The Doll's House (6 page)

‘Mark, I want you to take Kate through absolutely everything we
have so far. Every detail, no matter how small or irrelevant it might seem.’

‘Not a problem, sir.’

‘Kate, Mark will be working closely with you on this investigation. He’s your contact. You can take it that everything you hear from him is also coming from me. Is that okay with you?’

‘Of course.’ She nodded. She’d assumed she would be working directly with O’Connor, but he had clearly decided otherwise. Within moments of their initial introduction, O’Connor turned on his heels, leaving her and Lynch to get acquainted.

‘How long have you worked with O’Connor?’

‘The last few months. Before that I covered the Sweetman case. O’Connor was part of the final review squad before we handed the file over to the DPP.’

‘The young model who committed suicide?’

‘That’s the one. Gloria Sweetman.’

Lynch had obviously earned his stripes, and if he was working closely with O’Connor, he was a detective to depend on. There was something sharp about him, a quiet confidence that Kate liked. Sensing Lynch wanted to move the conversation on, she obliged. ‘So, what do we have here, Mark?’

Flicking open his notebook, he began: ‘Victim was found floating face up in the water. No effort had been made to hide the body, nothing attached to it to weigh it down, or any form of covering over it.’

‘Perhaps the killer was short on time?’

Lynch took her question as rhetorical, looking up briefly from his notebook before continuing as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘The grassed area running alongside the canal bank has recently been cut, so the grass was tight. Some bagged and tagged items have been taken from the immediate vicinity. Surface litter mainly, including a receipt for a hotel.’

‘Which one?’

‘Maldon House – it’s in Blessington.’

Kate knew it might be nothing – the receipt could have belonged to anyone – but it wouldn’t be the first time a killer had made a slip-up of such magnitude. She turned away from Lynch to where Hanley and the rest of the techies had set up shop. ‘And the blood markings, there must be plenty?’

‘Examination of blood characteristics is currently being carried out on the grassed area, footpath, roadway, and the canal ledge.’ Lynch also looked over to where the techies and their large white van were parked.

‘Anything concrete in yet?’

‘Not to me, but it’s early days.’

‘Apart from believing the victim was alive going into the water, what else did Morrison have to say?’

‘He’s confirmed that the stab wounds were to the lower chest. The details of angle, estimated type and length of blade will form part of his autopsy report.’

‘Mark, you can call me Kate.’

‘Kate.’ For the first time he looked slightly wrong-footed.

‘Did Morrison say if the attack was frenzied?’

‘There were multiple stab wounds. The slash mark on the victim’s right arm means he put up some kind of initial fight, but Morrison is not saying any more than that. I’m no expert, but from what I could see, the killer did a lot of damage.’

‘You’re the most expert person I have right now.’ She hoped her smile would put the detective at ease.

Returning to his notebook, Lynch continued: ‘House-to-house enquiries are under way. Harry Robinson is in charge of those. Witness statements from the last known sightings of the victim in Gogan’s pub and the Caldine Club on Kildare Street are also being taken. They’ll be ready for the briefing at midday. Hanley, as you can see, is in charge of the tech team. He and the guys will be here for a while.’

‘Where have you set up the incident room?’

‘We’re operating from Harcourt Street.’

‘Is Mick Butler still the chief super there?’ Kate watched for Lynch’s reaction. If he had any negative opinion of his line boss, he was keeping it to himself, nodding in confirmation and continuing.

‘CCTV footage is currently being pieced together. We’re running through our own cameras in Temple Bar. As for the rest, we’re dependent on footage from businesses or personal premises. As you know, these are erected for the protection of the premises only, so any shots we get of public areas or roads sighting the victim will be pure luck.’

‘I see, and the same with the canal.’

‘Indeed.’ Lynch paused to allow the last piece of information to sink in before continuing. ‘The victim was on foot leaving Gogan’s, and also when he left the club on Kildare Street. Based on the eye-witness statement, we believe Keith Jenkins was taken here by car. Clothing on the victim was the same as he was last seen wearing, apart from a scarf, which he could have mislaid at any point after he left the Kildare Street club.’

‘Lynch filling you in?’ Kate hadn’t noticed O’Connor walking up behind them.

