The Doll's House (5 page)

She tried O’Connor again. The phone rang once before his sharp, controlled voice answered.

‘Kate.’

‘Detective Inspector.’

‘You took your time.’

‘If you check, O’Connor, you’ll see I’ve already left a message.’

‘Glad to hear you’re bright-eyed and on the ball. The phone’s been a little congested.’

‘Popular today, are we?’

‘Not really, only you and three million other people – just as well they don’t all have my private mobile.’

‘I assume Morrison’s already at the scene?’

‘His Highness arrived over an hour ago. I’m heading back there now. The bloody area is a disaster to cordon off. City traffic is practically at a standstill.’

‘Our killer picked a lively place.’

‘Yeah, and a lovely victim too.’

‘The media will ride this out for all it’s worth, O’Connor. Public figure, public place – not exactly low key.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Any witnesses?’

‘A young mother, Grace Power. She was awake with her new-born baby.’

‘What exactly did she see?’

‘She didn’t witness the drowning. According to the 999 call, she heard a car pull up at speed close to where the body was found. It was the sound of one car door opening and closing then another that caused her to look out the window. She saw two males – the victim and presumably the killer.’

‘Drowning? So the victim was alive on reaching the canal?’

‘So it would seem.’

‘Did the witness recognise either of them?’

‘No. She only saw them from behind. Her initial thought was that the victim was drunk and he was being taken out of the car to get sick. He was stooped over. The other guy had his arm around him, holding him up. Apparently the victim, although weak, was walking.’

‘What else did she see?’

‘At that point she looked away, only returning to the window when she heard the car pull off again. That was when she saw Keith Jenkins’s body floating in the water.’

‘Not a nice memory.’

‘Murder is never pretty, Kate.’

‘So the body was on the same stretch of the canal as the car pulled in at?’

‘That’s right. The canal gates at either end were locked. The body wasn’t going anywhere fast.’

‘What time did the witness ring in?’

‘Log states five a.m.’

‘You say the victim was weak?’

‘Yeah – he’d multiple stab wounds to the chest.’

‘Multiple – how many?’

‘Too many to say. Morrison will give us an estimated minimum when he’s done the autopsy.’

‘Any slash wounds?’

‘Some on the arms, but it looks like the attacker got his victim under control quickly. According to Morrison, he would have been extremely weak by the time he got to the canal.’

‘Which backs up Grace Power’s statement.’

‘Yeah, but even without it, Morrison figured Jenkins was alive going into the water.’

‘Why?’

‘You know what that son of a bitch Morrison is like. He’s only saying so much until the full autopsy gets under way this afternoon. He loves this bloody stage in the proceedings, gets excited on the whole prospect of what he’s about to find out.’

‘But he must have said why he believes Jenkins was still alive.’

‘A frothy cocktail in the mouth and nostrils, made up of water, mucus and air, apparently.’

‘And that’s it?’

‘He’ll know more later. But that’s his reading on it for now.’

‘And the stab wounds, any more details there?’

‘Slash and puncture wounds, as I said. The victim lost a lot of blood. Had it not been for our pal wanting Keith Jenkins to take a swim, most likely he would have bled to death.’

‘Did Grace Power have anything else to say?

‘She said both guys had dark brown hair. The pal’s hair was slightly shorter than the victim’s. She was unsure of the height as one of them
was severely stooped over, and the other was leaning down trying to hold him up, but she reckons around the five-ten mark, both similar in build, stocky, but not overly so.’

‘Pity she didn’t stay at the window.’

‘Her baby was crying, but it was only a few minutes later that she heard the car door being opened again and slammed shut. The second time, it was just the once. When she walked back to the window, the car was gone.’

‘She didn’t get a registration plate?’

‘No, but she thinks it was a Volvo, black or navy. It was then she saw the body floating and the blood on the road and footpath. That’s when she called in.’

‘How come she didn’t notice the blood earlier?’

‘She’d only looked out for a split second. She was pretty shook up.’

‘I’d imagine she was.’ Kate looked out of the front window of her own apartment down onto the street below, trying to visualise the events. ‘Were the stab wounds front or back?’

‘Front, just below the ribcage.’

