The White Gallows

by Rob Kitchin

  ‘I manage!’ Mary said defiantly. ‘What do you expect? I’m ninety-two. He’s ninety-three. We’re not bad for our age, hey? Sit, sit. Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee? Fruit juice?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ McEvoy said, not wanting to create any work.

  ‘It’s no bother, we’ll be making one for ourselves,’ Koch said, heading for the door. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. What do you want?’

  ‘Tea. Tea would be great. White, no sugar.’

  ‘White, no sugar,’ Koch repeated disappearing from view.

  McEvoy sat down on the three-seater sofa. Out of nowhere a black and white cat landed on his lap.

  ‘Casper!’ Mary snapped. ‘Come on, get down. Down!’

  ‘It’s okay,’ McEvoy said, stroking the cat. ‘He’s a nice cat.’

  ‘He’s spoilt,’ Mary replied.

  ‘Aren’t all pets?’

  McEvoy and Mary Koch swapped small talk for a couple of minutes, the cat purring loudly on McEvoy’s lap, until Frank Koch re-entered the room carrying a tray loaded with a teapot, a small jug of milk, three china cups on saucers, and a plate of biscuits. He placed the tray down on a coffee table and started to pour, handing the first cup and saucer to McEvoy, the second to Mary, before taking the final cup and sitting on the free armchair.

  ‘So, Superintendent, how can we help you?’

  ‘I’m trying to get a sense of your brother. He came to Ireland after the war?’

  ‘Yes,’ Koch said warily.

  ‘He followed you here?’

  ‘I asked him here. It was better here than in Germany.’

  ‘You met Mary during the war?’

  ‘What has this got to do with my brother’s death?’ Koch asked, his brow furrowing.

  ‘Whoever killed your brother left a message. It might be something to do with his past.’

  ‘What kind of message?’ Koch asked.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that just yet. Let’s just say that it casts doubt on the idea that your brother was killed by an ordinary thief.’

  ‘He was killed by somebody he knew?’

  ‘Or somebody who knew about him,’ McEvoy hazarded.

  Koch snorted derision. ‘That could be any number of people. My brother was very well known, especially around here.’

  ‘He was also surrounded by all kinds of rumours. Maybe the killing is related to one of them?’

  ‘Successful people are always surrounded by rumours,’ Koch said dismissively. ‘Others get jealous. My brother worked hard all his life. He never stopped working. And he funded many things for the local community.’

  ‘He was a very generous man,’ Mary added.

  ‘Did you work for Ostara as well, Mr Koch?’

  ‘For the first couple of years. I then set up my own business selling cars – Volkswagens. I had eight garages by the time I retired,’ Koch said proudly. ‘There are now twelve. My sons also sell Mercedes. I can get you a good deal if you’re interested? Much better than a Ford!’

  ‘You’re talking to the wrong man, I’m afraid. It’s a garda car. I just drive what I’m given,’ McEvoy said and took a sip of his tea.

  ‘And your own car?’

  ‘That’s my only car.’

  ‘Well, let me know if you change your mind. Mercedes is a good, safe car. Very reliable. And very classy, y’know; good for your image.’

  ‘Always a salesman, Superintendent,’ Mary said, smiling. ‘He can’t help himself.’

  ‘Unfortunately I’m always a policeman,’ McEvoy said, trying to get the conversation back on track. ‘Do you have any idea of who might have killed your brother?’

  ‘No. It could be anybody.’

  ‘Somebody searched the house, do you know what they might have been looking for?’

  ‘Money?’ Koch speculated. ‘Something they could sell? Many people have lost their jobs. They are struggling to make ends meet.’

  ‘Nothing specific?’

  ‘I don’t know. Mary?’

  ‘I… I don’t know. Bertie was a very private person. He led a simple life.’

  McEvoy wondered whether it was possible to lead a simple life when running a billion euro suite of companies. The cat stretched on his lap and then curled up in a ball, settling in for a short nap. ‘The only thing that seems to be missing is a handgun. Did you know about the gun?’

  ‘It was an old gun. He brought it over after the war. It was for protecting himself. I doubt it still works.’

