by Rob Kitchin
‘Yeah, I know, but I’m only ten miles down the road and it’ll save me getting a new team out. That’ll take an age to organise. If they need to come back tomorrow, George and Chloe can work the site without her.’
‘I’ll let her know, but she won’t be happy.’
‘None of us are happy, Elaine,’ McEvoy said without rancour. ‘I’d sooner be watching Man United versus Chelsea, but instead I’m traipsing around the country looking at dead bodies and trying to work out how and why they died.’
‘There are worse things in life to be doing,’ the pathologist observed.
‘Such as?’
‘Such as being the dead body. I’ll be there shortly.’ She ended the call.
McEvoy stared at the phone and then turned back to look at Albert Koch. Two bodies in one morning; things really were starting to get out of hand. He patted his pockets, instinctively searching for a pack of cigarettes, then shook his head at his own lameness. ‘For feck’s sake,’ he muttered to himself.
The door to the bedroom was flung open.
‘What the hell do you think you are doing?’ Koch’s daughter shouted. ‘Have you no respect for the dead?’
McEvoy turned slowly.
She was standing in the doorway, a tumbler of whiskey in one hand, swaying slightly. It hadn’t occurred to him that she’d been drunk when he’d spoken to her downstairs. Standing behind her were James Kinneally and Kevin Boyle, both looking anxious.
‘I have every respect for the dead,’ he said flatly. ‘However, from my observations I’d say there’s more to your father’s death than simply heart failure. I’ve called the pathologist and she’s on her way. Until she confirms things one way or another this is a crime scene and I want the house vacated to preserve whatever evidence might be left. So, if you’d leave the building, I’d be very grateful.’
‘My father was not murdered,’ Mrs D’Arcy slurred. ‘He died in his sleep. Anyone can see that! You’re just doing this to embarrass us. I want you to leave. Now! Go on fuck off!’
‘Marion,’ Kinneally warned. ‘He’s just doing his job.’
‘The doctor said he died of natural causes! He was my father’s doctor for over forty years. He should know. They just want to throw their weight around, get a few headlines and blacken the family name. I want you out of here now! You hear, now!’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs D’Arcy, but we’re not going anywhere. I know you’re upset by the death of your father—’
‘Upset!’ she interrupted. ‘You have no fuckin’ idea what I’m feeling!’
‘Well, I’m afraid you’re wrong there,’ McEvoy said solemnly. ‘My wife died a year ago this Friday. I know all about losing someone you love. Now, can you please leave the house. If not, I’m sorry, but I will have to have you escorted off the premises.’
‘Don’t you threaten me!’ Marion D’Arcy screamed, ignoring McEvoy’s admission, spilling her whiskey. ‘This is my home! I know my rights. I’m a lawyer.’
‘Clearly not criminal law,’ McEvoy muttered with little sympathy.
‘Come on, Marion,’ Kinneally said, grasping her shoulder. ‘If they’re wrong we can sue them later.’
She tried to hold McEvoy’s stare then gave up. Reluctantly she turned on her low heels and left the bedroom.
Tom McManus poked his head round the door frame. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said sheepishly.
‘Don’t worry about it. Try and get them off site; I don’t want them messing up anything more than they have already.’ He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket yet again. He needed reinforcements.
* * *
Elaine Jones parted Koch’s hair with gloved fingers and peered at the skull. ‘Well, there’s definitely been a serious impact here.’ She traced the scalp with her fingertips and applied a little pressure. ‘Can you get out of the way of the light, Billy?’
‘Sorry,’ her assistant mumbled and lurched to one side.
‘I’d say he has a depressed skull fracture. I’ll only know for sure once I perform a full autopsy.’
‘It was enough to kill him?’ McEvoy asked.
‘Possibly.’
‘But he did die of a heart attack?’
‘Again I’ll only know when I do the autopsy, but it may well be the case. The head injury might have led to severe internal haemorrhaging and clotting. It could have triggered a cardiac arrest.’
‘So the local doctor could have been right?’
