The Scholar

by Dervla McTiernan

  ‘She is dead, isn’t she?’

  Emma stood behind him on the footpath. Carrie was somewhere in the darkness, making phone calls. Cormac went to Emma, hugged her for a long moment, until she began to disentangle herself. He let her go, but walked her back along the footpath, away from the body.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  ‘I was working at home all day. I only came in to check on something in the lab.’ Another shudder racked her body. ‘I saw her on the road as soon as I turned the corner. I didn’t know it was a person until I was closer, and then I thought she might be drunk. It was only when I got out of the car that I saw all the blood.’

  ‘You got out of the car?’ Cormac asked. ‘You got close?’ Emma just nodded, her eyes hooded, and put trembling fingers to her mouth. ‘Her poor face. Jesus.’

  Cormac cursed inwardly. The fact that she’d gotten close to the body meant that her involvement in the case, at least to some degree, was now inevitable. To a different person a couple of police interviews, necessary to rule her out as a suspect, would be no big deal. For Emma it might bring back memories that were better forgotten.

  ‘You didn’t see anyone else?’ Cormac asked. ‘A car? Any pedestrians?’

  Emma shook her head, looked around the car park. ‘It’s so quiet. Much quieter than usual. The library should be open. It’s open twenty-four hours at this time of year. Why are all the lights off? Where is everyone?’

  The faint sound of a siren came to them, far away but coming closer. Cormac walked back in Carrie’s direction, drawing Emma with him. The taxi was gone, Carrie must have gotten rid of it. Carrie had finished with her phone, was tucking it back in her pocket.

  ‘What have we got?’ she asked.

  ‘A hit-and-run,’ Cormac said. ‘Victim is a young woman.’

  ‘Dead?’ Carrie asked. Cormac nodded.

  Carrie gestured to the empty car park ‘The place is deserted,’ she said. ‘Where are all the students?’

  Cormac shook his head, and as the siren grew louder they turned and watched the ambulance pull into the street. Carrie raised a hand in greeting. The driver parked and two paramedics got out, moving quickly.

  ‘The poor girl doesn’t need an ambulance,’ Emma said. ‘There’s nothing they can do for her.’

  Carrie was walking towards the paramedics. Cormac squeezed Emma’s shoulder, followed Carrie, overtook her. She’d said that as far as Murphy was concerned, he was back on active duty. Fine. He would take this case on and make sure that Emma didn’t get too badly knocked around in the process.

  He spoke to the paramedics. ‘It’s looking like a hit-andrun. A woman. I couldn’t find a pulse. I’ll ask you to do formal confirmation, but please try to disturb her as little as possible, all right? And watch where you step.’

  The paramedics exchanged glances.

  ‘I’ll do it.’ The older man sent his partner, defeated looking, back to the ambulance, then nodded his readiness to Cormac, who led the way past Emma’s car to the body.

  ‘You’re police?’

  Cormac nodded. ‘DS Cormac Reilly. Mill Street.’

  They approached the body. Cormac waited on the footpath while the paramedic stepped forward, moving gingerly. He took a flashlight from his cargo pants pocket, turned it on, then reached down and placed one gloved hand against the woman’s bloody neck. ‘No pulse,’ he said. Without moving it, he held one of the outstretched hands in his, then held the wrist. ‘She’s still warm, but she’s apneic and I see brain matter.’ He allowed his torch to play over the woman’s body again, then abruptly switched it off. ‘I can’t officially pronounce her dead, as I’m sure you know, but it’s my recommendation that no treatment is provided.’

  Cormac nodded. ‘We’ll call in the medical examiner. Will you wait? To take her when she’s released?

  The paramedic shook his head. ‘They’ll be at it for a few hours. The hospital’s only around the corner. Have someone call us when you want us, all right?’

  Cormac borrowed the torch from him and let him go. The paramedic made his way to the footpath and walked away without another word.

