The Rule Book

by Kitchin , Rob

  ‘He lives locally in one of the estates,’ Deegan said, clearly unhappy with the tone of McEvoy’s call. ‘Lives on his own apparently. He’s not married and he has no kids. I don’t know if he has a partner or not. I’m going to talk to a couple of his colleagues and see what they know. His file says he was 52. He joined the university 20 years ago. Before that he’d worked at UCD for a couple of years. The guy was a plodder. He only got promoted to senior lecturer a few months ago.’

  Dead wood for someone like Deegan, thought McEvoy. If you weren’t near the top of the tree by 52 you were pretty much a failure. ‘Where the hell is the incident room, Charlie?’ McEvoy asked, changing subject.

  ‘It’s in the bottom of Rhetoric House.’ There was a touch of frustration in Deegan’s voice. ‘It’s one of the ivy covered buildings on the right as you head back to the main gate. There’s a passage next to the swimming pool – it’s just through there. They’re at the end of the building setting up in a classroom and computer lab. Grainger should have called you.’

  Simon’s for a roasting, McEvoy thought. ‘I want a team meeting there in ten minutes,’ he stated. ‘Sort out a full plan of action now we know who the victim is.’

  ‘We have a plan of action,’ Deegan stated. ‘Grainger is managing the incident room, Jane Murphy is doing interviews and managing witnesses, O’Keeffe is organising a search of the site and running questionnaires, and I’m looking after David Hennessey.’

  ‘And I’m in charge of two murder investigations,’ McEvoy snapped, irritation rising in him again. This wasn’t like him, he knew, but he was tired and the stress was starting to build.

  ‘It’s going to take me more than ten minutes to walk back,’ Deegan complained. ‘I still need to look over his office and talk to a couple of his colleagues.’

  ‘You can talk to his colleagues later. Just get back over here.’ McEvoy hung up before Deegan could reply. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. That whole call was probably a mistake. It was most likely going to push Deegan further away. Make him more determined to run his own investigation rather than do McEvoy’s bidding. He shook his head, frustrated at his own petulance. If Deegan was going to be a problem, through his making or not, he needed to make sure that Grainger, Murphy and O’Keeffe knew where their loyalties should lie. He glanced around looking for Rhetoric House.

  ‘McEvoy,’ he answered flatly into his mobile as he pushed open the heavy door into Rhetoric House. He hadn’t come past a swimming pool. Instead a football pitch was set out in front of an old, three-storey, ivy-covered building. He hoped he was in the right place.

  ‘Three things to report,’ Barney Plunkett stated.

  ‘And they are?’ McEvoy stood in a short, tall hallway. On the wall on either side large pairs of curtains were hanging. At the far end the passageway split left and right.

  ‘First, David Hennessey had been out to Glencree, the last time a couple of months ago. He bought a bunch of postgraduate students out here for a training weekend. He’s brought them out here every January or February for the past four years. He’s also been involved in a couple of courses they’ve run here on restorative justice. Apparently he’s done a lot of work on this in the North recently. He was definitely in Janine Smyth’s good books. She thinks the stuff he did was “really moving things forward in a positive way”.’ He said the last bit in a mocking manner.

  ‘And do we know who were on those courses?’ McEvoy pulled back the curtain on the right-hand side. Behind it was a large, old map, its delicate looking paper covered in faded, coloured ink.

  ‘Problem kids, ex-paramilitaries and community development workers. We’re putting a list together. I’ve also spoken to Angela Jenkins at the DHC. Seems David Hennessey was well known there amongst all the staff. He did a piece of work a couple of years back for Combat Poverty on policy and action concerning homelessness. He went round all the homeless agencies to see what they were up to. Seems he specialises in disadvantaged youth. He’s been back a few times to catch up on their work and offer advice in tackling particular issues and sourcing monies.’

  ‘Hence his interest in restorative justice in the North,’ McEvoy observed. ‘It’s mainly aimed at youths in disadvantaged areas. So we have two links between the victims. They were both familiar with DHC and they both had visited Glencree. Do we know if he knew Laura? Did their paths ever cross?’

  ‘Might still be coincidence,’ Barney hazarded, ignoring McEvoy’s questions.