  ‘He employed a security company until recently. Surely they would have protected him. Why keep the gun?’

  ‘You can never be too careful. He got rid of the security company – he thought they cost too much and they were more trouble than they were worth.’

  ‘Perhaps he accidentally opened the way for someone with a vendetta to get close to him? Without a security patrol it would have been easy to break into the house.’ As far as he knew they’d been no sign of a break-in, but he’d check again with Joyce and McManus.

  Koch nodded his head but said nothing.

  ‘Has anybody been taking an unhealthy interest in your brother recently? Anything out of the ordinary?’

  ‘No, no. I don’t think so.’

  ‘Nobody been asking questions about his past?’

  ‘No,’ Koch said firmly.

  McEvoy looked over at Mary who glanced away, staring over at the glass cabinet. He took another sip of his tea.

  ‘He never said anything to you about any threats at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you saw him regularly?’

  ‘Two or three times a week. The last time I saw him was Friday – Friday morning – and he seemed fine. His usual self.’

  ‘He didn’t mention anything out of the ordinary?’

  ‘No.’

  McEvoy took another sip of the tea. ‘At the moment I think that whoever killed your brother knew him well, Mr Koch. If you were me, who would you put under the microscope?’

  Koch stayed silent for a moment and then said, ‘Stefan Freel. I’ve never felt comfortable around him. He’s too ambitious and arrogant.’

  ‘But why would he be searching your brother’s house in the middle of the night?’

  ‘I don’t know. Papers? Stefan Freel is greedy, pushy and ruthless. That’s why my brother liked him. He was good for business.’

  Freel sounded like a mirror-image of Koch himself. Perhaps he was being groomed as a successor; someone to take over the helm of Ostara Industries when Koch passed away. McEvoy took a slurp of tea and reached for a biscuit.

  * * *

  McEvoy wandered across the incident room glancing down at stacks of paper on the tables. Next to the coffee canteens were three platters of sandwiches and a plate of digestive biscuits. He selected a ham sandwich, aware that beyond the biscuit at Frank Koch’s house he hadn’t eaten since early that morning. He took a large bite and wandered over towards where Kelly Stringer was standing, her back to him.

  ‘Anything to report?’ he asked, mumbling through the half-eaten bread, catching himself staring at the curve of her calves.

  She turned to face him. ‘Not a lot. The stories about Koch continue to grow – he’d come to Ireland via Argentina; he was personal friends with Charles Haughey; he’d been involved in covering up an accident at one of his factories in Africa where several people had died; he started his company using money from bank robberies; he was secretly funding research into genetically modified crops and growing them in Irish fields. It seems he attracted all kinds of speculation and accusations.’

  ‘No doubt most of it rubbish,’ McEvoy said dismissively. ‘Do you have anyone checking them out?’

  ‘Some of them; it’s difficult to know where to start. I have someone checking out the bank robbery angle and also trying to track down immigration files.’ She brushed some hair off her face, tucking it behind an ear. ‘Someone else is doing a newspaper archive search for any stories related to Koch or Ostara Industries.’


  ‘Good. I feel like I’m investigating a ghost here,’ McEvoy said shifting nervously. Now the mud had masked the horseshit on his trousers he could smell Stringer’s perfume and she was looking at him somehow differently; straight into his eyes. ‘No one seems prepared to say very much about him.’

  ‘He still commands respect,’ Stringer offered.

  ‘Or fear. Any word about Hannah?’

  ‘Nothing. If I hear anything I’ll let you know. I’m sure she’s okay.’

  ‘Charlie Clarke better hope so,’ McEvoy said, turning away to the coffee table. ‘Coffee?’ he asked, placing a styrofoam cup under the canteen. He needed to get away from Stringer, yet he felt compelled to stay. He wasn’t sure how he felt, just kind of torn in an odd kind of way.

  ‘No, no, I’m already gently buzzing,’ Stringer laughed. ‘If you wired me up you could probably jumpstart a motorbike.’

  ‘If you hooked me up, I’d drain its battery flat,’ McEvoy said neutrally then took a sip of the steaming brew.

  ‘Not feeling the best?’

