The Scholar

by Dervla McTiernan

  ‘But surely it’s only valuable if it works? What would be the point of it all, if he can’t sell the drug?’

  ‘The point is that Murtagh invented the drug five years ago. It was seen as a great breakthrough, got him a massive bonus and lots of praise and attention, but it had no practical application at the time so he wasn’t called on to prove that the damn thing worked.’

  ‘Until you came along.’

  ‘Exactly. It was the combination of my device and his drug that was the solution.’

  ‘So then Murtagh was under pressure. You’ve been at the lab for a year, you’ve got a prototype up and running, you’re starting to ask questions …’

  ‘Carline, or, I suppose, Carline and Della, they were working on the drug side of things. They might have figured out a way to get into the background data. I don’t know. Everything is so locked down at the lab but if you were determined and you had a foot in the door already, maybe you could do it. But let’s just assume that they did, and they found that he’d faked it all. What if Della confronted him, and he killed her for it? Took her laptop to hide the evidence? Maybe Carline stole the computer back so that she would have proof of what he had done.’

  Christ. Much of that made sense, though there were a lot of unanswered questions.

  ‘I need to go after Murtagh,’ he said. ‘I need to go after him hard and with everything I’ve got. I need to get to him before the lawyers are called in. If we sit back and wait, all the team’s focus will go into investigating you, and Murtagh will get enough time and space to muddy the waters.’

  Emma was unsure. He could see hesitation in her eyes, but she sat on the couch and nodded, and waited to hear what he wanted her to do.

  Cormac sat on the arm of the chair opposite her, leaned forward. ‘I need whatever you can give me, whatever you know about the way he thinks, about how he would be thinking now.’

  Emma huffed out a breath. ‘I don’t know. If I’m right, I’m trying to think about what it must have been like for him for the last few years, just waiting for someone to stumble on to the truth. It must have been terrifying. His whole career, his whole reputation on the line, and for what? A drug that couldn’t even go to market?’

  ‘You’re assuming that this is the first and only time he’s pulled something like this off, with this drug only. But isn’t it more likely that he’s done it more than once, perhaps even many times, and this just happened to be the time it mattered?’

  Emma’s face grew more troubled. ‘It’s possible,’ she said. She paused. ‘Do you know, before I came here I looked James up online, read all the old articles about how he and John Darcy started out. I hadn’t realised just how close they were in the early days. If you read their story in a certain kind of light, it almost reads like an Eduardo Saverin tale.’

  ‘Saverin … the Facebook guy?’

  ‘Yes. There at the beginning, contributes a bit at an important time, then disappears into the background. That’s James Murtagh. He was there side by side with John Darcy when he … they developed their first successful compound. He’s named in the first patent papers filed. But then John made a refinement … an important refinement that really made the drug what it needed to be, and when the next papers were filed James Murtagh’s name had disappeared. John went on to licence that drug to big pharma for hundreds of millions, at least. I wouldn’t be surprised if it earned him a billion before the patent term ran out. He built Darcy Therapeutics on the back of that drug and went on to develop three more successful compounds after that. And James Murtagh just disappears into … well, into anonymous academia.’

  ‘So how does he feel about that?’ Cormac asked.

  ‘Exactly. How does he feel about his friend and colleague leaving him in the dust? What is the lab in Galway, if not a consolation prize, and a reminder that while John has gone out and conquered the world, James is still sitting exactly where they both started.’

  Cormac stood up and started to pace. ‘And then Carline comes to the university. She’s supposed to be the second coming of John Darcy, isn’t she? Except she’s just a very bright girl who is not afraid to use someone else’s work to get ahead. He must have figured out that she was using Della. Christ. He must have hated her.’

  ‘Yes,’ Emma said quietly.

  Cormac turned to look at her. She had sunk back into the couch, had lost a little of that vital energy. He crossed to her side, sat beside her and took her hand, a little awkwardly.

