The Doll's House (9 page)

‘The trace evidence has been coded top priority.’

Matthews continued, his next question to Sarah Walsh, Hanley’s assistant. ‘What have you techie guys got from the scene?’

Standing by the side wall, Sarah Walsh answered, ‘A bonanza of items. Enough blood samples to keep everyone busy for a while. Hanley is still there, but we have some visuals.’ Pointing to the projector, she asked, ‘Will I load them?’

‘Go right ahead, Sarah.’ Matthews gave the nod to two male officers at the back to close down the blinds.

The opening images were of blood deposits found on the interior ledge of the canal wall. Sarah Walsh’s voice held everyone’s attention as she flicked through the slides. ‘These blood deposits were in close proximity to where the body was found floating. They are also in line with the eye-witness statement regarding positioning of both men after they exited the car. The angle of blood splatters is relevant. When large drops of blood fall on a hard surface, in this case a concrete ledge, how the splatters form defines the angle of blood loss. Here,’ Sarah Walsh pointed towards the image, ‘when the blood hit the surface, small secondary droplets developed, surrounding the
original circular stains formed from the larger ones. Because the smaller droplets hit the surface at angles of less than ninety degrees, these secondary stains are elongated and the tails are clearly visible.’ She paused, allowing everyone to take in the information. ‘These tails indicate the relationship of the body to the surface being somewhere between a thirty-five- or forty-five-degree angle. Meaning the victim was practically lying on the ledge before he was plunged into the canal.’

‘If what you’re saying is true, Sarah,’ O’Connor observed, standing up and walking over to her, ‘the killer used the ledge to support the victim before drowning him, positioning himself on it, making it easier to hold Jenkins under water.’

‘Probably – we’ll be running fibre tests. If the killer knelt on the ledge, we should be able to pull something from it, no matter how minute.’

Butler turned to O’Connor. ‘I’ll want to know what that profiler of yours has to say about this. What’s her name again?’

‘Kate Pearson.’

‘We’ll need her report as of now. Allocate that to O’Connor, will you, Matthews? And, for God’s sake, will someone open those bloody blinds? We might be still in the dark, but we don’t have to make it a permanent state of affairs. Right, O’Connor, get back up here and tell everyone what else you have.’

O’Connor didn’t like being summoned like some unruly teenager, but he did as he was told. The line of command within the force was never questioned, even if the chief super, at times, was the biggest gobshite going.

‘All items of value belonging to the victim were intact from what we can see – cash, credit cards, an expensive watch. Everything was left on the victim, with the exception of his wedding ring, a plain gold band. According to Morrison, the indentation on his finger meant it was worn on a consistent basis.’ O’Connor sat down, but continued talking: ‘We’re getting an image of the ring from the insurers. We’ve
also picked up a hotel receipt. The receipt is eight months old. Higgins and Clarke are driving to the hotel now. The receipt belonged to a couple signing in under the name of Salmon. The car-registration details given were false, so the name could be as well. The account was paid in cash, unusual enough in this day and age.’ He cleared his throat. ‘All the CCTV footage is currently being compiled. By the next briefing we’ll have most of what’s out there on Jenkins’s last movements.’

Matthews looked around the room for Harry Robinson. ‘Harry, what have you in on witness statements?’

‘We’ve statements from a couple of a dozen people at Gogan’s pub, and a number from the Caldine on Kildare Street. Nothing major coming out of the Gogan’s statements, but the hotel manager in Kildare Street, a Mr Devoy, seems to have a lot of information on the late Keith Jenkins. I’ve filled DI O’Connor in, but I’ll get a typed copy of everything to you within the hour.’

O’Connor turned to Matthews. ‘I’ll be talking to Mr Devoy. If he likes to talk, I’ll help him by listening. If what the grapevine says about Jenkins’s extra-marital affairs is true, my guess is Mr Devoy will know who the latest models are. The hotel receipt might belong to anyone, but whoever got close to Keith Jenkins in the romance department might give us more information than the family.’

‘When are you talking to the family?’ Butler’s tone carried a hint of warning.