  ‘The joys of being an insomniac; you’re constantly tired. If they could bottle sleep I’d probably be an addict.’

  ‘Better than cigarettes,’ Stringer replied, immediately blushing, remembering McEvoy’s patches and Maggie’s cancer. ‘Not that… I mean…’

  ‘That’s the truth,’ McEvoy said solemnly.

  ‘I’d say those trousers have had it,’ Stringer said, looking down, trying to change the subject. ‘You’re never going to get them clean. You should have rolled them up.’

  ‘Hindsight’s a wonderful thing. I’m going to need to talk to Stefan Freel, Koch’s business manager,’ McEvoy said becoming more businesslike. ‘Can you track him down for me?’

  ‘No bother. I’ll get on it now.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m going to talk to George Carter.’ Surely he was too old to be feeling like a teenager, he thought to himself. He was still grieving for Maggie, for God’s sake.

  * * *

  Carter was walking across the mucky, cobbled farmyard carrying a battered leather case when McEvoy appeared, heading towards him.

  ‘Any news on Hannah?’ Carter asked as he approached.

  ‘I was going to ask you the same thing,’ McEvoy replied.

  ‘It’s like a black hole; no one seems to know what the fuck’s going on,’ Carter stated, frustration in his voice. ‘All I know is she seems to have lost a leg and they’re trying to save the other. Don’t bother arresting the fucker who did it, Colm, just fuckin’ shoot them. He was trying to kill her; she’s bloody lucky they didn’t.’

  ‘Like that’s going to solve anything,’ McEvoy reproached. ‘We’ll get them, don’t worry, George. They might accidentally fall down some stairs but that’ll be it, then a long stretch in Mountjoy.’

  ‘That could have been any of us,’ Carter continued. ‘We’re all at risk. We’ve been telling you for years that you’re putting us in danger by making us critical to cases. It’s not been a question of if, but rather when. We’re lucky she’s still alive. If she wasn’t, the Commissioner would be out of a job.’

  ‘I know, I know. I’ve been saying the same thing.’

  ‘Well nothing’s fuckin’ changed, has it? It better do now, that’s all I can say. We’ll be getting the union involved. I don’t mind taking the risks associated with the job, but not if the risks are going to be increased due to poor management. My wife’s through the roof – she wants to know whether she should take the children out of school and go to her mother’s.’

  ‘I’m sure we can arrange some protection if you’re worried,’ McEvoy said, trying to placate Carter.

  ‘I don’t want any protection! I want to be able to do my job as safely as possible without psychos like Charlie Clarke thinking I’m the answer to his problems.’

  ‘Look, there’ll be a full review. We’ll get it sorted.’

  ‘We don’t need a full review! We know what the problem is. What we need is a change in procedures, more people, and better labs and equipment. We’re running to standstill.’

  ‘You’re preaching to the converted, George. I’m on your side.’

  ‘Then get it sorted!’

  ‘I’ll do the best I can. Have you found anything useful,’ he asked, trying to change the subject.

  ‘We’ve just taken some casts of footprints we found near to the noose. We’ve also got some good fingerprints and hairs from the rooms in the house but the place is littered with them.’

  ‘Great,’ McEvoy said sarcastically. ‘And no sign of a break-in?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So perhaps whoever it was had a key?’ McEvoy speculated.

  ‘Or the place wasn’t locked up properly.’

  ‘Unlikely; he seemed pretty security conscious.’

  ‘Might have been a professional. If you knew what you were doing it wouldn’t be too difficult to let yourself in. Sixty seconds tops. Stupid fecker had the alarm turned off.’

  ‘How about the gun?’

  ‘Dr John’s got a couple of teams out combing the fields. He’s talking about getting the divers in to search the lake.’

  ‘Right, okay, well I’m off,’ McEvoy said. ‘We need to find out who has keys for this place. If you hear about Hannah, let me know, okay? I’m sure she’ll pull through just fine.’

  ‘She’ll pull through alright, but whether she’ll be the same person, who knows.’