  ‘We’re going to get him, Emma,’ he said. ‘You just trust me, okay? This is what I do, and I promise you, I do it bloody well. I am going to get him and I am going to put him down.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Fisher was waiting for Carrie when she made her way back to the case room. In a quick and hushed monologue, he filled her in on Paul Lambert’s suspicion that he had seen his sister’s laptop in Carline Darcy’s hands. Fisher had already checked and no computer matching the description had been found at the scene. He also confessed to telling Reilly about the video of Emma’s car.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Fisher said. ‘It was stupid of me maybe. But he wanted to bring her in, to get her help with the laptop.’

  It had been stupid of him. He’d given Cormac a heads up, an opportunity to warn Emma. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to be angry. Things were moving so fast, it wasn’t surprising that Fisher hadn’t quite wrapped his head around the fact that Cormac Reilly was now firmly on the other side of the security glass. She would have to draw that line, make it clear to the whole team that the investigation was not to be discussed with anyone outside themselves. That wouldn’t do it. She would have to be explicit, have to name Reilly as persona non grata. Fuck.

  Carrie nodded dismissal to Fisher, and dialled Cormac’s number. They spoke briefly, but he told her the truth, and without thinking about what she was doing she heard herself give Cormac Reilly an hour. An hour during which she would take no direct action, and hour during which Cormac could warn, coach, prepare their chief suspect. Christ. Maybe none of them were fit for this thing. Maybe they should hand the whole bloody case over lock, stock and barrel to an external team.

  Murphy’s aide appeared at her elbow.

  ‘The Super wants you back in his office,’ the aide said. His expression told her there was more.

  ‘I just left him five minutes ago,’ Carrie said.

  ‘John Darcy’s in with him, and he’s brought his lawyer.’ The aide paused for effect. ‘He’s brought Anne Brady.’

  ‘Right.’ Carrie didn’t want to betray too much reaction, not in front of the aide or Fisher, but she’d heard of Brady, who was a prominent criminal defence lawyer with a reputation for ruthlessness. Why would John Darcy bring a defence lawyer to a meeting that was presumably about his granddaughter’s death?

  Carrie excused herself and made her way back to Murphy’s office. She knocked and entered.

  ‘Detective, come in,’ Murphy said. He didn’t stand and nor did the skeletal-looking man sitting opposite him. ‘This is John Darcy. He took the time to come in today to offer us any assistance we may need with regard to our inquiry into his granddaughter’s death. And his lawyer, Ms Brady.’ There was a woman sitting to John Darcy’s right. In her fifties, with prematurely grey hair, she had a taut, focused energy about her.

  ‘I see.’ Carrie took a seat, wishing she could stand. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr Darcy.’

  He inclined his head. ‘Do you have a theory about who killed my granddaughter?’ Darcy asked. ‘Was this about money?’

  Carrie looked to Murphy for direction. He gave her an impatient nod.

  ‘You may be aware that we’ve been investigating the murder of a young woman named Della Lambert,’ Carrie said to Darcy, looking for the light of recognition in his eyes and seeing none. ‘She was the victim of a deliberate hit-and-run at the university a week ago. Della was a friend of your granddaughter’s. She may have spent time at your laboratory. She may have been on her way th
ere on the night she died.’

  ‘That is conjecture at this stage,’ Murphy put in. ‘We have not been able to prove that to date.’

  Darcy kept his eyes on Carrie. ‘What is it you’re trying to tell me?’

  ‘Just this,’ Carrie said. ‘I find it difficult to believe that two young women, friends, were murdered within a week of each other in Galway, and neither death was connected to the other.’

  Murphy’s eyes flicked to Darcy, trying to read him. That was where the power sat in the room. Murphy would be led by whatever John Darcy wanted. She would have to step very carefully. The atmosphere in the room wasn’t what it should be. Nothing about Darcy’s body language or his demeanour suggested grief. He looked at Carrie like she was an opponent in a game that he was determined to win, and Brady sat, a silent and hawk-like presence by his side.

