Murder In The Academy : A chilling murder mystery set in Belfast (Alice Fox Murder Mysteries Book 1)

by Maggie Feeley

  He took solace from her words and continued with his reflections. “I did know that she was not as big a fan of Jackson Bell as she let him believe. She was usually careful about what she said but one day she made a remark that insinuated he wasn’t as good-living as he made out to be. ‘I’ve got his number,’ she said, and she was quite pleased with herself … and not in an endearing way. I asked her what she meant but she covered it over and moved on. I forgot about it then. Ralph Wilson was the usual butt of her rancour and she really was looking forward to annihilating him in the professorship competition. She knew I was on her side so I suppose she wasn’t so careful about slagging off her competition to me.” He took comfort from the recollection of that degree of intimacy and relaxed further into his musing. “The really funny one, now that I think about it, was the new Faculty Head, Professor Hartnett. Helen curried quite a bit of favour with her when she arrived first. They had been at school together and I think she thought that might be useful to her. When I think about her now I can see she was quite the strategist. I realised when the detectives were questioning me yesterday that I was a part of that strategy in some way that wasn’t clear to me. Anyway, I once asked her how Professor Hartnett’s career has been so successful. Like, was she very clever at school … you know just making conversation really. That seemed to provoke something in her and she was quite vitriolic in her response. She said that Hartnett wasn’t as flawless as she appeared to be and that she had undeniable proof of that should she ever need to use it. There was something too about Hartnett’s father turning out to be more reliable than her own and that really seemed to rankle her.”

  He looked wrung out by all this soul-searching and Alice was sorry for this young man whose life journey had already been altogether too bumpy.

  “You don’t think I killed her, do you, Alice?” he ventured.

  She answered without hesitation and with heartfelt kindness. “No, Liam. I don’t think you killed her. I am sure you were more harmed in all of this than you were harming. What’s more, I think if you stay close to home, near your very loving family, this will all be resolved before very much longer and all our lives will begin to get back to an even better version of what they were just a small number of weeks ago.” She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and headed for the door.

  “Thank you, Alice Fox,” he said and followed her downstairs.

  As she closed the front door she heard him ask his nan if she fancied a cup of tea.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she chuckled asthmatically.

  40

  At five to two Alice was ready and waiting at the interface of the Donegal Road and Shaftsbury Square where she had arranged to meet Caroline Paton. Belfast bustled past her as she stood just beyond the corner near the entrance to the International Youth Hostel. There was a tantalising aroma of fresh baked bread from the home bakery across the road mingled with some kind of strong disinfectant being used by a young man scrubbing down the pavement outside a pub on the corner of Sandy Row. It must have been a busy Friday evening.

  Waiting at the side of the busy road, Alice reflected on what she had learned about the history of DePRec and Tara’s virtually forgotten role in it. DePRec had been part of a rapid and financially generous response, in the North, to the IRA ceasefires of the early nineties. Pumped with funding and recognition by the EU, the British and Irish Governments, DePRec had been one of those projects that had outlived the initial funding phase to become mainstreamed into the Further and Higher Education landscape. The interdisciplinary department was given firm footing by the then visionary young Head of Department. She was adept at developing viable cross-community research projects that attracted funding and seeded lasting peace-building structures. In the early days, she had been a legend in the academic world of Peace and Reconciliation but after her hurried and unexplained departure, her name was quickly forgotten by most. Such was often the case with prophets, Alice reflected.

  Today the detective was a little early and they were soon on the M1 Motorway heading south. By the time they took the turn off for Hillsborough and joined the dual carriageway towards Newry, Alice had related the detail of her earlier discussion with Liam Doyle. They agreed that Helen Breen had clearly amassed information to discredit colleagues who did not comply with her strategic plans – a habit that could well have made her unpopular with someone. The stumbling block in this line of establishing a motive for murder was that none of those she had targeted appeared to have any plans to prevent Breen having what she wanted. Both appeared to support her candidacy for professorship and Bell evidently saw her as the most loyal and reliable member of his staff. Paton told Alice about the background detail that Breen had on Wilson, Bell and Hartnett and that gave her pause for thought as they drove through the bleak winter countryside.

