He left the room, and the rest of the men followed him, all except for Liam.
Liam stood there looking at her and then he went across and picked up her sweater. He draped it over her middle and he was about to loosen the tie-back gag when he heard Davy calling out, ‘Liam? Where the feck are you?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered to Maggie. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
‘Liam!’
21
Katie came into the conference room and walked over to the long table where Assistant Commissioner Magorian and Chief Superintendent MacCostagáin were already seated. Beside them sat Father Eoin Whooley, white-haired and solemn, his head bowed, and Billy Kelleher, the Fianna Fáil TD for Cork North Central.
On a separate table at the side of the room stood a row of framed black-and-white photographs of all the sixteen dancers who had died in the Toirneach Damhsa fire, and beside each photograph their relatives had placed a lighted candle in their memory. The faces in the photographs were fresh and young and elated. When Katie had seen them in the flesh, most of them had been ghoulishly charred and unrecognizable.
She had never seen the room so crowded, but she had never heard it so hushed. Usually there was a low hubbub of conversation, reporters answering calls on their mobile phones, and Fionnuala Sweeney from RTÉ tapping at her microphone to test it. This afternoon the gathering of bereaved families and media and local councillors and uniformed gardaí sat grim-faced, with their arms folded or their hands in their laps as if they were seated in church.
Katie herself had changed into the black collarless Max Mara jacket and the black skirt she always kept hanging in the wardrobe in her office for funerals and solemn occasions like this.
Once she had sat down, Frank Magorian stood up and cleared his throat.
‘Father Whooley, Deputy Kelleher, ladies and gentlemen, you have been asked to come here today not only to commemorate the lives of all those young people who so tragically died in the fire at the Toirneah Damhsa dance studio, but hopefully to help us bring to justice those responsible for their deaths. First of all, though, may I ask you all to stand and for Father Whooley to say a prayer to commend their souls to the Lord, and to ask for strength and succour for their families in this terrible time of loss.’
Everybody rose to their feet. When the shuffling and coughing had died down, Father Whooley crossed himself and said, ‘Lord God, source and destiny of our lives, in Your loving providence You gave us the dancers of Toirneach Damhsa to grow in wisdom, age, and grace. Now You have called them to Yourself. We grieve over the loss of ones so young and struggle to understand Your purpose. Draw them to Yourself and give them full stature in Christ. May they stand with all the angels and saints, who know Your love and praise Your saving will. Amen.’
Once everybody had sat down again, Frank Magorian said, ‘As you know, we’ve been making repeated appeals through the media for information that might lead us to identify the arsonist or arsonists who started this fire. This case is under the personal supervision of Detective Superintendent Maguire and her team of very experienced detectives, and I’m pleased to be able to report that we’ve already made considerable progress. One of our most important findings is that the fire was started with a highly sophisticated accelerant, so the arsonist must have had some very advanced understanding of chemistry.’
Dan Keane of the Examiner put up his hand and said, ‘Excuse me asking, but if that’s the case, what exactly was the point in going after Dara Coughlan?’
‘Oh... you mean the fellow who murdered Detective Robert Dooley and then jumped out of the window?’
‘That’s your man.’
‘We went after him because he had a record as a serial arsonist. But we’ll be having a separate media conference about him and Detective Dooley after the autopsy – probably tomorrow or the day after.’
‘But Coughlan was nothing but a petrol-slosher, wasn’t he? I doubt if he could understand how to make a decent cup of tea, let alone advanced chemistry.’
‘You’ll have to ask Detective Superintendent Maguire about that. I’m sure she has a perfectly sound explanation. All I can tell you today is that she’s coming very much closer to narrowing down the culprit for the Toirneach Damhsa fire. You’re fully aware that she was promoted to detective superintendent because of her outstanding ability to close some of the most complex cases that we’ve ever had to deal with. Her skill is not letting her down in the solving of this case, either.’
Katie drew her microphone nearer and said, ‘To be fair, sir, we still have a considerable number of suspects to interview before I can make anything like a conclusive announcement.’