‘Yes, he is.’ Turning back to Lynch, Kate noted he had taken the arrival of his superior as his cue to stop talking.

‘Lynch?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘The techies have some details on possible tyre markings. Get what you can down before the briefing and I’ll fill Kate in.’

As Lynch left them, Kate waited until he was some distance away before saying, ‘He’s a good guy, O’Connor.’

‘The force is full of them, Kate, but, yes, I agree. I think young Lynch has great possibilities.’

‘Does he remind you of yourself? When you were young and enthusiastic?’ Kate couldn’t help but allow some friendly banter into her voice.

‘I’m always enthusiastic, Kate. I’ve just learned to hide it a little better, that’s all.’

Was it her imagination or had O’Connor changed? He was always a workhorse. A cop with a strong moral base who probably cared too little about promotion and too much about solving crimes than was likely to be good for him. She had noticed the dark shadows under his eyes earlier, but it was more than that. His posture, his body language, even the way he spoke to her, had an extra edge to it, as if she had wronged him in some way. But he didn’t look like a man in the mood for sharing his inner thoughts with her or anyone else.

‘Were you up late last night, Detective Inspector?’

‘What?’

‘Those black shadows under your eyes.’

‘Tired is all, Kate.’

‘I see. Well, spread some of your permanent enthusiasm by telling me what Hanley has on the tyre markings.’

O’Connor seemed relieved to switch the attention from him to the investigation. ‘Grace Power, in her statement, said she thought the car was speeding when it drove away.’

‘Go on.’

‘It looks like the car drove through the blood markings on the road. Hanley’s photographing what he thinks are pretty good tyre impressions, standard ninety-degree-angle stuff.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘With the low level of traffic at that time of the morning, and the speed at which the emergency call was acted upon, the tread markings are clean, but it’s always a race against time before blood deposits deteriorate.’

‘Does Hanley think there’s enough to get a match?’

‘He thinks so. A good tyre impression will give us tyre size, tread design, even manufacturer, if we’re lucky. Of course, there’s no guarantee they’re the originally fitted tyres.’

‘Important if you find the car.’

‘My guess is it will turn up burned out, or not at all.’

‘Rather pessimistic.’

‘I’ve learned to be that way, Kate. Unlike you, I don’t have a degree in criminal psychology, but even without it, some things come naturally.’

Again Kate detected the edge in his voice. ‘Glad to hear it.’ She wondered if the aggression was the result of work pressure, but she had seen him under that kind of pressure before. This was different. Perhaps the expression on her face gave away her thoughts because he was quick to respond.

‘Don’t get me wrong, Kate. If Hanley has something, it’s a good place to start, and the way this case is shaping up, a start is at least somewhere.’

‘I hear you have a hotel receipt.’

‘We do. Too early to determine the relevance, but I’ll have answers soon.’ O’Connor stared straight ahead of him. ‘You know, Kate, there are enough possible motives in this case to cover half a dozen homicides – a crazed fan, a hate crime based on that damn stupid show of his, even a disgruntled ex-lover. The guy was a known player, not to mention his well-aired bloody opinions, and God knows there was no end of those. But for what it’s worth, it doesn’t seem like the motive was money – at least, not instant money. Every one of the victim’s credit cards, along with a substantial amount of cash, was left on him.’

‘You say he was a ladies’ man?’

‘So it would seem. Not that I go in for all that celebrity gossip, but those in the know have already said as much. Officially, at this point, everything is on the table.’

Turning away from O’Connor, Kate took in the surroundings once more. ‘Well, even ignoring why the killer chose drowning over stabbing to finish off the victim, the location is always important.’ ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘Statistically most offenders live close to the scene of their crime. When a vehicle is involved, the offender is likely to have travelled six times on average further than those on foot.’

‘You’re really cheering me up. This case is a bloody resource nightmare.’

‘Still, O’Connor, drowning a near-dead victim in a public place puts some interesting slants on the reasons behind the killing.’

‘You’ve already formed possible scenarios, then?’