  ‘Della and Carline were friends, Mr Darcy,’ Carrie said. ‘But Carline took pains to keep that relationship secret. They weren’t seen out and about together. When they spent time together they did so at Della’s apartment. Have you any idea why Carline might have wanted to keep Della a secret?’

  ‘Why … I don’t know any of Carline’s friends. Except that girl she lives with and the Wardle boy. I’ve never heard of a Della but why would I? You should ask her mother.’

  It occurred to Carrie that probably nobody had called her yet. John Darcy had known about his granddaughter’s death as soon as Brian Murphy could be sure that this time the identification wasn’t a mistake, but Carline’s mother was nowhere near the top of his list of important people.

  ‘I’ll do that, sir. But in the meantime, I need to ask you … If Carline had been in a lesbian relationship, would that have impacted on your relationship with her?’

  Darcy recoiled. ‘What? For God’s sake, what are you talking about?’

  Murphy shifted in his seat. Brady looked like she was about to interject.

  ‘A witness informed us that he suspected that Carline and Della were in a relationship. The witness believed that Carline was keeping that relationship from you for fear of being disowned. Disinherited.’ Carrie turned to the lawyer. ‘Mr Darcy asked me if this was about money. At the time of her death Della Lambert had hundreds of thousands of euros in her possession. This is not a girl who had connections to anyone with money. Anyone but Carline that is. If Carline was trying to hide a relationship, and was being blackmailed by Della or someone connected to her as a result, there is every possibility that that somebody eventually killed her. I need to verify the evidence I have so far. I need to know if Mr Darcy would have reacted as this witness described, as he predicted. I need to ask these questions.’

  Her words hung in the air. For a third time, Murphy let his eyes go to Darcy, assessing his response.

  Darcy’s face was pale but he was very controlled, seemed to choose each word carefully. ‘Carline’s mother … I saw very little of Carline as a child. Her mother raised her, and I stayed away. I understand it was something of a … difficult childhood. But Carline inherited a great deal of money from her father. I have other children, other grandchildren. Carline is not a beneficiary under my will and never has been.’ Darcy shook his head.

  ‘Did Carline know that?’

  ‘We never discussed it. But I would be surprised if she had thought otherwise.’

  The disdain in his voice was unmissable. Murphy caught Carrie’s eye – the momentary connection between them was involuntary, both of them realising at the same time that John Darcy hadn’t liked his granddaughter, certainly hadn’t loved her, and wondering why.

  ‘You weren’t close to Carline?’ Carrie asked.

  Darcy took a moment to think before responding. ‘I didn’t know her particularly well. I make no apologies for that. Her mother was a part-time model, full-time good-time girl who caught the eye of my son for half a minute. By the time Carline was born he had long since moved on but he wanted the child. He dragged that woman and my company through the courts and the tabloid papers to get her. Embarrassed me. Embarrassed his mother. Then he had the colossal stupidity to kill himself on a ski slope when he should have been working.’

  ‘And you didn’t see the child? After your son died, I mean.’

  ‘I didn’t.’ Darcy’s tone was cold, unapologetic. ‘I was dealing with the loss of my son, the demands of running my company. Carline had her mother. What should I have done?’

  Darcy clearly didn’t expect a response to the question, and Carrie let the silence hang.

  ‘The point is that I got to know Carline only as an older child. Yes, she had great potential as a scientist, but I have many scientists with proven ability working for my company.’

  Carrie flicked a glance at Murphy. How far could she push this? Not far, was her best guess, not with Brady sitting in the room. And maybe not without her. John Darcy was more than capable of looking after his own interests, that much was clear.

  ‘I have no doubt that that is the truth as you see it, Mr Darcy,’ Carrie said. ‘But I suppose what matters is how Carline saw it, or how those around her saw it. Would her relationship have mattered to you? If she was a lesbian, that is?’

  ‘Who Carline went out with was none of my business. As far as I was concerned, her romantic relationships had no impact on how I saw her,’ Darcy said. His expression was deadpan, giving nothing away.