‘French has been with them from early this morning. He’s covered the preliminaries, but there’s nothing jumping out as yet. It’s still early days.’

Butler sounded rattled: ‘Keep it nice and easy with them. They have connections everywhere.’

O’Connor continued, ‘That’s about it for now, except for you, Lynch.’

The young detective looked up at his superior.

‘I’ll need you to fill Kate Pearson in on what we have from here. The rest of you, get out there and get some answers. This unit has a reputation. The word “élite” isn’t simply a label, it’s bloody hard earned.’

If nothing else, Butler allowed O’Connor to have the last word.

I tell the taxi driver to let me out at the end of the street. I have no idea what to expect from Gerard Hayden and, walking towards his house, neither do I know what the house of a hypnotist should look like.

The road itself is narrow, with barely enough space for cars to park on either side. There are small red-brick cottages on both sides, with equally small front gardens. Some look well kept, others are the way I feel: in need of repair. I know the number of the house without having to look at the piece of paper, but I take it out of my bag all the same.

I hesitate at the low garden gate before entering, standing close enough to read his qualifications on the brass plaque to the side of the panelled black door. It confirms his registration as a hypnotist in Ireland, whatever kind of guarantee that gives me.

I’m early. If I was still driving I could have sat in the car. Now I regret coming so close to his house: it makes the possibility of changing my mind more difficult. Not wanting to look a complete fool standing there, I reach down to open the gate. It’s not too late. I could still turn and walk away, but the same hand that opened the gate is now pressing the brass bell button.

I hear carpeted footsteps, the creaking of floorboards, before the door opens and I see Gerard Hayden for the first time.

Like the house, he is small, and older than I’d expected him to be, with short, dishevelled grey hair. He is wearing a navy tartan waistcoat, and I immediately think of the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. His voice, as before, sounds confident, but he speaks softly, and somehow that is reassuring. He stands back, holding the door ajar as I go inside. He leads the way, both of us walking along the dark carpeted hallway,
with an occasional creak from the floorboards, to a back room with the word ‘Office’ in black stickers on a faded cream door. Once inside, I smell candle wax.

There is something about his voice that I find calming. I hear myself talking, telling him about my estranged relationship with my mother, how we never seemed to get past the barrier that existed between us. Gerard Hayden listens, not saying a word, nodding, tilting his head sideways every now and then. He waits until I run out of words.

I think he will comment on my anxieties, try to analyse my fears, but instead he says, ‘Good. Thank you for that, Clodagh.’

Standing up, he turns down the wooden blinds on both windows in his office, talking with his back to me. ‘Clodagh, regression is used for many purposes. It is not something you should either be afraid of or nervous about. At all times you will feel safe and be safe.’

I think again of Martin’s words. He wants me to be safe. After eighteen years of marriage, he doesn’t make me feel so, not any more and not for a very long time. It was Val who reintroduced us. She hadn’t realised that I’d known Martin from childhood. As a kid, he was a bit of a nerd, but his appearance changed with his charm. Gerard Hayden is sitting opposite me now, his conversation continuing.

‘There are many interesting aspects to how our minds work, Clodagh, but for now, we’ll concentrate on the relationship between the conscious and subconscious mind. Try to imagine an iceberg. Our conscious brain is at the tip, the point visible above the waterline.’

I visualise the iceberg, wondering about the vast expanse beneath.

‘When you regress, Clodagh, and you go back to childhood, you won’t be there alone.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Your adult self will be with you.’

I wonder how useful that adult self will be.

‘Regression is particularly helpful for people with certain conditions, such as an inclination to blush, or a phobia towards spiders, or even a stammer. If we’re lucky, it is possible to trace the first memory, the one
permanently held in the subconscious, the frightening event that caused a particular problem to occur. What is interesting, Clodagh, is that, as I explained, the adult self also forms part of the regression process. He or she is capable of recognising that the circumstances or events which the child perceived as frightening may be something else entirely.’

‘I see.’

