by Brothers
Chapter 4
Monday Afternoon – 2016
Michael replaced his phone in the breast pocket of his overalls. His warm breath formed a bubble of fog in the early morning March sky. ‘Marie says that Timothy Fitzpatrick is up in the house and has Jack not found me yet?’
‘Oh.’ George nodded, almost disappointed. ‘I thought it was news.’ George McGrath was seventeen when Michael had been born and he had taken the job of being Michael’s big brother very seriously all his life.
Michael leaned on the metal gate and watched the forensic team trample back and forth across the bog. The white and blue tape left nobody in any doubt that they were to venture no further and the blue screen prevented them from catching a glimpse of the action, as tedious as the forensic investigation was. Uniformed Gardaí stood motionless, afraid to smile at their posts.
‘Those white suits would be a grand job for painting wouldn’t they?’ George said.
‘Jesus, George, seriously,’ Michael whispered as he watched the forensic team return across the gorse ditch, dressed in white, hooded suits, zipped to their chins.
‘They would though,’ George said; his signature smirk growing gently on his face. His bachelor lifestyle had been greatly enhanced when Michael took over the farm next door to his. ‘It’ll hold you up, though. They won’t let you dig here now until they’ve done a thorough search.’
‘Don’t I know, this bloody delay now is going to cost me a fortune?’ Michael sighed. He looked around at the hired machinery lying idle. Fitzpatrick Estate, as a working dairy farm, yielded a modest income for the McGraths and for years it had been his dream to develop the house and the farm, but it was Marie’s plans to develop the farm for agri-tourism that was going to help sustain the family in the long run, especially with the help of government grants.
‘Do, you know who it is?’ George spoke under his breath. ‘The body, like.’
‘Jesus, of course I don’t know.’ Michael couldn’t help but be amused. In the forty-six years that Michael had known his older brother, he had never known him to waste any words.
‘I just thought maybe it was one of them bankers that fleeced you on the loan.’ George laughed, he had a way of grounding every stressful situation with a hearty laugh that made Michael worry a little less. ‘But, you know, if you did…’ He glanced at the men and women in uniform, making sure they couldn’t hear his hushed words. He lifted his cap and scratched the crown of his head. ‘You know yourself.’ He lifted his eyebrows suggestively.
‘George, seriously.’ Michael slapped his brother’s back and shook his head. His brother’s loyalty was indisputable. He knew that if he had needed it, George would have been the first to give him an alibi.
‘Sure, I’d do jail for you,’ George said. ‘There’s no point in you going in to Mountjoy and me at home here looking after Marie and the kids and both farms.’ He scratched the side of his ear and scrunched up his face. ‘Be fecking easier in jail.’
‘I’ll tell Marie you said that.’ Michael laughed. ‘She is dead right about you, you know.’
‘What’s that, then?’
‘That you’re too fecking mean to get a wife.’
‘Ah, sure she’s a genius all together.’ George was terribly fond of his sister-in-law and although he wouldn’t admit it, he loved the way she designed the inside of his house for him and the new clothes that she had bought for him suited really well. ‘It won’t be long before the rubberneckers are up from town, they’ll have the tape stretched out on the road like they do in that C.S.I,’ George said. ‘That’d be grand, wouldn’t it, C.S.I Kilkenny.’
‘I’m more bloody concerned about how long this is going to hold us up.’ Michael sighed. ‘Let’s leave them to it; are you coming up to the house then?’ Michael’s boots squelched as he turned from the post they had taken.
‘I won’t. The less I have to do with that Kelly character the better,’ George said, turning towards the jeep he had parked a short distance away from the marshy field.
‘I’ll walk then.’ Michael closed the driver door behind George. His dog, Charlie, sat obediently at his side. ‘Try and clean off the boots on the way and walk Charlie back up,’ he said. The wet fields at the bottom south corner of the farm had left mounds of muck on the soles of their boots. ‘Marie will eat me if I walk more muck inside.’
‘Right then,’ George started the engine and drove slowly towards his farm.
Michael made his way back up to the house. By the time he reached the back door, Jack had found him and most of the muck had disappeared. He knew by the car parked in the courtyard that Timothy Fitzpatrick was still inside.
