either. Everything could be easily forgiven if not forgotten. Most people turned a blind eye if it suited them. But messing with someone as young as Ruby McKay was something else entirely, especially when your socialite wife was chasing one bleeding good cause after another, opening gala events all over the damn city.

Stevie had underestimated his opponent. The two heavies who had
come along with him for the ‘welcome meeting’ had certainly made their point. Normally, getting the shit kicked out of him wouldn’t have made any odds to Stevie. But the heavies were ex-Provos. They were a whole different ballgame.

He wasn’t sure how far he could push things with those bleeding fanatical heavies in tow. He had no real desire to spill the beans on the fucker either, but you couldn’t blame a guy for wanting to make some money out of it. Even the fat, smarmy bastard could see that.

None of this was about making waves. Once both parties knew they were talking the same language, it should have made things easier – that was, once Stevie agreed to play ball.

He’d get his money all right, but first he had to earn it. It was all part of the same old fucking game. Stevie would need to get his fingers dirty, gain back the guy’s trust, as if he had been the one to fuck things up in the first place. ‘Insurance’ was what the slimy fucker had called it. He would get half his money now, the other half later. Stevie wasn’t particularly keen, but considering everything, he had no plans to mess about with that fucking crowd. Not unless he wanted to end up dead.

He needed to rest for a while, get himself on the mend. Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge, he put on the television. With all his visits over the last couple of days, he hadn’t seen much of the news. He didn’t feel a whole lot better when he saw Jimmy Gahan had taken a swim in the canal. His gut told him it was linked. His head told him not to ask too many questions. Sometimes in life the less you knew, the better, and the safer it would be for everyone, especially Stevie.

If either Kate or O’Connor had had any illusions that they were about to meet Jimmy Gahan’s grieving sibling, they would have been disappointed. Deborah Gahan was one well-groomed lady, with the kind of grooming that didn’t happen in a couple of hours. Her face was locked with so much Botox that her heavy makeup gave the impression of holding up something that should have collapsed a long time ago. But behind the forced facial façade, there was no denying that this unnatural blonde had once been a very attractive woman.

Kate and O’Connor took their seats opposite the late Jimmy Gahan’s sister, in her opulent living room with its original Victorian features and an overdose of cream and gold. Behind her scarlet lipstick and powder pink skin, Deborah Gahan looked more than ready for them.

The contrast between how Jimmy Gahan must have lived and the lifestyle his sister obviously enjoyed was nearly as blatant as the distance Deborah Gahan wanted to put between her and her latest visitors.

‘I fail to see how I can be of any use to you, Detective Inspector O’Connor. Jimmy and I were not close. We lived completely different lives, and I’m not going to pretend any belated sorrow at his loss.’

‘Fair enough.’ O’Connor was sitting on the edge of the antique sofa. ‘I appreciate your honesty, Ms Gahan, but there are a few things you might be able to help us with.’ His use of ‘us’ caused Deborah Gahan to look directly at Kate, sitting to O’Connor’s left. As if picking up on the question in the woman’s mind, O’Connor continued, ‘My apologies, Ms Gahan, this is Dr Kate Pearson. Her field is forensic
psychology.’ Kate rose to shake Deborah Gahan’s hand and although she returned the handshake, it wasn’t with enthusiasm.

‘Two men have been murdered, including your late brother, and I understand you knew both of them.’

‘A lot of people knew Keith Jenkins, Detective Inspector.’

‘I’m aware of that, Ms Gahan, but I understand your brother had been friends with him since college.’

‘Keith was a few years younger than Jimmy.’ She shifted in her seat. ‘They met in Jimmy’s final year, and I wouldn’t exactly call them friends. But, yes, Detective Inspector, I did know of him, and of their acquaintance with each other.’

‘And Adrian Hamilton, you knew him too?’

‘Yes. As far as I remember, he was in the same year as Jimmy.’

‘He died in a boating accident, Ms Gahan.’

‘That is correct.’ She faced Kate again. ‘I understand he had the same fondness for the bottle as my late brother.’

O’Connor stood up from the sofa, moving around the room, while Deborah Gahan’s eyes followed him. ‘What can you tell us about Adrian Hamilton?’

‘Really, Detective Inspector, I don’t see how that could be of any use.’

‘Humour me.’ O’Connor stood still and stared at Deborah Gahan, who looked far from the humouring kind.

Kate watched them both. O’Connor was on well-rehearsed territory: encouraging others to share information with him was something he did extremely well. Deborah Gahan wasn’t exactly an obliging informant, but she reluctantly recited her knowledge of Adrian Hamilton as if she was answering questions on
Mastermind
.