‘Then Keith Jenkins saw his killer.’

‘Well, he isn’t going to be a whole lot of help to us now, is he, Kate?’

‘No, but if the victim was still alive when they arrived at the canal, and the killer didn’t make any attempt to hide his identity in such a public place, it means something.’

‘What? That he panicked?’

‘Perhaps he did panic, but it’s unlikely that even a panicked killer would choose a public place, unless, of course, he had something else on his mind.’

‘Jesus, you’re beginning to sound like Morrison. Spit it out, Kate.’

‘Maybe the killer not only wanted his victim to see him, but others too. Either that or the risk of being caught was outweighed by other, more important factors. I assume I’m in on this one, O’Connor?’

‘You assume right. How are you fixed?’

‘A couple of important cases, but I can work around them.’

‘Good – I’ll see you shortly. We’re below Leeson Street Bridge.’

‘I know where it is. You’ve organised the clearance?’

‘Don’t ask stupid questions, Kate. I don’t have the patience for them.’

‘Neither do I. I’m on my way.’

‘Kate.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Keith Jenkins’s body is already on its way to the morgue.’

‘Then I’ll need the images taken at the scene.’

‘Consider it done.’

As Kate drove away from her apartment in Ranelagh village, the thing uppermost in her mind was not the victim’s celebrity status, or the slimy waters where his body had been found, but why the killer hadn’t finished off Keith Jenkins with the first attack. Why bring a half-dying man to the canal to drown him, leaving his body where it was easily found?

During the night I awoke because the pipes were gurgling – Martin washing his hands for the umpteenth time. At one point I thought I heard a car turning into the drive, but I must have imagined it. It was the morning seagulls that finally got me up.

I’ve waited all morning for Val’s call. So, when the phone rings I pick it up immediately, recognising her mobile number on the small screen.

‘Clodagh, it’s Val.’ She sounds like she’s whispering.

‘Do you have the number?’ I keep my voice steady. It seems like forever since the dinner party. We finally finished before nine. That wouldn’t have happened in my drinking days. Val hadn’t expected me to take her aside – we’d never got past first base in our relationship – but when you need to know something, unexpected people become your ally.

‘Clodagh, I’m not sure about this.’

‘Don’t worry. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’ My voice is upbeat.

‘That’s all very well, Clodagh, but after the therapy and everything …’

‘It’s precisely because of the therapy that I’m doing this.’ I sound more assured than I feel. There’s no point in making her nervy.

‘Well, he does come highly recommended.’

‘I’m sure he does.’

‘Does Martin know about this, Clodagh?’

‘What do you think?’ Her silence answers her question. ‘Val, hold on while I get a pen and paper.’ I place the handset on the hall table,
pulling out the small drawer underneath. Then, with the phone between my ear and shoulder, I write down the name, address and phone number.

‘I can drive you there,’ she says. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘Thanks, Val. I’m best going on my own.’

‘But you’re not allowed to drive.’

‘There’s such a thing as taxis.’ Immediately I regret sounding harsh. I soften my voice: ‘I don’t want to drag you into this, Val. I appreciate your help.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’

I think about the night I crashed the car. The road before me was like a runway being chopped up with speed and heavy rain. I was drunk out of my skull. I remember the windscreen wipers flipping back and forth so fast they dazzled me. ‘I’m sure, Val, honestly.’

‘It’s a mercy no one was injured that night, Clodagh.’ The first note of disapproval in her voice.

‘I know that.’

All the times I drank, I never drove at night. But the argument with Dominic, even days after the funeral, wouldn’t go away. I still see the dark trees either side of the road whizzing past me, giving me a false sense of getting away. The faster I drove, the freer I could be of the hurt.

Martin had said it was the last straw. I couldn’t be putting myself and others at risk. At first, waking up on the hard bed in the police cell, all I remembered was the flashing lights of the squad cars hurting my eyes from the night before. Martin collected me. He said little more, but he organised everything. Eight weeks of rehab to sort me out. A twelve-month driving ban wasn’t a high price to pay.

‘Val, you won’t say a word to Martin or Dominic, will you?’ I need her reassurance.

‘You’re not drinking again, Clodagh, are you?’