‘Technically, yes. But discounting the head wound so quickly verges on negligence. He must have known it could have been a significant factor in his death.’
‘Unless he had a reason to pronounce a natural death,’ McEvoy hypothesized.
‘That kind of speculation is your territory, Colm, not mine. All I know is that I smell a stinky fish.’
‘What about his posture and the bruising on his legs?’
‘I think the local sergeant is right. I’d say the body was moved. Most probably dragged up the stairs and thrown on the bed. He must hardly weigh a thing; it shouldn’t have been too difficult.’
‘Difficult enough though,’ McEvoy observed. ‘He’d be a dead weight.’
‘I don’t know. With the adrenaline of the attack I think even I could have pulled him up. Might have been a struggle, but doable. I’d say he only weighs about 50 kilos or so.’
‘What’s that in old money?’ McEvoy asked, still unsure of metric conversions.
‘About eight or nine stone. Given the lividity, my professional opinion is he died in the bed or very shortly beforehand. I’d say somewhere between midnight and 4 am. I’ll be able to tell you more later.’
‘So he was killed in the vicinity?’ McEvoy surmised.
‘Almost certainly.’ She stepped back from the body and her assistant took a couple of photographs of Koch’s head and shoulders.
‘Well, that might help,’ McEvoy stated flatly.
‘Chin up, Colm. It could be worse,’ the pathologist said brightly, her tired eyes sparkling above her face mask.
‘It could be a damn sight better as well. Any idea what he might have been hit with?’
‘I think that’s my job, isn’t it?’ Hannah Fallon said from the doorway. ‘Good to see that you got suited up, Colm.’
‘Didn’t seem much point at this stage,’ McEvoy said, shrugging his shoulders, but nonetheless feeling guilty at his laxity.
‘Well, I’m glad the example setting starts at the top. I take it they’re not your footprints on that white rug?’
McEvoy looked at the rug, at his feet and back at the rug, unsure of his guilt. ‘I, er, well…’
‘So what have we got,’ Fallon said, not waiting for a full reply, and breaking the seal on a paper suit.
‘A blow to the head,’ McEvoy said hesitantly, thrown off guard by Fallon’s abrasiveness. ‘It looks as if the body’s been moved; probably dragged up the stairs.’
‘And do we know where he was killed? I suppose you’ve trampled all over that as well, have you?’
‘I, er, look, Hannah, I…’
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Fallon stated, pulling the paper suit up over her trousers. ‘I’m just a bit wound up about tomorrow. Having to process two sites today is not exactly ideal preparation. I’ve left Chloe in Trim to finish things off. George will be up in a minute. Do we know who he is?’
‘Albert Koch,’ McEvoy replied, ignoring her excuse, ‘supposedly one of the richest men in Ireland. He lives here alone with his Polish housekeeper. According to the local sergeant she was out all night, staying with her boyfriend in Athboy, and discovered the body when she returned. She called the guards, who called the local doctor.’
‘So what did he do to get rich then?’ Fallon said, tugging on a pair of rubber gloves.
‘He founded Ostara Industries. I’m not sure what they do exactly, but Ostara Pharmacies is part of the group.’
‘I take it he’s not Irish? Albert Koch sounds… German, I guess.’
‘Sorry, Hannah, I k
now as much about him as you do. I don’t think he was one for the limelight. I’ll leave you to it, okay?’ McEvoy said, heading for the door. ‘I’ll be on my mobile if you need me, Elaine.’
‘As soon as Hannah’s finished, we’ll take him over to Navan Hospital and get started on him and the young Lithuanian,’ the pathologist replied cheerily.
‘I just hope this isn’t going to drag on into the evening,’ Fallon said distractedly. ‘I need to get my head ready for tomorrow.’
‘We’re all in the same boat, Hannah,’ McEvoy said descending the stairs.
‘Well, it’s sinking,’ she called after him.
* * *
The sky was shades of light grey, elongated low clouds drifting across from the west threatening drizzle. McEvoy switched his attention to the old, gnarled branches of the leafless trees, wondering where his reinforcements were. He reached in through his shirt, pulled the nicotine patch from his upper arm and scrunched it up. He didn’t know why he bothered with the things; they made practically no difference to his craving.