  ‘Might be, but they’re not the kind of places that most people would have visited. There might be something in it.’

  ‘I’ll get myself down to the DHC and see what I can find out.’

  ‘Good idea. Also, tell Fay to keep working the lists. There might be someone on them that shares their connection. And the third thing?’ McEvoy prompted.

  ‘Kenny’s found one more of the missing homeless kids.’

  ‘No sign of the other two yet?’

  ‘No. I doubt we’ll catch up with them for a while. Disappeared into the underworld.’

  ‘Right, okay. If you get anything interesting call me.’

  McEvoy ended the call and the phone rang almost straight away.

  ‘McEvoy.’

  ‘Colm, it’s Elaine. We’re just putting Dr Hennessey into the van. We’re going to take him to Naas Hospital for the post-mortem. My first estimate is that he was killed last night sometime between nine and eleven. He was hit hard at the base of his skull, probably with a stone – something solid with a lot of force behind it. He then smashed his face on the tarmac when he fell. I’d say the bag followed that and he died of asphyxiation. I doubt the blow killed him; just knocked him unconscious. He died shortly after though. Sword through the mouth, now a bag over the head. Looks like he doesn’t have a preferred mode of killing,’ she observed.

  ‘I don’t think he cares as long as they’re dead,’ McEvoy stated.

  ‘I’d say he cares very much. A lot of thought has gone into these killings, Colm, including how to kill them.’

  McEvoy nodded to himself.

  ‘I’ll talk to you later, Colm,’ the pathologist said, tired of waiting for a response, and terminating the call.

  The killer had it all worked out. Where and when he was killing them, how he was doing it, and how he’d leave the bodies. The whole thing had been choreographed. The question was whether the victims were planned as well, or were they simply in the wrong place at the wrong time as the first chapter suggested?

  McEvoy was standing next to a small platform leaning against a wooden lectern. Off to his right Charlie Deegan was sitting on the edge of a desk, removed from his own team who were sitting on a cluster of chairs to McEvoy’s left. Cheryl Deale sat in the no-man’s land between them. She was now free of the paper suit. She wore dark brown trousers, a pale blue round-neck shirt, and a darker, smoky-blue cardigan. Her hair was dark brown and plaited together into a long tail. McEvoy noticed that she seemed much older now that more than just her face was visible, somewhere in her mid-to-late forties.

  He took a sip of water and cleared his throat. ‘Right, okay, let’s make a start. The first thing, this isn’t a single incident murder. It’s the second of a pair, and if we don’t catch the killer, probably the second of a series. That means we need co-ordination and dialogue across the teams, not separate investigations.’

  To his right, Deegan shifted his posture, bristling with hostility, his gaze fixed on the cheap carpet.

  ‘I’ve been talking to Barney Plunkett,’ McEvoy continued. ‘It seems that David Hennessey was a regular visitor to Glencree and the Dublin Homeless Co-operative drop-in centre on Gardiner Street. So we have two points of connections between our two victims. The question is, did they know each other and did they also know their killer?’

  McEvoy paused and looked round the group. He could almost hear the cogs whirring. He continued. ‘Simon, I’m going to need you to liaise closely with Fay Butler and Barney Plunkett. Anything that co
mes in here you cross-check with them, especially names. Who else has connections with both DHC and Glencree? Were any of the DHC people out here last night? The killer claims they were random victims, but they don’t look that way to me. They share common acquaintances. They look like they’ve been selected, along with the time, place, and method. Both attacks have been carefully planned. Which means familiarity.

  ‘Charlie, I want you to go back over to Hennessey’s office. Find out what you can about his work in Glencree and the DHC – names of people attending the courses, collaborators, any correspondence. And talk to his colleagues. Find out whatever you can about him and try and fill in his movements yesterday.’

  Deegan gave him a look that said ‘I was about to do all of that before you hauled me back over here, you feckin’ moron’.

  McEvoy ignored him. ‘Cheryl, do you want to …’ His mobile phone started to ring. He fished it out of his pocket, stared at the screen and decided he’d better answer it. ‘McEvoy.’