‘Hello gents, you’re very welcome.’ Michael stood six foot tall in his stocking feet. It was more than his life’s worth to come in with his boots on, regardless of who was visiting. He extended his hand to Robert first. ‘I’m Michael,’ Charlie went straight to his bed underneath the table.
‘Nice to meet you, I’m Robert.’ Robert gestured to Tim who stood equally as tall to greet the man of the house. ‘This is Timothy Fitzpatrick.’
‘Lovely to meet you Mr Fitzpatrick, after all these years.’ Michael took Tim’s hand firmly in his.
‘It’s Tim, call me Tim,’ he said, struck by the man who stood in front of him. ‘Lovely to meet you too.’ They were still shaking hands when Marie returned.
‘Oh good, you’ve all met.’ Of all the weeks for something like this to happen, this was the worst, with the children at home for the Easter break. She was looking forward to packing them off to pony camp in the morning, the less they were around the events on the farm that week, the better. ‘Like a good boy, would you go up to your room and tidy up and keep your sister occupied until I call you.’ Her instructions didn’t need to be repeated as Jack bounded dutifully up the stairs. She closed the kitchen door behind him. ‘Detective Kelly is already on his way up, the station told me.’ She looked at her husband and the two men in her kitchen. ‘The pathologist seems to think he has everything he needs. They’ll be finished down there shortly.’
‘Have they any idea who it is?’ Tim was careful with his words. ‘Has anyone been missing from the area or anything?’ Marie gathered fresh mugs from the cupboard and poured steaming black coffee from the percolator. She had finished her call to the station some moments before and had stayed in the hall considering the information and how she might deliver it.
‘Well, there is no actual information yet but there is a lot of talk about.’ She was stuck for words to finish the sentence. She didn’t want to be part of the local gossip-mongering. She reconsidered her response. ‘What they did say to me is that the body appeared to have been…’ She shook her head again as though disassociating herself from the information. ‘Like it was preserved or something, something to do with the acidic levels in the soil profile or maybe it was the lack of acidic levels, I’m not sure what they meant.’
Michael glanced at his wife. It wasn’t like her to be unsure of anything, let alone, lost for words.
‘The body could be years old, is what they are saying. The land is more like a bog down in that corner.’ She looked to Michael for reassurance. ‘They’re saying that the fact that it is so wet is what could have preserved the remains for so long.’ She looked at Tim to gauge his reaction. The first thought that she had when she heard the gossip from her friend in the station was to thank God that the body wasn’t from their ten years there, the second thought was to wonder about the Fitzpatricks and the involvement they might have had.
‘The drainage is, terrible,’ Michael offered. ‘That’s why we were digging it up in the first place. I had a group of lads down there working for me.’ He poured himself a mug of coffee from the pot. ‘There’s talk from the fella that dug him up.’ He spooned sugar into his mug and stirred. ‘I’d say he got the fright of his life when he pulled that up in the digger,’ Michael said. ‘It was definitely a man; he said the skin looked tanned, preserved almost, even his clothes were
more or less intact.’
‘The officer, the one I was just talking to, said they will be finished with the scene at the end of today and that everything else can be investigated in the labs.’ Marie shrugged, interrupting her husband’s unscientific ramblings. ‘Even uttering the words “scene” and “labs” feels peculiar.’ She looked at both Tim and Robert’s feet. ‘I don’t suppose you brought any boots with you.’ They both shook their heads. ‘I’ll root you both out a pair; you’ll need them if you are going down to the field.’ Marie hurried towards the mud room. ‘I won’t need any Marie, thanks, I’ll leave that bit to Tim, if that’s okay?’ Robert said.
‘Sure.’ Marie answered and left to get one pair of boots for Tim.
‘I’ll go outside and wait for the detective.’ Tim followed the hallway to the old front door. The hallway seemed much smaller than it used to. The same chessboard black and white tiles adorned the space but even they seemed smaller. The door to the drawing room was closed, he noticed as he opened the front door. He watched as Detective Kelly parked his car.
‘Detective Kelly, I presume,’ Tim greeted the plain-clothes man from the steps of Fitzpatrick House.
