Mr and Mrs Dooley were sitting on the couch in the living room, surrounded by at least a dozen of their friends and relatives. The glass coffee table in front of them was cluttered with teacups and mugs and two plates of shortbread biscuits. A single large candle was burning in the centre of the mantelpiece, with black-edged cards of condolence crowded on either side.
Euan Dooley was a short, round-shouldered man with grizzled grey hair and a worn-out look about him, as if he had been working hard all of his life and couldn’t understand why all that hard work had brought him nothing but this small terrace house without even two living sons to inherit it when died. Agnes Dooley looked much more like Robert – slim and quite pretty, with an oval face that reminded Katie of pictures of the Virgin Mary, except that her dyed-black hair and jet-black cardigan and jet-black dress made her look even paler than she actually was.
Euan stood up as Katie came in. ‘Superintendent Maguire,’ he said. He was clenching both of his fists and he suddenly let out a noise that was halfway between a sob and a snort.
‘It’s all right, Mr Dooley, you’re grand altogether,’ said Katie. ‘Please sit down.’
She handed the lilies to Agnes Dooley and said, ‘These are from everybody at Anglesea Street. You have no idea how much we’re going to miss Robert.’
‘Let me take your coat,’ said one of the male relatives, while another stood up and pushed a dining chair forward so that Katie could sit down.
‘Would you care for a cup of tea?’ asked Agnes Dooley. Katie smiled and said yes. She didn’t really want one, but she knew that the Dooleys would feel embarrassed and upset if they hadn’t offered her one or if she hadn’t accepted it. Their nerves were all very raw at the moment.
‘I’ve been in touch with the funeral home,’ Katie told them. ‘Also with Phoenix Park. The vigil is going to be held on Friday evening in the Holy Trinity, because of the number of people who are expected to attend, and then Robert will be given a state funeral the morning after, at eleven. Bishop John Buckley himself will conduct the requiem mass, and the Tánaiste and the Garda Commissioner will both be coming down from Dublin.’
‘A send-off like that, he deserves it,’ said Euan Dooley.
‘He never deserved to die,’ said Agnes Dooley, clasping her husband’s hand. ‘I would rather have him back alive than all the pomp and ceremony you could ever drum up.’
With that, she turned and stared at Katie with her eyes filled with tears, shaking her head from side to side as if to say, No, no, no, why didn’t you come here to tell me that he isn’t dead after all?
One of Agnes Dooley’s sisters brought Katie a cup of milky tea and said, ‘Help yourself to a biscuit. They’re home-baked.’
Katie took a finger of shortbread and broke it in half, although she felt as if her mouth would dry up if she tried to eat it.
They talked for a while about Robert’s career and how he had always wanted to be a detective. Agnes Dooley told Katie that another boy at his bunscoil had once been stealing sweets from a little girl’s coat pocket in the cloakroom, so Robert had substituted the sweets for small pebbles and the culprit had broken one of his front teeth trying to eat one.
‘Always looking out for other people was Robert. He’ll even be doing that from heaven, you mark my words.’
Katie managed to eat her shortbread and drink most of her cup of tea, even though it was tepid and she usually never took milk and sugar. Eventually, she told the Dooleys that she would have to leave and stood up and shook the hands of everybody there.
‘I want to tell you all that Robert was one of the finest young officers who ever joined my team at Anglesea Street,’ she told them. ‘He did us proud.’
Agnes Dooley showed her to the front door. It was growing dark now, and still raining, although it was only wetting now instead of lashing.
‘Thanks a million for coming,’ said Agnes Dooley, wrapping her cardigan tightly around herself, as if she could feel the chill of death blowing in. ‘There was something I wanted to say to you, but you probably know already, and I didn’t want to mention it in front of himself.’
‘Is it something to do with Robert?’
‘It is, yes. He dropped in for a shower and a bite to eat before he went out to talk to that terrible feller who murdered him.’
She glanced over her shoulder to make sure that her husband hadn’t followed her out into the hallway, and that nobody else could overhear her.