  * * *

  Stefan Freel was tall, thin and prematurely bald, with a prominent nose and intelligent eyes. He was dressed in a smartly tailored, dark blue, pinstripe suit, salmon pink shirt, blue tie and highly polished black shoes. He glanced up and down at McEvoy’s muddy suit, a wry smile curving up the edge of his thin lips, and held out a manicured hand.

  His handshake was firm and confident. Still smiling he sat back down behind his large desk and closed the lid of his laptop. ‘Well, Superintendent, what do you want to know?’

  ‘You were Albert Koch’s business manager?’

  ‘I’m not sure business manager is quite the right title, but yes, I worked with him closely for the past seven years.’

  ‘So what is the right title then?’

  ‘I don’t really have one. My job was simply to make what he wanted happen. I acted as a liaison between Dr Koch and his various companies – he didn’t leave the house that often.’

  ‘So you work for Ostara Industries then?’ McEvoy said hesitantly.

  ‘That’s technically who employs me, but I only answered to Dr Koch, not one of the various divisions or companies.’

  ‘They’re not all part of Ostara?’

  ‘They all had the Ostara branding, but were not necessarily part of the larger group. How each was established and run was mainly to do with tax issues or eligibility for grants or financing and so on.’

  ‘So you report to James Kinneally then?’

  ‘He kind of reports to me, to be honest. I told him what Dr Koch wanted and he reported back any news from head office. I liaised with all the heads of Dr Koch’s interests.’

  ‘A powerful job then?’

  ‘You could say that,’ Freel shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Dr Koch was an extraordinary man. Even in his nineties he was a brilliant businessman. He could spot grains of gold on a beach of sand, then hoover them all up to make a full bar.’

  ‘I’ve been told he was ruthless when conducting business; he must have made a lot of enemies?’

  ‘There’s no love in business, Superintendent; he would do what he needed to do. Sometimes there are casualties, but then what do you expect? He always said there are winners and losers, but never take prisoners; they bring nothing but trouble. People go in knowing what the rules and risks are and if you swim with sharks you’d better be a shark.’

  ‘So he tended to steamroll over people?’

  ‘He bought, sold and invested wisely,’ Freel pulled a sly smile. ‘He always drove a hard bargain. He never threatened physical harm or tried to intimida
te people; he was too canny for that. He could spot a trend and he moved in and made it his own. He was always in at the ground level.’

  ‘And where were you Saturday night?’

  ‘In London, closing a deal. I flew over Friday evening, returned yesterday.’

  ‘So who should I be investigating then? Anybody hold a grudge? Maybe threatened him?’

  ‘If I were you, I’d start with his children, Marion and Charles. They’ve been pressuring him for years to let them take over the business.’

  ‘I didn’t think Charles was interested,’ McEvoy said, his brow furrowing. ‘He has his own career.’

  ‘Don’t believe everything you hear, Superintendent. In fact, take everything Marion and Charles Koch say with a large pinch of salt. They’re both a pair of schemers. Charles has been trying to persuade his father to invest in one of his hair-brained schemes for years. The stupid thing would cost millions and have very little commercial value. He’s also been pushing for his son, Francis, to be employed on a fast-track management scheme. He was worried that Mark D’Arcy would be in a prime position to take over Ostara, cutting out his children.’

  ‘And will he?’

  ‘Probably not. Mark’s not stupid, but he’s not got his grandfather’s vision. He’s plenty of his mother’s arrogance though. He’s probably already trying to use his family status to re-position himself in the company given his grandfather’s death. Dr Koch, however, could see right through him. He wanted Ostara to be run for the benefit of Ostara, not for the ego and gain of his family.’

  ‘And that means you?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Perhaps,’ Freel shrugged.

  ‘You don’t seem too bothered.’

  ‘I’m still in shock to be honest. It’s a little disrespectful at this stage to be thinking about the future, don’t you think?’ Freel said disingenuously. ‘I spent fifty hours plus a week working with Dr Koch; he was a close friend.’

  ‘I get the impression he didn’t really have friends, just people who circulated around him.’

  ‘Well, you’re wrong there, I’m afraid. He had a small coterie of very close friends; people he kept in contact with regularly.’

  ‘Such as?’