Tom McManus rounded the end of the building and approached.
‘Well?’ McEvoy asked as he neared.
‘Mrs D’Arcy, James Kinneally and Kevin Boyle are holed up in her place. It’s a couple of miles down the road. Roza, Koch’s housekeeper, is with her boyfriend in Athboy. She’s still pretty upset.’
‘No sign of your superintendent?’
‘Not yet. A couple of local lads have turned up. I’ve put one on the front gate, the other at the back entrance.’
‘Good. So what do you know about Koch?’
‘He’s something of a local folk hero. Practically anything of any significance within a ten-mile radius has been funded by Ostara. They’re also the biggest employer for miles around. Anyone not working for them directly is taking their employees’ wages over the counter.’
‘So general, all-round good guy?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ McManus said cautiously. ‘From what I’ve heard he was a cantankerous old bastard. He could be as difficult as hell to deal with and anyone who crossed him knew about it. And the old folk say he was ruthless when he was building his empire.’
‘Then why so generous with the local amenities?’
‘He mellowed?’ McManus hazarded.
‘So who would want to kill him? Any enemies?’
‘I thought this was a burglary gone wrong?’
‘Then what was taken?’ McEvoy asked. ‘If it was a burglary then they were after something specific because they seem to have left what few valuables there were. And why take the body back upstairs? Why not just leave it where it was? That blow to the head wasn’t going to fool anybody.’
‘Fooled the doctor,’ McManus stated flatly.
‘I’ll need to talk to him later. He has some explaining to do.’
‘So you don’t think it was a burglar then?’
‘It could have been,’ McEvoy shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ve an open mind at this stage. It just doesn’t seem to hang right, that’s all.’
‘I guess,’ McManus didn’t look convinced.
‘So what about enemies?’ McEvoy prompted.
‘I don’t know,’ McManus shrugged. ‘You’d have to ask the family, but you can’t get to be as rich as Koch without rubbing a few people up the wrong way.’
‘So why hasn’t he got any security then? You could just walk into this place. Not exactly Fort Knox.’
‘He used to employ a private security company for a while – you can still see bits of their kit around the place,’ McManus pointed to a small surveillance camera hidden in a tree, ‘but he discontinued their services a couple of years ago.’
‘If he could afford it, why discontinue it? If he thought he was a target then, he was a target now.’
‘Perhaps he felt safe enough?’ McManus speculated. ‘Or felt he could look after himself?’
‘Perhaps,’ McEvoy said, watching a red Volvo throw dust up as it sped up the drive.
‘Here we go,’ McManus muttered.
The car ground to a halt a few feet away. The driver’s door flew open and a tall, dark-haired man in his late-forties levered himself out from behind the wheel. ‘This better be important,’ he growled as a greeting, rounding the car, still dressed in his golfing gear – pink pullover and pale blue trousers.
‘And you are?’ McEvoy demanded.
‘Superintendent Cathal Galligan. And you?’
‘Detective Superintendent Colm McEvoy, NBCI. I’m glad you could finally join us given that one of most important people in the area’s been murdered.’
‘Murdered!’ Galligan exclaimed. ‘I was told he died in his sleep.’
McManus shifted uncomfortably signalling that this wasn’t entirely the case.
‘He may well have done,’ McEvoy said evenly, ‘but he was still murdered.’
‘Well, that’s your territory, isn’t it,’ Galligan said, still trying to make an excuse for his absence. ‘Whatever resources you need, just ask and we’ll do our best to help. Tom here can be your liaison. How’s that sound?’ He started to back away towards his car, seemingly anxious to get back to his game of golf.
‘I want to co-opt him into my investigative team; I only have one available DS and he knows the area and the people. You’ll be doing the media work. As soon as they find out that Koch has been murdered they’ll be all over this story.’
‘I’ll be doing the media work?’ Galligan repeated.
‘Yes. That’s the policy. I have other things to be getting on with, like solving a murder. My suggestion is you better start taking an interest in things.’