‘Oh, come on, Detective Superintendent Maguire, there’s no need for you to be modest,’ said Frank Magorian. ‘From the way you’ve been talking to me, I reckon you’ll have this case cracked by the end of the week. Gentlemen and ladies of the press – I think you can confidently say in your news reports that DS Maguire is within a hair’s breadth of making an arrest.’
Katie immediately covered her microphone with her hand and beckoned Frank Magorian to lean over so that she could speak to him in confidence.
‘What in the name of Jesus did you say that for?’ she hissed. ‘You know that we’re still no nearer to lifting anybody now than we were at the very beginning.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Frank Magorian, talking to Katie but smiling at the audience with his best George Clooney look. ‘I’m only trying to give the impression that you’re right on top of this case, even if you aren’t.’
‘So what do you think they’re going to say when I don’t make an arrest by the end of the week?’
Frank Magorian continued to smile and nod at the audience as if Katie were telling him something reassuring. ‘Then you’ll just have to make sure that you do, won’t you? Anybody would be better than nobody. You could always let them go later for lack of evidence. It would buy you some time at least.’
‘I don’t work like that, sir. I’m a Garda officer, not a politician.’
‘Don’t give me that, Katie. You’re a superintendent. At your level you have to be a politician even more than a police officer. If you can’t stand the heat, then stay out of hell.’
Katie was about to answer him when Frank Magorian stood up straight again and addressed the audience. ‘Sorry about that. Detective Superintendent Maguire was just bringing me up to speed. Now perhaps she can bring you up to speed, too. DS Maguire?’
Katie stood up. The relatives of the dead dancers were sitting in the front row, right in front of her, some of them dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs, all of them looking washed-out and bewildered and distraught. At one end of the row she recognized Tadhg Brennan, the young musician who had been married to the Toirneach Damhsa dance instructor, Nicholas O’Grady – a blond young man with a wispy blond moustache and a wispy blond beard. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and he was making no attempt to wipe them away.
Katie said, ‘First of all I want to give all of the relatives of the dancers who died my deepest personal sympathy and to pass on to you the condolences of every officer here in Anglesea Street. Father Whooley was right: sometimes it is very difficult for us to understand God’s purpose, especially when such energetic and creative young people are taken away from us before they have had the chance to blossom.
‘We’ve now completed almost all of our interviews with the relatives of those who died. I know how painful those interviews must have been, but they were necessary in order for us to make sure that none of your sons or daughters had been threatened by anybody for any reason.
‘As Assistant Commissioner Magorian has just told you, we know from our forensic examinations that the fire was started by pyrophoric chemicals – that is, chemicals that can self-combust after a certain period of time, and very explosively if they are suddenly fed with oxygen. In fact, two fires were started – one on the staircase that led up to the studio and a second in the attic – so that even if they ha
d survived the first blast, the dancers had little or no means of escape.’
‘So you think you’re close to making an arrest,’ said Fionnuala Sweeney, as her cameraman zoomed in on Katie’s face. ‘Can we take that to mean that you have a reasonable notion of what the arsonist’s motive was?’
‘I can’t answer that question at the moment,’ said Katie.
‘Oh. Is that because you don’t want to alert the arsonist that you know who he is, or because you don’t actually know yet what his motive was?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m not a position to tell you that.’
Kenny Mulroney from Cork 96FM put up his hand and said, ‘It’s kind of been going around that this may have had something do with next Saturday’s step-dancing feis at the Opera House.’
‘Oh, yes?’ said Katie. ‘And where exactly has this “kind of been going around”?’
‘Oh, you know like. Wherever two people get together to have a scoop or two.’
‘And what’s the suggestion?’
‘Well, it may be something and nothing, but what they’re saying is that Toirneach Damhsa were tipped to win the championship but another group of dancers was out to make sure that they didn’t. Maybe these other dancers didn’t intend to hurt nobody, let alone kill them, but now they’re too scared to come out and say that it was an accident.’