‘No. I’m done running away from things.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

‘Listen, Val, I’ve got to go. There’s another call coming in. I think it’s Ruby.’

‘Okay, then. Give her my love.’

‘Thanks.’

Before picking up the second call, I think about what an arsehole Martin was last night. Val might be highly strung, but she and Dominic would have made better parents than Martin and I.

‘Ruby,’ I maintain the upbeat tone.

‘Hello, Mum.’

I can hear her hostility. She’s being standoffish. I can’t blame her. ‘Thanks for calling me back.’

‘No problem, what’s up?’ Again her words are tight, but I let it go. I was two years older than Ruby when I’d left home, at the brave age of nineteen with my big job in the bank. ‘I just wanted to know how you were.’ I want to tell her I miss her, but I don’t.

‘I’m fine, Mum. Is Dad there?’

I don’t know what time Martin left this morning. Since Ruby moved out in September, I’ve slept in her old bedroom. Something else Martin has turned a blind eye to. ‘No, sweetheart, he had to go into work.’

‘But it’s Saturday?’

I pause. ‘Ruby, I know he gave you a hard time the other night. He wants the best for you. We both do.’

‘Mum, I don’t give a shit.’

‘Well, I do.’

She doesn’t answer me, the sound of nothing loud and clear telling me it’s too late to play the supportive, protective parent. I bite my lip. Ruby misses my mother. I know that too. It makes the pain worse.

‘Ruby, I’m hoping to see someone soon, someone who’ll help me.’ I sound like I’m looking for her sympathy. I sound like a pitiful idiot. My mum hadn’t cried when I left home. She told me she had no intention of being one of those silly mothers who couldn’t bear to let their children move on.

‘How’s college, Ruby? Have you made any new friends?’

‘A few.’

‘That’s good. It would be nice to meet them – when you’re ready, of course.’

‘Listen, Mum, I’m going to be late if I don’t go soon.’

She’s giving me the brush-off.

‘But it’s Saturday, you don’t have lectures …’

‘I’ve promised to see someone. Look, Mum, I need to go.’

‘Well, you mind yourself.’

‘Whatever,’ delivered with as much couldn’t-care-less as possible.

‘I love you, sweetheart …’ But Ruby doesn’t hear me. The call ended before I started my last sentence.

I guess nobody, including Ruby, was one bit surprised when I hit the bottle again. An alcoholic likes to feel insular. I check the time. Martin will be ringing soon to check up on me. You don’t realise what you do to others when you drink. But after a while you learn to live with the fact that they can never quite trust you any more. Ever.

I ring the number Val gave me. I expect his secretary to answer, before correcting myself. People like Gerard Hayden don’t have secretaries.

‘Hello,’ I say. I can hear my own nervousness. ‘My name is Clodagh Hamilton.’ And I’ve no idea why I’m using my maiden name. ‘I got your number from my sister-in-law, Valerie Hamilton.’

‘Hello, Clodagh. Good to hear from you.’ He sounds confident. ‘I’ve been expecting your call.’

Approaching Leeson Street Bridge, Kate could see more television crews setting up on the south side, a reasonable distance back from where the body had been discovered. It was a great vantage point. Close enough to ensure those viewing the broadcasts would feel part of the action. The nearer the reporters managed to get to the murder location, the better the news coverage would be received.

It hadn’t taken Kate long to decide to abandon the car. Now, walking past the stream of photographers and television crew without attracting too much attention, she saw O’Connor before he saw her. From a distance, she watched him giving instructions to everyone around him, picking up his mobile phone every few seconds to take another call. His short but unruly auburn hair and beard stubble gave him the look of a guy who didn’t get hung up on the small stuff, but his profile within the force had risen since his investigation of the Devine and Spain case. His recent promotion – he was now heading up a team at Harcourt Street – and the expectation of high media interest yet again made him the obvious choice for senior investigation officer in this case.

On seeing Kate, O’Connor began the walk over, a young male following in his wake. Mark Lynch had been in the élite National Detective Unit attached to Harcourt Street for over a year. Kate hadn’t met him before, but she took an instant liking to the lanky young detective, with his heavy dark-rimmed glasses and cropped curly black hair.