  Despite sounding expansive, the journey across the border was not much more than forty minutes and Paton took it at a leisurely pace. Alice asked her about the changes she had seen in the systemic shift between the RUC and the PSNI. Caroline Paton had laughed out loud and said they would need to be doing the European road trip for her to have time to cover that topic even minimally.

  “For a young woman in the late 80s when I joined up, the RUC was sexist and sectarian and resistant to new ideas. Elsewhere the women’s movement was flourishing but the Northern Ireland police force had long been a solidly male, conservative and secretive organization. It had more than its fair share of members of the Masonic order and a sizeable Special Branch that dealt with gathering strategic information from the various paramilitary groups. The whole intelligence system was complicated. There was the RUC Special Branch but there was also Military Intelligence run from the Army HQ in Lisburn and of course MI5 Security Services run from the Holywood Barracks. That’s the one that’s still running in its original form.” Paton glanced at Alice to check that she was following and then continued. “RUC Special Branch was merged with Crime in the belief that peace would bring the need for a different kind of undercover work to do with ordinary decent criminals rather than terrorists. The military operation was wound down eventually but we still have our spooks.” She interrupted herself in full flow. “Why am I telling you all this?” She laughed at herself. “And after I had said it was too long to go into!’ She paused for a moment and then stole a sideways glance at Alice. “I think it’s relevant but I’m not altogether sure why just yet.”

  “I’m fine with that kind of intuitive detective work,” Alice encouraged her.

  “Anyway, a decade later, by the time of the Good Friday Agreement and the Patten Report into policing, change was really long overdue,” she said animatedly and obviously keen to explore the topic. “The RUC was described at the time in one report as ‘bloated’ and that always struck me as pretty accurate. Despite huge progress today and much more community inclusion, there are still threads of connection to the bad old days. There are still cover-ups and secret dealings in dark corners that the ordinary run-of-the-mill cop doesn’t even know exists. I hope in my heart that it is just the remnants of something that is gradually becoming an anachronism.”

  “Are you sensing something of that nature in the murder of Helen Breen? Something that ruffled old feathers enough to make someone act murderously?”

  “I’ll know better this evening. I’ve asked Ian to follow up on a hunch for me today and it may well be that old wounds have been unwittingly scratched by Helen Breen.”

  They passed the turn off for Newry and merged onto the motorway towards Dublin. Here the landscape became more wild and mountainous and the cloud lifted as if a different climactic zone had been entered.

  “I know it’s not obvious but we have crossed the border,” said Caroline. “I always think that the fact that it’s barely noticeable has more significance than we realise.”

  Within moments they were speeding alongside a forested area that Paton explained was known as Ravensdale. She said it was infamous as the likely burial place of Britis
h Army Captain Robert Nairac. He was an agent in military intelligence who was abducted and killed by the IRA in 1977 and his remains were never located.

  Caroline added, “Gruesome rumour at the time suggested he had been put through a meat processor and included in sausages and meat pies sold to local shoppers.”

  Alice once again got a chilling reminder of how little she knew in real terms about the Irish Troubles.

  They drove in silence for a few minutes and then Caroline took a motorway exit for Carlingford and within a matter of moments they turned into the driveway for the hotel where they were to meet Tara Donnelly.

  “The Ballymac has long been a meeting place for northerners who wanted an outing to the peaceful side of the border. Nowadays it’s a golf and spa destination but there are all manner of North/South meetings that still take place in the bar and restaurant.”

  Caroline seemed to know her way around and parked not far from the door of what appeared to be the original Victorian house on a large estate. The building had been extended but the main house retained its quiet dignity. They had arranged to meet Tara in the bar and made their way there directly. It was just approaching three o’clock when they took their seats at a window overlooking some well-tended gardens that edged the golf course.

  A few minutes later Tara arrived, looking flustered.

  “Am I very late?” she asked. “I decided I would go for a walk up Slieve Foy before our meeting and forgot how long it actually takes to drive back here from Carlingford. Then I had to change my muddy boots. Sorry!”

  Alice did the introductions and Tara extended her hand to Caroline Paton and gave Alice a hug before she sat down.

  “It’s funny to be so close to the North and not go that bit extra,” she said with a heartfelt honesty that Alice recognised and appreciated.