‘Like everything else at this early stage, it’s too soon for absolutes, but the way the victim was killed, and the location chosen, suggests that avoiding being caught wasn’t uppermost in the killer’s mind. Perhaps the stabbing was simply a means of weakening the victim. Keith Jenkins was well built. He wouldn’t have been an easy man to drown – assuming drowning was the preferred means of killing. I’ll need those images from earlier. The ones taken before the body was removed.’

‘You’ll get them by courier. I’ve a full squad briefing at midday.’

‘I don’t have to tell you, O’Connor, our victim’s celebrity status means this will spread wide and, as you say, in plenty of different directions. Right now, the late Keith Jenkins has to be my starting point. I’ll need whatever information you can get me on him, sooner rather than later.’

‘You’ll have it, Kate, I promise you that.’

Arranging to meet Gerard Hayden has somehow cemented my focus. I’ve begun and that’s important. If I’ve learned nothing else from rehab, it’s that you can’t move forward without looking back.

I check the time again, conscious that I need to get Martin’s call out of the way before I leave. He’s late, and that’s not like him. When he does call, his form is damn awful but, thankfully, for once, he’s brief.

It’s shortly after midday when I reach the strand. I have the keys for Seacrest, our old house in Sandymount, in my bag. I had them last night too. Martin was furious with me for wanting to go out again, especially as we had only just come home from dinner. ‘You’re crazy,’ he said. ‘It’s only a house.’ Maybe he’s right about that. Either way, I didn’t go inside, deciding to wait until daylight.

Inside, the house feels cold and empty. I think of years ago when it was filled with noise. When Dominic and I chased each other, or fought over which television programme we wanted to watch. I stare at the empty coat hooks where we hung our coats. The place is like an empty shell. For an instant, the oblong mirror in the hallway catches my eye. The last witness to my mother’s face before she went out, checking her makeup, her ginger hair neat in a low bun.

She had changed the interior after Dominic and I left. ‘A whole new look,’ she had said, one that was more reflective of her modern taste. The house changed purpose for her, became something different. It was no longer a family home. Not any more.

For a split second I see the rooms as they used to be, when there was flowery carpet on the stairs and the kitchen had a large wooden
table, the one Dominic and I did our homework on, not the high-gloss counter with its tall high-gloss red-backed chairs.

I had offered to help her with the redesign. I hadn’t done a bad job on our house, the one Martin and I brought back from near collapse. That feels like a lifetime ago, Martin and I happily married. He was a different person when I married him, before all his new-found charm slipped away.

‘I like to be independent, Clodagh,’ she had said. ‘There’s no point relying on others when you can do things yourself.’ She was giving me the cold shoulder again.

Walking upstairs, the wood below the new taupe-coloured carpet creaks. My hand glides along the mahogany rail, the one Dominic and I wrapped the Christmas garland around every December, and I held tightly when loud voices from downstairs scared me. I touch the walls. They’re cold, smooth – flawless. Standing on the landing, it’s as if every corner, nook and cranny holds layers of my past.

Of the three bedrooms upstairs, it’s my mother’s I enter first. Dad is so long gone now that when I think of him in this room it’s like a different life, one belonged to the little girl I used to be.

Since her funeral, I’ve thought about him a lot. How he always seemed in a hurry to leave the house. I remember his navy pinstripe suit, and him kissing my forehead before grabbing his briefcase and rushing out of the door. It was a time when the little girl in the photographs smiled. It was a time when Dominic smiled too, when he was less serious, warmer. At least, that’s how I remember it.

Dominic doesn’t understand me wanting to keep the house either. He and Martin have been so eager to get rid of it. Crossing the landing, walking across the floorboards where the two of us once ran, I think about him again, wondering how both of us had come from the same mother, the same womb.

Most things in the house have been removed. A clear-out done when we knew the cancer wouldn’t let her home. Dominic had looked after that. All I’d asked of him was that he should leave the
contents of her bedroom and mine as they were. None of the other stuff mattered.

There is very little daylight. I switch on the centre ceiling light.

Her bedroom, like downstairs, looks like something out of a design magazine, but seems larger without her in it. I feel like an intruder. My mobile vibrates inside my pocket. I pull it out. ‘Hi, Dominic,’ I say, in my upbeat voice.