‘Go on,’ Katie coaxed her.
‘While he was here, his friend Kenny MacCarty called by. They were talking in the kitchen while Robert was eating his supper, and I was in and out all the time, so I didn’t catch everything that Kenny was saying like. But I did hear him tell Robert that he’d been at the Roundy last week and he’d seen Danny Coffey from the Toirneach Damhsa along with his dance instructor, Nicholas O’Grady.’
‘You know them – Coffey and O’Grady?’
‘I do, of course. My next-door neighbour’s little girl Megan used to dance with Toirneach Damhsa and I went to see her performing two or three times, that’s how I know them. When she was fifteen, though, Megan put on a fierce amount of weight, poor girl. She almost crashed through the floor when she was practising her hard-shoe dancing and so they had to let her go. Then of course Robert was working on the case and so he told me all about it. Well, not everything. He never said much about his work, but he did say that Nicholas O’Grady was one of the ones who got burned and that you’d brought in Danny Coffey for questioning.’
‘So what about Coffey and O’Grady at the Roundy?’ The Roundy was a pub on the corner of Grand Parade and Castle Street, named for its semicircular frontage. It catered for every kind of customer but it was a popular gay nightspot, too, with tapas and live music.
‘Kenny saw Danny Coffey and Nicholas O’Grady dancing together – and, well, they was kissing. Almost eating each other alive without mayo, that’s what he said. So when he read about the fire in the Echo a few days later, and he saw that Nicholas O’Grady was married, he thought “that’s kind of strange like” – even though O’Grady was married to another feller rather than a woman and maybe the same rules don’t apply when two fellers get married.’
‘Well, thanks a million for the information, Agnes,’ said Katie. ‘Robert didn’t tell me about his friend seeing Coffey and O’Grady together. He didn’t mention it to any of his fellow officers, either, as far as I know, and there’s nothing in his notes about it. I expect he wanted to look into it a bit further first.’
‘But, that’s not the whole of it,’ said Agnes Dooley, leaning closer.
At that moment, Euan Dooley called out, ‘Put a bush in the gap, Aggie, for the love of God! We’re all freezing in here!’
Agnes Dooley closed the door and put it on the latch. Then she said, in a very low and confidential voice, ‘While Danny Coffey and Nicholas O’Grady were sitting there hand in hand like a couple of lovebirds, another feller comes storming in and pulls Danny Coffey up on to his feet and starts to shove him around and shout at him, really effing and blinding. Two of the barmen come out from behind the bar and they grab hold of this feller and throw him out in the street.’
‘Did Robert’s friend know who this was?’
‘Not by name, no. But he said he was tallish and the way he was speaking sounded like he came from Belfast, or Derry maybe.’
‘And that’s it?’ asked Katie. ‘That’s all Robert’s friend told him?’
Agnes Dooley nodded.
‘So why don’t you want your husband to hear any of this?’
‘Because Kenny was more than just a friend like, do you know what I mean? Robert liked girls, but he could never quite make up his mind. After our Malcolm was taken away from us, Robert was his father’s bar of gold and I think he would have had a heart attack if he had known that Robert had a soft spot for fellers as well as women.’
‘Okay, I have you,’ said Katie, and laid a comforting hand on Agnes Dooley’s shoulder. Robert
Dooley had been a smart and fashionable dresser, with brushed-up hair and skinny trousers, and he had always smelled of Boss aftershave, but he had made no secret of his attraction to Detective Padragain Scanlan, who was one of the prettiest female officers at Anglesea Street, and Katie had never guessed that he might be bisexual. It surprised her because she usually had a keen nose for sexual orientation.
‘I’ll need to send somebody to have a word with this Kenny,’ she said. ‘Do you have his address?’
‘He lives in Ballyphehane somewhere, not too far up the road from the Tory Top Bar, I think. That’s where him and Robert would meet each other most of the time. I don’t know exactly which house, though.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Katie. ‘I expect his phone number or his address is on Robert’s mobile. Thanks again for being so honest with me. I don’t know how important this might be, this scuffle in the Roundy, but you never know. I’ll see you at the vigil on Friday evening.’