‘That’s me.’ An athletic arm extended to meet Tim’s. ‘And you are?’
‘Timothy Fitzpatrick.’ Tim didn’t like him already. He was brash and righteous, Tim could tell.
‘Well,’ His squinty eyes focused on Tim’s face. ‘Good of you to come down.’ Kelly held Tim’s gaze for the same awkward time he held his handshake.
Tim nodded silently.
‘We,’ Detective Kelly inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, ‘might take a walk.’ He let go of Tim’s hand and looked in the direction of the field.
‘Sure.’ Tim looked back down the hall to see if Marie was coming. ‘Marie tells me I’ll need boots, though.’
‘She’s right.’
Tim wasn’t sure whether the pause in each of the detective’s utterances was a speech impediment or a deliberate attempt at unnerving him.
‘Here we go, these should fit.’ Marie handed Tim some boots. I’ll mind your shoes here for you. She scooped up his loafers as he stood out of them on the step. ‘I’ll leave you to it so.’ She stood back inside her hall and watched as both men walked across the court yard towards the field.
‘So,’ Kelly’s boots dragged across the yard, scuffing every stone. ‘You’re,’ he exhaled slowly again, ‘the famous Timothy Fitzpatrick.’
Tim cringed. ‘What do you mean?’ He was careful with his tone. He didn’t want to antagonise him.
‘Well, I’m told, the Fitzpatrick name is pretty famous in these parts.’ His arm extended, gesturing the farmhouse and fields. ‘Generations of Fitzpatricks living on this land,’ Kelly said. ‘That was until you left. Local Legends.’ Tim was sure the last part was meant sarcastically.
‘I don’t know about that.’ Tim had never used the Fitzpatrick name to his benefit, quite the opposite. ‘As far as I know, I’m the only named Fitzpatrick left and I haven’t lived here in nearly fifty years, so I’m not sure quite what you mean.’
‘Forty-six.’ Detective Kelly was precise. He hadn’t needed to pause. ‘It’s not fifty years, it’s forty-six.’
‘I didn’t even know the exact length of time,’ Tim mentally calculated the years since he had left. ‘Forty-six years.’ He repeated.
‘But you, were still the landlord,’ Detective Kelly answered. ‘They still have the grand big sign up on the gates with the Fitzpatrick name on it.’ Tim had never seen that sign there in his day; it was obviously a choice by the new owners to keep its original name.
‘Fitzpatrick Farm was what I knew it as, the Estate bit is a new addition,’ Tim clarified. ‘And yes, I was the landlord up until the beginning of the year.’ Tim was beginning to understand the rhythm of Kelly’s speech. He decided it was a tactic. ‘But I sold it to Marie and Michael McGrath.’ He was deliberate in saying Marie’s name first. ‘They’ve leased the farm for the past ten years.’ He knew that none of this information was new to the detective but volunteered it anyway.
Detective Kelly climbed over the concrete stile expecting Tim to follow.
‘I see.’ Kelly turned to wait for Tim to climb down. ‘You were,’ Kelly’s pauses made Tim impatient, ‘seventeen when you left.’ Tim nodded in response. ‘Went to Dublin for college.’ Tim nodded again. It was like a thwarted version of This Is Your Life with no big red book and no Michael Aspel. ‘And never came back,’ the detective finished.
‘Well, I did come back; just not to work the land. Farming wasn’t for me,’ Tim said hesitantly. He didn’t want to have to explain his lifestyle choices to what seemed like a cross between Mr Bean and Colombo, the handsome version, Tim noted reluctantly.
‘No children, of your own?’ Kelly said. The boundary tape fluttered gently just in front of them.
‘No, what has…’ Tim paused before he finished his sentence. ‘Why do you ask?’ His tone was forcefully polite.
‘Just wondered.’ Kelly zipped up his coat. ‘You kept the farm for so long, maybe you were keeping it in the family for a reason? Maybe something you wanted to keep private?’
‘No reason,’ Tim exhaled, he was growing increasingly uncomfortable at Detective Kelly’s line of questioning. ‘Anything else I can help you with, I need to get back to Dublin.’
‘Ah, yes, to your sister Rose.’