  ‘We’re going to need to hold a press conference as soon as possible,’ Bishop stated.

  ‘What?’ McEvoy spluttered. ‘Why?’ He held up a hand apologetically to signal to Deale, Deegan and the others he needed to take the call.

  ‘Because he’s sent a bunch of his feckin’ business cards and the first two chapters of his so-called self-help manual to the media. They’ve nicknamed the son-of-a-bitch The Raven. Or he’s chosen the name himself.’

  ‘Makes sense, I guess,’ McEvoy said, threading his way through the group and out into the corridor.

  ‘What?’ Bishop replied tetchily.

  ‘He had a picture of a bird on his card and the raven is something to do with death in mythology. They transport you to the afterworld or something like that,’ he hazarded. ‘I’ll get someone to look into it.’

  ‘Whatever the meaning,’ Bishop said, frustration in his voice, ‘we need to decide what we’re going to do about what he’s sending to the media. They’re bombarding the press office with questions.’

  ‘They knew about the cards and the notes in any case,’ McEvoy said.

  ‘But they didn’t know what was in them! And they shouldn’t have feckin’ known about them in the first place!’

  ‘Can’t we just issue a statement?’ McEvoy suggested wearily. He didn’t want to have to deal with this. It was way down his list of priorities. ‘I don’t have time to come in for a press conference; I’m tied up here trying to co-ordinate two investigations.’

  ‘Which is why they want to talk to you!’

  ‘Surely you’re the best person to deal with this?’ McEvoy said, hoping that Bishop would take the bait.

  Bishop stayed silent thinking the situation through.

  Unsure about what to do, McEvoy filled the silence. ‘Maybe the best thing to do is ask for an embargo on printing the material? Or maybe they could talk about the material without actually publishing it verbatim? Printing the cards and books are just going to cause a panic. Everyone will know there are more murders to come. That’s what he wants. He wants to create a panic.’

  ‘There are more murders to come if we don’t catch the bastard,’ Bishop snapped. ‘If people knew that then maybe they’d look out for themselves; protect themselves.’

  ‘That’s not going to stop him,’ McEvoy said patiently. He wasn’t handling this well. ‘There’ll still be people who will leave themselves vulnerable. What can we do, shut down the whole country?’ It was a facetious statement and he knew it.

  ‘No, we can catch the son-of-a-bitch! But if we don’t catch him and we don’t alert the public, then there’ll be hell to pay. We’re going to have to do something.’

  ‘I still think a statement is the best thing,’ McEvoy persisted. ‘It means we can set out exactly what we want to say. There’ll be no confusion.’

  ‘You’re still going to have to talk to them at some point, Colm.’ The edge started to fade out of Bishop’s voice now that they seemed to have a plan. ‘I’ll deal with them for today, but I’m setting up another press conference for tomorrow morning. Early. Say 9 a.m. You’re going to need to discuss the Hennessey murder in any case. And I don’t want any excuses. Just make sure you’re there and that you look presentable. Dig your uniform out if needs be.’

  Charlie Deegan closed the office door and strode down the corridor and out through the automatic doors. He’d looked through Hennessey’s office and interviewed three of his colleagues: a pretentious prick, Miss Prim-and-Proper, and a saucy old cow. As far as Deegan was concerned they were living safe and cosy lives, locked in their ivory towers thinking they knew something about the world, but really knowing nothing about hardship, or poverty, or crime; about the sharp end of the stick. How could they with their heads stuck in books and living boring, middle-class existences in the suburbs? He’d rushed through the interviews, still angry at being belittled by McEvoy at the meeting. And in front of his team.

  He wanted to get back over the other side of the campus to check on progress; to make sure that things were being run as they should be; to make sure they knew whose team they were playing for. Besides, he would end up doing a better job than McEvoy. The guy was a washout. The only reason he was there was they needed a superintendent. It wasn’t like he was any kind of genius and Deegan would soon make the rank. There was no question of that; he was the rising star of NBCI. They might as well have given the case directly to him. Still he’d better give McEvoy a call. Play along with the idiot. He pulled up his number.

  ‘McEvoy.’