  “I guess that takes us straight to the point of our meeting,” Caroline said gently. “I’m really grateful to you, Tara, for making the trip up from Dublin. My time is very squeezed just now and meeting halfway makes everything easier. I suggest we get some food and then talk. I’m sure you’ve worked up a bit of an appetite on your walk. I seem to remember Slieve Foy has a very steep side to it in Carlingford.”

  They ordered coffees, toasted sandwiches and a basket of chips to share and relaxed into the comfortable, well-worn armchairs that furnished the bar.

  “Thanks for phoning so promptly last night,” Alice said. “I didn’t want to disturb you so late and thought an email was a safer bet. I know you don’t talk easily about all this period in your life and I really appreciate you doing it now in such haste and with someone that you only have my word can be trusted.” She accompanied this statement with the intensity of direct eye contact that she hoped reinforced her message.

  Caroline was nodding and murmuring agreement.

  “Well,” Tara began slowly, “there is a time for trying out new paths and I have been quiet about this for long enough. I suppose I knew this day would come eventually. I am happy to tell my story now and to trust that you women will ensure that the consequences are not awkward for me and my family that are still in the North.”

  “I promise you that,” said Caroline sincerely. “My hope is that your name need never be mentioned in what comes next. I just need to know if there are covert influences that were, and still are at work in DePRec. I know that something happened that frightened you away from an exemplary project that you had worked hard to establish. If my instincts are correct, that covert threat may still be operating and may well have been an ingredient in Helen Breen’s murder.”

  The food arrived at this point and they organised themselves with plates and coffee and settled their full focus on the conversation that now seemed so pivotal.

  Tara dipped a chip in some mayonnaise and nibbled at it tentatively. Then she inhaled deeply and began to speak.

  “I don’t know how much you know, Caroline, about the establishment of DePRec so I’ll sketch in a bit of detail as context for the main part of the story.” She wound a strand of wiry hair around her finger and fixed her eyes beyond her two companions, as if looking into the past. “As you will be aware, in the early 90s Northern Ireland received large quantities of what was locally referred to as Peace Money. There were different strands of funding but the main thrust was that projects were to make a contribution to building the circumstances that would help the peace process take hold and become sustainable. There was wide scope and it became quite a skill developing and writing up lengthy funding applications to the various intermediary bodies charged with allocating the money. I discovered that I had the knack and I was suddenly very busy. I had done a Master’s and PhD in Equality Studies in Dublin and I was working in the college as a junior lecturer at the time, trying to find my academic niche. My interest was in the broader social inequalities that people in the North had in common that were often obscured by the sectarianism that saturated all aspects of life ... education, employment, politics, policing too as you’ll be aware … nothing was immune really.”

  Caroline nodded in agreement. This was all familiar to her.

  “Anyway, influenced by my work in Equality Studies, I began to develop an approach to peace-building that was multidisciplinary and we accessed funding from different sources for diverse elements of the work. There was money for looking at women’s issues and so we developed a course that looked at women’s role in war and in peacekeeping around the globe. The participation of local women across the community really opened up new perspectives for everybody. There was funding for increasing sustainability of employment and we worked with trade union groups to develop modules that would strengthen solidarity across sectarian lines. That was where Ralph Wilson was a tower of strength, back in the day. Anyway we grew fairly rapidly and the beginning of DePRec was set in place. By the time the Good Friday Agreement was signed in ’98 we had amassed considerable expertise and the College gave us backing as an autonomous centre of study. DePRec eventually outgrew its total dependency on recurrent funding applications to become a well-respected academic centre. We were still recipients of EU and US and even Irish Government funds and with that there was always a thin line to be walked to maintain academic freedom and satisfy the expectations of funders. We had to avoid being perceived as too orange or too green, more sympathetic to one side in the conflict than another.”

  She paused to bite into her sandwich and sip at her coffee.

  “I’d say that was often a difficult diplomatic dance to perform,” said Caroline, “given how many shades of opinion there are in Northern Ireland and how far removed one can be from the other. I assume that you were appointed as the Head of the Centre at some point in all that.” She was impressed at how little self-promotion was involved in Tara Donnelly’s account of what was an impressive achievement for a very young woman.

  “Yes, I was. Over a ten-year period I became a Senior Lecturer and Head of Department. In my final year there, that was 2003, the Centre had sufficient income and enrolment to merit a professorship and I applied for that and was appointed.”