‘I haven’t let him down, have I, by telling you that?’ asked Agnes Dooley.
‘Not at all. You might even have done the opposite, Agnes, and helped him to solve his last case.’
*
Adeen was sitting up in bed watching Dig In Diner on television when Katie arrived, with the sound turned very low. She was wearing pink pyjamas with stars on them and tightly holding a doll with crinkly platinum hair.
Katie shifted the chair closer to the side of the bed and gave Adeen the packet of Haribo sweets she had bought on the way to the hospital.
‘Ask the nurse before you eat them,’ she smiled. ‘I wouldn’t know how much sugar you’re allowed.’
Adeen gave her the faintest of smiles, but didn’t say anything.
Katie said, ‘You’re looking miles better today, Adeen, do you know that? You’ve some roses in your cheeks. You should be able to leave here soon and we’ll find you some nice people to stay with.’
Still Adeen didn’t speak, but she continued to stare at Katie as if she wanted to.
‘That’s a beautiful doll you have there,’ said Katie. ‘I used to have a doll like that. She could shut her eyes, so when it was bedtime I used to lie her down and sing to her and pretend that she was going to sleep.’
She reached out and stroked the doll’s long blonde hair. Then, very softly, she began to sing, ‘At the auld Lammas Fair girl... were you ever there... at the auld Lammas Fair in Ballycastle-o... Did you treat your Mary Ann... to some dulse and yellowman... at the auld Lammas Fair in Ballycastle-o?’
Adeen, without any warning, began to cry. Her mouth turned down in misery and her eyes filled with tears. Katie pushed back her chair and sat on the bed next to her and put her arm around her. Underneath her pink pyjamas, her bony shoulders were shaking with grief.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ said Katie. ‘Did that upset you?’
‘My mam used to sing it,’ sobbed Adeen. ‘My mam used to sing it when she was putting me to bed.’
Katie held her closer and stroked her hair. ‘I’m pure sorry, Adeen. I didn’t meant to make you cry. Where’s your mam now?’
‘She died and she’s in heaven.’
Katie tugged a tissue from the box on the bedside table and gave it to Adeen so that she could wipe her eyes and blow her nose.
‘Well, we’ll have to think of another song for your doll now, won’t we? One that doesn’t make you feel sad.’
Adeen nodded. ‘I sing her the birdeen song.’
‘Yes, I know it. “The birdeens sing a fluting song, they sing to thee the whole day long. Wee fairies dance o’er hill and dale, for very love of thee.” Is that the one?’
‘Yes,’ said Adeen, and gave her doll a kiss on the forehead. She seemed to have forgotten that she was supposed to be mute.
‘Where did she come from, your doll?’ Katie asked her.
‘Corinne gave her me, this morning. She’s magic.’
Katie was sure now from Adeen’s accent that she had been brought up in Ulster, not too far from Belfast by the sound of it. And by ‘Corinne’ she guessed she meant Corinne Daley from Tusla, the child protection agency, who would be finding foster parents for Adeen once she had been discharged from hospital.
‘So, have you given her a name yet?’
Adeen nodded. ‘Her name’s Bindy. That’s the same as my last dolly that got broke.’
‘Bindy. That’s a pretty name. But, tell me, how did your last doll get broken?’
Adeen turned away, towards the television where Muireann and Digger the Gardener were laughing with Cornsuela the corncob, and Katie thought for a moment that she didn’t want to talk about it. After a moment, though, she said, ‘She got stampit on.’
Her tone of voice was quite different when she said that, oddly high-pitched, as if she were trying to make Katie believe that it was Bindy the doll who was speaking, and not her. Katie had come across that before, when questioning other children, especially the victims of sexual abuse. They would pretend that it was their teddy bears talking, or their Lego men, or even their gloves, so that they would be detached from the trauma they were trying to describe.