‘It’s very possible, Clodagh, that your conscious mind is preventing you from remembering. It can block your subconscious, the part that stores all your memories perfectly intact, from connecting to those memories. Even if you could, for the briefest of moments, gain access to a particular event, your conscious brain would respond far too quickly for you to realise, or recall, your attempt at trying. You might be left with a sense of unease, without any explanation as to why.’

I must look nervous, because he explains again about how, when I regress to my younger self, my older self will be present.

‘Memory, Clodagh, is rather suspect in our conscious mind. People think they store memories in a particular way, that they don’t change, but we’re constantly updating our memory, or perception of it, creating layers, obscuring the original, until what we actually believe happened can differ dramatically from the truth.’

‘Gerard, I haven’t been completely honest with you.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘As I’ve already said, I had an estranged relationship with my mother for years. It wasn’t always like that, at least I don’t think so, but there is something else.’

‘Clodagh, you don’t need to tell me everything. Once you trust me, we can work through whatever comes up together.’

‘I feel there are secrets in my past …’

‘There usually are, Clodagh.’

‘There are things that others, including my mother, kept from me.’

‘Clodagh, if it’s okay with you, I believe the best way to begin your
regression is for you to visit a happy memory. I hope you’re comfortable with that idea. We need to tread carefully. Understandably, people can feel apprehensive about being hypnotised. The process isn’t one to be rushed. It’s always better to start somewhere that you feel at ease.’

I recognise the scent from the lighted candles as vanilla, and the walls of Gerard Hayden’s office, which at first were white and sparse, feel warm in the muted light. Apart from the two comfy chairs we sit on, and his desk, there is little other furniture. By the two windows, there is a bed, like in a doctor’s surgery, and beside it, a low wooden chair, which I assume he will soon sit on. He gestures me towards the bed, the candlelight flickering on the closed blinds, saying, ‘Clodagh, have you any more questions before we begin?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Okay, we’re going to bring you back to a happier time. While you’re relaxing, I’ll ask you to remember a time when you were older than a baby, but younger than the Clodagh you remember with sadness, or with whatever barrier existed between you and your mother. All the time you will be the one in control.’

‘What if I can’t remember? What if I don’t have those memories?’

‘You will, but don’t worry. I’ll be with you every step of the way. We’ll take it gently. My hope is that today you’ll simply experience regression, become familiar and relaxed with the process. You’ve waited a long time to reach this point, Clodagh. I see little benefit in rushing things now.’

Lying on the bed, I stare up at the ceiling. I hear Gerard’s voice asking me to breathe in and out, counting backwards from ten. ‘Ten, breathe out, relax, nine, breathe out, relax.’ He tells me that during this time, if I hear sounds, cars driving by, people out on the street, any noise from outside, my mind will not be disturbed. This exercise is to relax my body. Soon he will ask me to count backwards from two hundred. I should say the numbers inside my head, breathing out between each one. When I can no longer keep track of the numbers, I should raise the index finger of my right hand.

I can feel the numbers slowing in my brain, but I can still hear his voice, talking about visualising a garden, somewhere I feel safe. I smell flowers. I think it’s spring. I see daffodils and snowdrops. I’m still counting, but the counting is more difficult. I want to touch the flowers in the garden, feel their soft petals. I hear his voice again, asking me what I see, and how I feel. The numbers are nearly gone now and, as instructed, I raise my index finger.

‘Okay, Clodagh, I’m going to take you down deeper. I want you to imagine a set of stairs that will lead you out of the garden. As you walk down them, we will count backwards from two hundred. When the numbers get muddled, you can raise your index finger again.’

He counts, the numbers gently bringing me down a staircase. At the bottom, again his voice is soft, reassuring.

‘Clodagh, I want you to imagine your eyelids are stuck down, as if with glue, glue so strong you can no longer open them.’

I remember him mentioning this beforehand, explaining that when this happens, it is his way of testing the intensity of my trance.

‘Now, Clodagh, if you can, I want you to try to open your eyelids.’

I keep listening to his voice, doing as he asks, but my eyes won’t open.

‘Good,’ I hear him say. ‘Now, Clodagh, at the count of three, you will be able to open your eyes once more. One, two, three …’