  ‘It’s DI Deegan,’ he said, businesslike. ‘I’ve just finished over at Hennessey’s office. His diary shows that he was out at Glencree in January. He’s also visited the DHC twice this year. Once in January and once in March; both for just a couple of hours. The name in the diary is Angie Jenkins. I’ll get someone to go through his machine, look at his emails. His colleagues weren’t much help. They didn’t seem to know much about what he did or his personal life. They all said he was a quiet, pleasant person who got on well with students, was a good colleague, and was social enough. The usual kind of stuff,’ he said disingenuously as if no one could be as nice as people said. ‘All they knew about his home life was that he was a confirmed bachelor and that he had a brother living in Dublin, a sister in Fermanagh and another in the US somewhere. I’ll get Jane to take full statements from them.’

  ‘Did any of them work with him on any projects?’ McEvoy asked.

  ‘No. Seemed he liked to do things on his own. He’d work with groups and government and that, but he did all the writing himself,’ Deegan clarified. ‘He put in the hours; regularly in here until 7-7.30, and at weekends.’

  ‘Right. Right, okay.’

  He could almost hear the cogs going round in McEvoy’s head. ‘So what now?’ he pressed.

  ‘We work the search and the questionnaires, we liaise with the other team, and we see what comes up.’

  ‘I’ll check in on the others. I’ll talk to you later on.’ Deegan ended the call before McEvoy could say anything in response.

  He smiled to himself and dropped the phone back into his pocket. He looked down at the notepad, wrapped in clear plastic. The top sheet had Dermot Brady’s name scrawled across it and circled. He wanted to check that out himself. Brady’s name had already come up several times. He had all the appearances of a prime suspect. Which meant he was the logical place to start. Deegan knew if he could crack this case then the promotion to superintendent was as good as in the bag.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, it’s me,’ McEvoy said.

  ‘I’ve heard the news,’ Caroline replied. ‘You want her to stay over?’

  ‘Please,’ McEvoy said with apology in his voice. ‘I’m not sure how long this is going to go on, but I’m going to be flat out until we catch the bastard. He’s going to keep killing until we stop him.’

  ‘Look, don’t worry, I’ve already got the spare bedroom sorted. She’ll be grand. She’s stayed over loads of times.’<
br />
  ‘Tell Jimmy that I’ll treat you both to a weekend away in a hotel somewhere down the country,’ McEvoy offered. He knew Jimmy didn’t mind Gemma staying over, but at the same time he wanted the fact to be acknowledged; that they weren’t being taken for granted.

  ‘He’ll be happier with tickets to Old Trafford.’

  ‘I’ll work on it,’ McEvoy said, without any idea about how he’d source them. ‘Look, thanks for doing this, Caroline. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘It’s no bother. What’s family for? Just make sure you catch him.’

  ‘I’ll do my best. We’re doing our best. I’ll call you later to talk to Gemma,’ he ended, guilt filling him with regret for the lost time, for not being there, for letting her down; knowing that he would always be doing so given his job. Often he would be away for days or weeks at a time if a murder was committed elsewhere in the country, away from Dublin.

  ‘McEvoy,’ he answered distractedly, staring down at a witness statement.

  ‘It’s John Joyce. I’ve looked up the raven in mythology as you requested. Do you want me to send you the file?’

  ‘No, no, you can give it to me later. Just give me the edited highlights for now.’

  ‘Well,’ Joyce paused, gathering his thoughts, ‘the raven appears in a whole load of different religions and myths – Norse, Celtic, North American, Greek. It’s associated with death in all of them. It’s either the messenger of death, or a medium of communication with the underworld. It’s also considered by some to be the bringer of war or misfortune, mainly because it hung round battlefields and ate the dead. Er, let me see.’ There was a slight pause as Joyce skipped through his notes.

  ‘In Irish folklore, the raven is omniscient, all seeing and knowing. It’s linked to a couple of mythical characters – the Celtic goddess Morrigane and the war goddesses of Badbh, Macha and Nemain who took the form of ravens. For North American Indians it seems that the raven appears as a deity and is a powerful shapeshifter, being able to transform into anyone or anything to get what it wants. Or he’s a trickster, fooling people into giving him what he wants, something that might be of great personal harm.