‘Oh,’ said Katie. ‘Stamped on – that’s desperate. Who stamped on her?’
Again, a moment’s pause. Then, in the same high voice, ‘My brother did.’
‘That was mean of him. Why did he do that?’
‘He said she gave him the heebie-jeebies.’
‘She gave him the heebie-jeebies? But she was only a doll.’
‘Yes, but she was one of thon dollies that look like a real baby and our mam died when she was having a baby and he saw the baby and he said it reminded him of her.’
‘Well, I’m very sorry to hear that. How about the baby? Did the baby die, too?’
Adeen nodded, still without looking round. ‘I didn’t see her, but my brother did.’
‘What’s your brother’s name?’
‘I can’t tell you. He’ll be raging if he finds out I’ve told you.’
‘He won’t find out, sweetheart. Nobody’s going to tell him. I don’t even know where he is. Was that him who came to see you and left you some flowers?’
Adeen nodded again.
‘He wrote “Zippo” on his card,’ said Katie. ‘What did he mean by that?’
‘Zip your lips. Don’t say nothing to nobody.’
‘You can talk to me.’
‘I’m ascared to. I shouldn’t have told you nothing.’
‘You can tell me your name at least. We’re friends now, aren’t we? I can’t keep on calling you “Adeen”.’
Adeen turned to face Katie but she didn’t answer. She simply stared at her and fiddled with her plaited green wristband.
‘All right,’ said Katie, smiling at her. ‘You don’t have to tell me if you’re frightened. But if I knew how to get in touch with your brother I could talk to him and make sure that he doesn’t get angry with you.’
Adeen still didn’t answer and continued to tug and twist at her wristband.
‘That’s a very quare wristband you have there,’ said Katie. ‘Where did that come from?’
‘It was Bindy’s,’ said Adeen.
‘Poor Bindy who got stamped on?’
Adeen whispered, ‘Yes.’
‘But you really can’t tell me your real name? Nobody else will know, only me.’
Adeen shook her head.
‘All right, then, never mind for now,’ said Katie. She knew there was no point in persisting with her questions, even though she urgently wanted to find out Adeen’s real name and where she came from. It was even more critical for her to know why she had been in the attic when the Toirneach Damhsa studio had been set ablaze, and what she might have seen while she was there. But at least Adeen was talking to her now, and seemed to have confidence in her, and that was a start. She had also picked up two clues that could prove to be critical – that Adeen’s wristband had once belonged to her doll, and that her doll had been so life-like that her brother had destroyed it.
Before Katie left the hospital she texted Detective Scanlan. She told her to search online for any maker of life-like dolls in Northern Ireland, and in particular any life-like dolls that wore woven green wristbands with gilt clasps.
Detective Scanlan texted back: If I find one can I buy one on expenses? I always wanted a doll like that.
23
Liam didn’t come into the Templegate until well past ten o’clock, and when he did he looked washed-out and distracted. Neither of his usual drinking companions had turned up, Murtagh or Billy, so he came up to the bar where Kyna was serving and perched himself on one of the stools.
In the pool room Sorcha was playing her guitar and singing ‘The Dying Rebel’ to a small crowd of twenty or thirty drinkers, although from the sound of their chatter and intermittent laughter they weren’t paying her too much attention.
‘The last I met was a dying rebel... kneeling o’er I heard him sigh... God bless my home in dear Cork City... God bless the cause for which I die...’
Kyna was pouring a pint of Guinness for an elderly man with wild grey hair sprouting out of his ears and a grey moustache that was yellow in the middle from years of smoking.
‘Jesus, Liam, you look beat out,’ she told him.
‘I am, yeah,’ said Liam. ‘My hand’s still throbbing like you wouldn’t believe and we just had a get-together at Davy’s house which went on for ever like. Sure like, I know I asked you if you’d come down to the Bodega tonight, but to be honest with you I don’t think I have it in me. It’s been one hell of a desperate day.’
Dead Girls Dancing Page 22