‘Of course I’m making enquiries into the possibility that a rival dance troupe may have been wholly or partly responsible,’ Katie told him. ‘I don’t think that many people realize how fierce the competition is between some of those dancers. If the rumour is right, though – and I’m not saying if it is or it isn’t – then I agree with you that the arsonist probably didn’t intend that anybody should get hurt.’
‘You mean they started a fire just to put their studio out of action but it went totally out of their control?’ asked Dan Keane.
‘Possibly. The chemicals used were very unpredictable. But I’m making no further comment about motive.’
Assistant Commissioner Magorian stood up again and laid his hand on Katie’s shoulder. In front of the media, though, she couldn’t twist herself away without making it obvious how unwelcome this was. She couldn’t even stand the smell of his aftershave. But she remembered how she looked in newspaper photographs, and on TV, and so she lifted her chin a little so that she would appear calm and determined. If Nóirín O’Sullivan could look like that, so could she.
Frank Magorian said, ‘DS Maguire still has a few loose ends to tie up, everybody, so I think we’ve given away enough information for the time being. Like I said, though, expect her to have this case all signed, sealed and delivered before you go to Mass on Sunday.’
Katie said, ‘I’ll be able to tell you more about Detective Dooley tomorrow, when I’ve had the chance to talk to his parents.’
‘And what about the Niall Gleeson shooting, up at Gurra?’ asked Kenny Mulroney.
‘Still making enquiries,’ said Katie, trying hard not to sound snappy.
Kenny Mulroney shrugged and turned away to talk to the girl sitting next to him, and the RTÉ TV camera turned away, too. Without looking up at him, Katie took hold of Frank Magorian’s wrist and lifted his hand off her shoulder. When she did turn around, she was smiling politely but her green eyes were almost crackling with coldness.
*
As Katie was walking quickly back to her office, Bill Phinner caught up with her.
‘That Magorian is counting his arsonists before they’re lifted, isn’t he?’
‘Hmph,’ said Katie, without slowing down.
‘You’re walking a bit fast for me there,’ said Bill Phinner, skipping to catch up with her. ‘I had another attack of the gout last night.’
‘I usually walk much faster than this when I’m on my own.’
‘Jesus! Thank God I’m never with you when you’re on your own!’
Katie reached her office. ‘Was there something you wanted to tell me, Bill?’
‘There was, yes. We had the comparison macroscope fixed this morning and we’ve examined the bullet that we found in Niall Gleeson’s car, as well as the bullet fragments from Ronan Barrett’s skull. We still haven’t found the bullet that was used to kill Saoirse MacAuliffe. It probably went right through the floor of the attic and into one of the rooms underneath.’
‘But? Well? What’s the result?’ Katie asked him. Frank Magorian had left her with very little patience. The more he treated her as if she was suffering from PMT, the more she felt that she was.
‘Both bullets were fired from the same gun.’
‘What? Serious?’
‘No question about it. There was enough scoring left on the fragments to make a one hundred per cent match.’
Katie went into her office and sat down behind her desk. Moirin came in and hovered in the background with a file of letters for her to sign. Bill Phinner just stood there, waiting for what she was going to say next.
Katie thought for a moment and then looked up at him. ‘This means we could be looking for one offender, rather than two. But who would have a score to settle with Bobby Quilty’s right-hand man and with two of the Toirneach Damhsa dancers? I mean, what possible connection could there be?’
‘There may not necessarily be a connection, ma’am – apart from the likelihood that the same offender shot all three of them. Lookit, I gave my garage down the banks last week for not having my car ready on time, and later on the same day I complained to the waitress in Panda Mama because she knocked my Coca-Cola into my lap. I was sore vexed by the both of them, but there was no connection.’
‘All right, Bill. I have you. Thanks for the update on the bullets. I’m just anxious to get this all wrapped up as soon as we can, do you know, but we seem to have more suspects than we know what to do with.’