‘I… I should go and get changed,’ Galligan said, looking down at his attire.
‘That’s up to you. Personally, I’d get up to speed on the case and contact the press liaison office.’
‘I… er, yes, right.’ Galligan rounded the car. ‘Tom, er, you better get some people out here to help Superintendent McEvoy with the investigation. I’ll… I’ll be back in fifteen minutes or so.’ He slipped in behind the wheel of the Volvo, reversed back quickly and sped down the tree-lined drive to the front gate.
‘It’ll be more like an hour,’ McManus muttered, ‘probably longer.’
* * *
‘Colm. There you are!’ Fallon stated loudly. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
McEvoy was leaning against a fence, looking down the length of a field to a small lake. The field was ringed by a hawthorn and ash hedge and the landscape was dotted with clumps of oak and beech trees. To his right was a large hayshed half-filled with large round bales. He glanced back at Fallon as she approached. Several nearby cows looked up then settled back to chewing the cud.
‘What are you doing out here?’ Fallon asked.
‘Just having a look around while I wait for the others to arrive; it’s a pretty modest place for a multi-millionaire – just the farmhouse, the farmyard and the hayshed. And it’s all basic stuff; nothing expensive or flash; no fancy equipment or appliances. It’s as if the house is frozen in the 1960s.’
‘Perhaps that was all he needed?’
‘Perhaps,’ McEvoy repeated, continuing to gaze at the field.
‘I came to tell you that we think we’ve found where Koch was attacked. There’s a tiny amount of blood on the floor and a couple of shards from a vase just inside the door to his study.’
‘And the rest of the vase?’ McEvoy asked, turning towards her.
‘Missing.’
‘I’d better take a look,’ McEvoy said without enthusiasm, setting off back toward the house.
They entered through the front door and turned right. The room was four metres or so square; book shelves ran floor to ceiling round all four walls, the only gaps being two doorways, the window and a fireplace. Lined along the shelves were thousands of books, intermittently divided by various ornaments and knick-knacks. Several other piles of books were scattered across the floor and stacked up on an old mahogany desk inlaid with g
reen leather. Tucked up against the desk was an ancient wooden, swivel chair. The door opposite the window led through to the back of the house.
Fallon crouched down and pointed to a couple of spots barely visible on the dark floorboards.
‘They’re recent enough?’ McEvoy said, lowering himself to join her, the boards creaking under his feet.
‘Last day or so. There’s a shard here.’ She pointed to a piece of white porcelain, one edge stained blue, nestled in against the spines of two books on the nearest shelf. ‘There’s another one at the bottom of this pile.’ She pointed to one side.
‘So he was killed in here and then carried upstairs?’
‘Attacked in here at least, perhaps. He might have died later on.’ She shrugged her shoulders.
Their conversation was disturbed by the noise of two cars crunching up the driveway. McEvoy eased himself up and headed for the front door.
Detective Sergeant John Joyce and Detective Garda Kelly Stringer clamoured out of their respective cars and approached McEvoy. Round faced and boyish looking, Joyce was dressed in a scruffy grey suit, his thin hair shaved close to his head. He’d attained a doctorate in Sociology from Trinity College Dublin before changing career track and joining the gardai. He was still viewed with suspicion by a few colleagues, some of whom felt threatened by his obvious intellect, some of whom suspected they were part of an ongoing ethnographic study. Just over six feet tall, Stringer was conservatively dressed in a two-piece, dark blue trouser suit over a plain white blouse buttoned to her neck that made her look ten years older than her twenty-nine years. Her dark-brown hair was twisted round and pinned up.
‘You took your time,’ McEvoy stated flatly.
‘We had a few problems finding this place,’ Joyce explained. ‘Are we the first to arrive?’
‘You’ll be the only ones to arrive; we’re fully stretched. I’ve recruited a local sergeant, Tom McManus, to help with the questionnaires and searches. John, I want you to work closely with me, okay. You’re the dogsbody. If I get called away on other cases, you’ll be in charge. That alright?’
‘No bother.’