  Cormac turned the torch back on, and let the light play over the victim. She was wearing fitted blue jeans, ankle boots. The open cardigan was lined with a turquoise fabric that looked like silk. It gleamed dully where it wasn’t dark with blood. He leaned down, looked more closely at the skin of her hands and wrists, which was firm, and unmarked except for blood spatter. If he had to guess he would have said she’d been young, maybe in her twenties. The torch was a powerful one. Cormac shone the light on the road – there were bloodstains and tyre tracks in both directions.

  Cormac walked back towards the women. As he approached, Carrie turned to Emma with a question.

  ‘The whole place seems to be on lockdown,’ she said, with a nod towards the university buildings, which were in darkness. ‘But you were going to the laboratory, you said?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Emma.

  ‘Is there anyone else there this evening?’

  ‘I … don’t think so. I haven’t been in yet, so I can’t be sure, but there isn’t usually, not this late.’

  Carrie nodded, glanced around her again, asked her next question casually. ‘She couldn’t have been going there to meet you then? You didn’t have an arrangement with anyone?’

  ‘No. God no. No arrangements.’ Emma’s voice was sharp, stressed.

  Carrie nodded. ‘Could she have come along just in the hope of bumping into you there? If you’re a regular late worker, she might have thought she’d find you.’

  Cormac glanced at Carrie sharply. She’d asked the question with the mild, guileless tone of voice that Cormac himself put to good use himself on a regular basis.

  Emma flinched She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated. She was about to lie, Cormac could tell. He started to interject but Emma was already speaking. ‘There’d be no reason for her to think that … I … I don’t work late often.’

  Shite. Emma avoided eye contact. They both knew she had just lied, and, though Emma didn’t know it, Carrie did too. He’d certainly mentioned Emma’s penchant for late-night work at least once in the past. Cormac knew that people lied to the police all the time, for the stupidest of reasons and for no reason at all. Because they were nervous or stressed. Because they wanted to hide something immaterial that they were embarrassed about, or conversely because they liked the attention and would say whatever would draw more of it. Emma had lied because she was tired and upset, and because she was gun-shy from hours and hours of police interviews. She would have recognised the false casualness of Carrie’s tone. She’d reacted by shutting down, pulling back. By lying. He wished she hadn’t. It was pointless and dangerous, and likely to draw exactly the kind of attention she was trying to discourage.

  Carrie gave a wide, involuntary yawn.

  ‘The scene of crime lads shouldn’t be long,’ she said, all relaxed unconcern. ‘I asked for four uniforms, two to secure the site, two to start the door to door.’ She yawned again. ‘Christ. I feel like I haven’t slept in a month.’

  ‘You should go home, Carrie,’ Cormac said abruptly. ‘Only one of us can run the case. Leave it to me. Go home to your family.’

  Carrie looked at her watch. ‘It’s eleven-fifteen,’ she said. ‘If I go home this early Ciarán might get a shock.’ A tight smile. ‘I’ll stay and help out.’

  ‘That’s not necessary, Carrie,’ Cormac said. ‘You can leave this one with me.’

  They locked eyes. Cormac could hear a siren approaching.

  ‘The lads are nearly here,’ he said, keeping his eyes on her. ‘Once scene of crime have checked Emma over, maybe you’d be good enough to make sure she gets home all right?’

  Carrie glanced at Emma. The tight smile relaxed into something more genuine. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Pleasure.’

  Cormac was conscious of Emma, very quiet at his side. He turned to her. ‘Em, the scene guys will need to check you over when
they arrive. Because you got so close to the body. Just to deal with any contamination issues.’ And to make damn sure that no one could suggest anything had been covered up here.

  The first squad car pulled up, light flashing, siren muted.

  ‘There’s no need to wait for the specialists,’ Carrie said. ‘I can take an evidence kit from the squad car, and take care of it right now, if that’s okay with you, Emma?’

  Emma shrugged. She glanced back towards the body.

  ‘Em, I’d bring you home myself but …’ Cormac started to say.

  ‘It’s fine.’ She cut him off. ‘Of course you should stay.’

  ‘I’ll give you a minute,’ Carrie said. She waved to the uniforms who were out of the car and approaching, walked to meet them.