  It may or may not have been true. It was almost certainly irrelevant. If the blackmail theory had ever had any weight, surely that had died with Carline. But Carrie thought that John Darcy could be dangerous. She felt the need to engage in a little misdirection. She preferred to let Darcy think they were floundering. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him about Emma Sweeney – it was far too early in the investigation to let any outsider know that piece of information. And so she used the Carline-Della relationship theory to distract him. His response, however, was interesting. It was clear that Carline could not have counted on any sort of familial affection from him. Had she known that he disliked her?

  ‘You said Carline’s father left her some money when he died. How much money are we talking about?’

  ‘Her father left her his shares. They vested in her when she turned eighteen and I bought them back immediately. She was paid forty-three million euro.’

  ‘That money was hers? She was free to spend it?’

  Darcy’s eyes flicked to Brady’s.

  ‘There was no trust,’ Brady said. ‘Other than what she paid to maintain her mother’s lifestyle, the money was hers to spend as she chose.’

  Carrie paused, then turned to Darcy.

  ‘Mr Darcy, my team tells me that you are understandably concerned about security at the laboratory. The only way to access the facility is with a swipe card, and you still have to get past a security guard. Della Lambert had an access card in her pocket when she died. Your own records show that that card was used regularly right up until the day before she died. But we can’t establish who used the card without interviewing your employees. We need to cross-reference entry dates for that card with the ID numbers of other employees, find out who was in the lab at the same time as whoever was using the card. Will you help us? Make your people available to us to answer questions?’

  ‘No.’ It was Brady who spoke. She dropped the word into the room as if it was an absolute, inarguable. Her cold blue eyes held Carrie’s, and she offered no explanation.

  ‘I wish to assist the investigation any way I can, detective,’ Darcy said. ‘But there are many considerations … the right to privacy of my employees, for example. Our confidentiality agreements with our commercial partners. I shall proceed on the advice of my lawyers. I trust you understand.’

  Carrie exchanged another involuntary glance with Murphy. ‘Certainly, Mr Darcy. I understand very well.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  While Carrie O’Halloran was caught up with the Superintendent and John Darcy, Peter Fisher hadn’t been idle. He was deeply disturbed by what they had seen on the video. He
had known straight away that the car was Emma Sweeney’s. It hadn’t taken the enhanced photograph, which he’d risked sending to Cormac Reilly, to convince him of that. He was less convinced that the dark-haired woman seen entering the building was the same woman he had interviewed. Peter was honest enough to ask himself if that was his ego talking, if he found it difficult to accept that Emma was a killer because that would mean accepting that he had missed it. Or if perhaps he was operating on the basis of unconscious loyalty to Cormac Reilly, whom he liked and respected, and from whom he had learned a lot. The short answer was that Peter didn’t know, and he wasn’t in the mood to worry about it.

  He was in the mood to do something.

  Peter was settled at his desk in the case room when his phone buzzed. What he saw surprised him. A text, from Cormac Reilly.

  Fisher. It’s an ask. James Murtagh’s alibi.

  Peter glanced automatically around the room, saw Moira Hanley watching him. Christ, but she was a pain in the arse. Peter looked at his phone again, closed his message screen, put the phone down. Moira Hanley he didn’t give a shit about, but he should tell O’Halloran about this new contact. Trouble was, he didn’t really want to. This was Reilly, reaching out, trusting him. And what was he asking, after all? Confirm an alibi. No harm in that. He didn’t even have to tell Reilly he’d done it, not if he didn’t want to.

  Peter stood, put his phone in his back pocket, and left the case room, resisting the urge to give Moira Hanley the finger as he left. He went down a floor, found a quiet corner, and made a call to the hotel at Harvey’s Point. The call was answered straight away by another Peter – ‘Peter O’Toole, Hospitality Manager … no relation,’ a cheery voice introduced himself in a strong Donegal accent, in the tone of one who had made the little joke a hundred times. It probably went down well with the tourists. Fisher asked his questions. He wanted to confirm again that Professor and Mrs James Murtagh had stayed in the hotel the previous weekend, checking in on Friday. Donegal Peter asked for Fisher’s badge number.