Tim’s eye’s narrowed as he considered his response. There wasn’t much these days that would have Tim wanting to punch a man but today he felt like throwing a right hook at Detective Kelly’s jaw, but he didn’t. His shoulders broadened as he stretched up to his full size. ‘Can I ask, why do you mention Rose?’ His brows furrowed as he tried to relax his breathing and uncurl his fists.
‘You told me yourself that you had no children, so I presumed the reason you were in a rush to get back was for Rose.’ Kelly remained unfazed. His style of interrogation was to burrow deeply under the skin. ‘I’m just trying, to get a picture of what went on, you know, in these parts, all those years ago.’ Kelly stretched his neck to the side and pushed his shoulders down. His vertebrae cracked. ‘Help me understand why there is a man lying in your ditch, and nobody, for forty-six years, knew anything about him.’
‘Well, first of all, it’s not my ditch, hasn’t been since January, and second of all, I don’t know anything about a man lying in the ditch. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you.’ Tim extended his hand to bring the encounter to an end. Kelly took it but didn’t shake.
‘One other thing, before you leave, is your uncle still alive?’ He continued to clasp Tim’s hand as he waited for the answer.
‘I don’t know,’ Tim said succinctly. He had been waiting for that very question.
‘Would your sister know?’ Kelly asked.
Tim pulled his hand away and clenched his fists at his side. His heartbeat quickened once more. ‘I doubt she would,’ Tim said slowly. Kelly already knew his weak spot and both of them knew it.
‘And why is it that you don’t know where your own flesh and blood is?’
‘I was a child when I last saw him; I don’t know anything about him and my parents never spoke of him since he left.’
‘Oh, he left, did he?’ Kelly kept agitating. He thought if he rubbed hard enough, the stain would come out.
‘I don’t really know when he left, nobody ever heard from him again.’ Tim fought hard to tame his temper but a smidgen seeped out. ‘Good riddance to him,’ he said.
‘Well now, aren’t they very strong feelings for a child to have about your own flesh and blood?’ Kelly paused; he was a master at reading a reaction. The gaps that his stuttering left, gave him more answers than his words. ‘How old did you say you were when he left?’
‘Seventeen.’ Tim forced his gritted teeth open to answer, already regretting having said a word.
‘A child you say, some would say a man?’ Kelly raised his eyebrows to match the raised pitch in his question. ‘Or
have I been fooling myself all these years?’
‘I was seventeen. He left. That’s all I know.’ Tim hadn’t the patience to continue.
‘And the Estate was left just to you,’ Kelly pulled his notebook from his back pocket and unsnapped the worn elastic band. ‘Tell us this much,’ he looked up at Tim, ‘nothing for your sister?’
‘The Farm was left equally to both of us.’ Tim spoke clearly and concisely. ‘What has that got to do with this?’ he asked impatiently.
‘Just establishing who had the title to the land,’ Detective Kelly paused. ‘Seeing as it was you who did all the business, you know, with the lease and the agency.’ He paused again. Tim wondered how he had his information and why the sale of Fitzpatrick Estate was of such importance to him. ‘And then with the sale of course.’ Tim didn’t answer him. ‘Did you ever consider that your uncle might have had a claim in it, or still may?’ Kelly looked to the forensic dig site and then back at Tim. ‘If he’s still alive that is.’ Kelly paused to read Tim’s reaction. ‘Maybe it wasn’t yours to sell in the first place.’
‘I can assure you, that all is in order, in relation to the title of the land.’ Tim was reluctant to elaborate but felt obliged to. ‘According to my father’s solicitor at the time, they had my uncle declared dead after he was missing for seven years. As far as I know, my father’s solicitor would have dealt with all that. It was my father’s to leave to me and…’ He hesitated before he mentioned Rose’s name. ‘And my sister.’
‘Oh, so he is dead then?’
‘Like I said, I wouldn’t know.’ Tim cleared his throat. ‘And neither would Rose, she was only fourteen when he went missing.’
‘I see,’ Kelly said.
‘Well, Detective, as I said, I must get back on the road to Dublin. You have my number?’ Tim said, knowing full well that whatever there was to know about him, Detective Kelly seemed to know it already.