  ‘Cormac,’ Emma said. ‘Did you notice the girl’s cardigan? It’s very distinctive. I thought I recognised it, but I’ve just remembered where I saw it before. I think I saw a student wearing it.’ She hesitated, glanced towards Carrie and the uniforms, then back to him. ‘Cormac, it was Carline Darcy.’

  Cormac froze. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘No.’ Emma shook her head firmly. ‘There’s no way to be sure, with her injuries …’ She let her voice trail off, swallowed, then continued. ‘But her hair is the right colour. Maybe she’s the right height, I don’t know. And that cardigan she’s wearing is last season’s Stella McCartney. I don’t think there are many students here who are spending three thousand euro on something like that.’

  Christ. The powers that be would be all over this case like a bad rash. If he wanted to keep it, he would need to nail his name to it good and hard, before the word got out. As Cormac thought it through, two marked police cars pulled into the car park.

  ‘Right,’ Cormac said. ‘Leave it with me, okay? I’ll get one of the lads to bring you home. Promise me you’ll look after yourself. Eat something.’ Cormac felt like an asshole. He should be bringing her home himself.

  Carrie came back, evidence bag now in hand. She waved it at them. ‘If you can give me your cardigan now, Emma, I can take your other clothes at the house, before I head back to the station. I’ll need to get a saliva and hair sample too.’

  Cormac tamped down his irritation. It was what he had asked for, after all. Emma stared for a moment, then nodded numbly. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t seem upset at the idea of the evidence collection, or of going home alone. Maybe it was the prospect of getting away from the gruesome scene, or maybe she just wasn’t going to cry in front of a bunch of young fellas he had to work with. She gave him a quick hug, then turned and walked to the squad car without looking back. Carrie looked at him.

  ‘You’re sure about this, Cormac?’ she asked.

  ‘Very sure.’ He half expected her to object, was relieved when she didn’t.

  She nodded. ‘Okay. Look, there’s an interview scheduled with Lucy Henderson tomorrow at eleven-thirty. Give me a call in the morning. I won’t come in. I’m desperate for a day at home to be honest with you, and it’s not worth the trek in if it’s not my interview. But you call me and I’ll talk you through what’s happened so far. All the statements are on the system if you have time to scan them beforehand.’

  Cormac nodded but his attention was on the case at hand. ‘Emma thinks she might know the victim.’

  ‘What?’

  Cormac lowered his voice. ‘She recognised the cardigan the victim is wearing. It’s designer, not something someone else is likely to have. The girl also has the same build, same hair. Emma thinks the girl is Carline Darcy.’

  Carrie stared up at him. It was as well he was taking the case and she was going home. In the thin light of the street lamp her mouth was like a bruise, her dark curls matched by the circles under her eyes.

  ‘Darcy. Is that who I think it is?’

  Cormac nodded. ‘This case is going to blow up.’

  ‘Right.’ Carrie nodded. ‘You’re sure then, that you should take it?’

  She let her eyes drift back towards Emma.

  ‘Very sure,’ said Cormac. His tone did not invite a rejoinder. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was at an end.

  CHAPTER THREE

  When Emma and Carrie had gone, Cormac put the uniforms to work taping off the scene while they waited for the garda technical bureau to arrive. One of the squad cars had a decent set of lights, and he had them set up in the car park, overlooking the scene.

  Uniformed officers stood about, waiting. One of them, an older man with a bald patch, and a beer belly that must make the annual physical a challenge, pulled a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, offered it around.

  ‘No smoking,’ Cormac said. ‘You’re not on a break.’ He got an eye-roll for his trouble, but the packet was put away. Cormac decided to call in Peter Fisher. He wanted someone of his own on the ground. Someone he could trust. Fisher was the closest thing he had to that in Galway.

  He arrived twenty minutes later, five minutes after the technical bureau had arrived and started to set up shop. Fisher was in jeans, boots, a T-shirt. He pulled a jumper over his head as he approached.

  ‘Did I pull you away from a date?’ Cormac asked.

  ‘Only with my PlayStation,’ Fisher said. He tried to flatten hair that was two inches longer than it needed to be, then gave it up. ‘What have we got?’