Bill Phinner said, ‘I heard what Frank Magorian said about you clearing this up by Sunday. I wouldn’t worry about it, though. We haven’t finished all the forensics yet, nowhere near. We’re still trying to work out how long a delay there would have been before the chemicals self-ignited. I mean, that should tell us pretty accurately when they were planted and then you can see if anybody was caught on CCTV leaving the area within that time frame.’
‘It would be a good idea if you mentioned that to Magorian yourself. You know, just in passing.’
‘I will, I know what he’s up to. I’ve seen that kind of thing happen before, when I was in Dublin. Praise your colleagues up to the skies, that’s what you do, so that when they can’t match up to it everybody thinks they’re a failure. Don’t you let it concern you, ma’am. I’ll back you up to the hilt if it comes to it.’
Katie, very quietly, so that Bill Phinner could hardly hear her, said, ‘Thanks a million, Bill.’
22
Detective O’Donovan came in to tell Katie that he had contacted Steven Joyce, Danny Coffey’s former partner at Toirneach Damhsa.
‘I asked him if he could come in to the station early tomorrow morning for an interview and he said he would if he had to. The only trouble is, he would have to cancel a rehearsal that he’s arranged and what with the feis so close his dancers need all the practice they can get – so could he come in first thing tomorrow afternoon?’
‘Where does he rehearse?’
‘I don’t know, but I can ask him.’
‘Okay, grand. Find out where it is and then we’ll go along and talk to him there. Danny Coffey gave me the impression that he’s fierce demanding, do you know what I mean? It’ll be interesting to see him in action.’
She checked the clock on her desk. ‘Okay, see what you can arrange. I’ve a couple of calls to make now – Robert Dooley’s parents and then CUH.’
‘I’ll text you so,’ said Detective O’Donovan. ‘And – you know – give my best to the Dooleys. I don’t know if Robert ever told you, but his older brother Paul was run over and killed by a drunken driver when he was only fifteen years old, which was the main reason why he decided to join the Garda. He said h
e had a personal motto, which was a little different from the official Garda motto. Don’t ever let the bastards get away with it.’
*
The sky had been as grey as ash all day and as Katie drove to Togher, where the Dooleys lived, it started to rain, hard and cold, so that it hammered on the roof of her Focus and she had to switch on her windscreen wipers to full speed.
On the passenger seat beside her lay a bouquet of long white lilies that Moirin had bought for her that morning at Best of Buds, with a black-edged note of condolence – Chaill muid ní hamháin ina laoch, ach cara – We have lost not only a hero, but a friend.
Usually she played music when she was driving, but not this afternoon. She always felt personally responsible when one of her detectives was hurt or killed on duty, and as time went by her sense of responsibility seemed to have deepened so that now she felt not only responsible but guilty. She was fully aware that Robert Dooley had known the risks of his job, like every other garda, but that didn’t make her feel any less remorseful.
She had begun to suspect that she had been affected more than she first realized by John being kidnapped by Bobby Quilty, and his amputations and subsequent death, and by the injuries that Kyna had suffered while she had tried to protect her. She just hoped that after her confession God had forgiven her, even if she hadn’t yet forgiven herself.
Soon after her promotion to inspector her father had said to her, ‘You can only be kind in this job by being hard, Katie. If you’re soft-hearted, believe me, that’s when people get hurt.’
She had taken his advice to heart, because he was talking from his own experience as a Garda inspector, but now she wondered if she had taken it too far. She had been hard, for sure, but people had still got hurt.
She parked outside the Dooleys’ terrace house on Deanrock Avenue, opposite Clashduv Park recreation ground, where two teenage boys in anoraks were hanging from the crossbar of one of the goalposts and swinging themselves from side to side like pendulums. Seven or eight cars were already parked in front of the terrace and a small group of men was gathered on the pavement in raincoats and windcheaters, smoking in the rain. Katie put up the pointed hood of her own black parka and hurried to the front door, which was half-open. She knocked and then stepped inside.
Dead Girls Dancing Page 21