  “I suppose I have to ask now what happened to make you feel you had to leave all that behind?” Caroline posed the question with genuine interest.

  There was no pressure in her inquiry and yet Alice watched a little anxiously as her friend embarked on this difficult part of her story.

  “I was accustomed to attending open meetings in different communities. I saw it as part of keeping in touch with peace-building on the ground. Sometimes it would be a debate or discussion in Catholic west Belfast or Loyalist east Belfast or some rural area or another. Around the time of the Good Friday Agreement referendum there were a lot of such conversations taking place. In the aftermath of the passing of the agreement there was inevitably unrest and even riots in flash points especially where orange marches were contentious. The peace process wasn’t the instant remedy that some people wanted and for others it went too far too quickly in terms of power-sharing. There was too much f
orgiveness for some and not enough punishment for others. That’s the nature of conflict and its legacy, I know. Anyway, after one such evening meeting … sorry, first of all I should say that often I didn’t go alone to such gatherings. There was an ongoing issue of my personal safety and the name Tara Donnelly would have announced my cultural origins to anyone in Northern Ireland, where we learn to interpret such signals as part of our upbringing. So on a particular evening I was to go to a community meeting in East Belfast along with Ralph Wilson and he was unexpectedly called away just when we were meant to head off. He got a message to say his wife urgently needed him at home but when he got there it had been a misunderstanding and she was fine. I think now it was a ruse to get me into the area alone. I went ahead by myself and as I was leaving a guy approached me and offered me a lift. He was pretty unremarkable but I guess that’s part of the job description. He was in his thirties, casually dressed and had a quite cultured accent. Not run-of-the-mill east Belfast by any means. Of course I declined but he mentioned my brother’s name and was surprised and even a little hurt that I didn’t remember him. He knew where I lived and said he was passing that way. He was convincing. I tell myself I was tired and happy to get away quickly from an area where I was less than comfortable. Anyway I went with him … stupidly as it turned out.”

  Tara was visibly distressed reliving the memory but neither Alice nor Caroline interrupted.

  “In the car he made it clear he knew a lot about my family and I was unnerved by some of the detail he had at his fingertips. Things that were family matters not known to others, especially people you didn’t even recognise. He actually drove me to my door, which was a relief at the time but terrifying when I had time to think about it. When I went to leave the car he locked the door centrally and said he needed to talk to me. He said that DePRec was beneficiary of considerable government support and that it was time to pay back some of the trust that had been placed in us. Time to show a little loyalty to the Crown. We clearly had established relationships of trust with many groups and we were ideally placed to pass on important information that we picked up in the community to those charged with ensuring that nothing derailed the fragile peace process. He was persuasive and at that stage only mildly threatening. He said this was the way to protect our work and ensure continued backing for any new venture we might come up with. In fact he suggested that in-depth research with ex-prisoners and community activists would be of particular interest. He would ensure funding was available to us. There would be no censorship of anything we wrote as long as the information they required was passed on. Anyway, you get the picture. He said he would give me time to reflect and he would get back to me and he unlocked the car and watched as I went into my house. Of course I realised he was an agent of the state and that I was possibly being recruited as someone who would pass on strategic intelligence – internal specifics about opinions being voiced in places that they couldn’t easily reach. Or, maybe he was making it clear that I was in the way and needed to be replaced by someone more malleable. Who knows? I spoke to absolutely no one about it and not long afterwards he appeared again when I had almost begun to think he had moved on to another more pressing project. This time he was more threatening. He said that it was payback time for DePRec and I needed to be grown up about my responsibilities. If I wasn’t prepared to willingly do what he asked then he would have to find ways of persuading me. He mentioned a relative who would have been financially vulnerable at the time and whose family would have been devastated had he lost his job. He said he could make sure that my family suffered ill fortune and that I would rue the day that I tried to go against his wishes. Of course I protested but he was unfazed by that.” She was halted briefly, reliving the helplessness of that moment, and then continued. “If I thought I could complain about him I was a fool, he said. He would never be exposed for reasons of operational strategy. He was untouchable. He used that charming phrase – ‘shit or get off the pot’ – and I knew I needed to get away as quickly as possible.”