  They both turned in the direction of the taped-off scene, where technicians were setting up bigger and brighter lights, and camera flashes were already going off. In a couple of minutes they would position a tent over the body, but first came the photographs. Dr Yvonne Connolly, the assistant state pathologist, was standing off to the side.

  ‘A young woman, a hit-and-run, but based on the tyre tracks it’s murder,’ Cormac said. ‘They hit her once, took her down, then turned their vehicle and ran her over, made sure of her. Severe injuries. Facial disfigurement.’

  They took a couple of steps closer to the scene. Fisher looked it over, his face tight.

  ‘No handbag,’ he said.

  Cormac nodded. ‘No sign of a handbag, or laptop bag, or book bag. If she’s a student you’d expect her to have something with her.’

  ‘Do we think she’s a student?’

  Cormac hesitated. ‘The witness who found the body thought she recognised the cardigan the girl is wearing. It’s designer, apparently. Expensive.’

  Fisher shrugged. ‘Okay. Who are we talking about?’

  ‘Carline Darcy.’

  Fisher looked back at him, face blank.

  ‘Granddaughter of John Darcy.’

  Fisher shook his head.

  Cormac blew out a breath. ‘Jesus, read a newspaper once in a while, will you Fisher? Darcy Therapeutics started here, on campus, sixty-odd years ago. John Darcy was a student when he came up with some compound or other that he sold for a fortune. After that he started his own company, built it up so that it’s the seventh largest pharma company in the world. More than seven thousand employees worldwide. John Darcy’s worth billions.’

  ‘Shite,’ Fisher said. He nodded towards the body. ‘And you reckon that she’s his granddaughter?’

  ‘It’s looking likely,’ was all Cormac said.

  Fisher nodded. His eyes went back to the body. ‘The witness will be a good place to start, at least,’ he said. ‘She just stumbled on the body and happened to recognise a piece of clothing? Sounds dodgy.’

  Cormac grimaced. ‘Not this time,’ he said. ‘The witness is my partner. Dr Emma Sweeney. She was here to work at one of the labs. Called me when she found the body.’

  There was an infinitesimal delay. Then Fisher said, ‘Right.’ Another pause. ‘And she knew the Darcy girl?’

  ‘Emma works at a Darcy Therapeutics laboratory,’ Cormac said shortly. He pointed back up the road. ‘The lab is down beside the river. They sponsor her research. She was introduced to Carline Darcy. Saw her in the labs from time to time, but didn’t know her well.’

  ‘Right,’ said Fisher again, nodding.r />
  They fell silent for a long moment. Cormac was conscious that he had sounded defensive. The sooner he could move the case forward, the better. Forensics would confirm that Emma’s car was clean. A little bit of short-term awkwardness was a small price to pay to keep the case.

  ‘I need to get back to the station,’ Cormac said. ‘I want you to stay here and manage the scene. As soon as Connolly gives the okay I want the girl’s pockets checked. She might have been carrying a phone. If the killer was in a hurry he could have missed it.’

  Fisher nodded his agreement. He cast a glance towards the library, then around the near-empty car park. ‘Is it me or is it weirdly quiet here tonight?’

  Cormac nodded. ‘The whole place seems shut down. We’ll need to find out why.’

  Cormac took his leave of Fisher, commandeered the keys to one of the squad cars from a uniform, and set out. He was intent on getting to the station but at the last minute found himself taking the turn for Canal Road and pulling in outside the little house he shared with Emma.

  The house was in darkness. Cormac looked at his watch. He’d lost track of time somewhere, it was after midnight. Emma must be in bed. She hadn’t called anyone for company, but then, who could she call? Her family were in Dublin, the few friends she had in Galway were work colleagues, not the people you lean on in times of trouble. Cormac sat for a moment, drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Emma was probably already asleep, or trying to get there. He’d nothing new to tell her. Christ. Why did this have to happen now? Why did it have to be Emma who stumbled across the body? She’d put her life back together after all she’d been through, but it hadn’t been an easy journey, and her nightmares, a constant presence in the early days of their relationship, had only recently fallen away.