by Rob Kitchin
‘And what about yourselves?’
‘What about us?’
‘Perhaps he could have tried to make you disappear?’ McEvoy suggested.
‘He could have tried, but he would be making a bigger problem for himself. If we disappeared, then Yellow Star would mobilise fully against Kucken and Ostara Industries. We are a small organisation but we have very influential friends and funders. It would quickly turn into an international incident.’
McEvoy nodded his head, unsure what to say.
‘I can arrange for copies of the evidence to be sent to you,’ Ewa continued, ‘though the documents are mainly in German. The witness statements are in Polish, Hungarian, Russian, Hebrew, Italian, French and other languages. Very little has been translated into English.’
‘We’ll take anything you have,’ McEvoy said, unsure of how they would be able to fully analyse the material without lengthy and expensive translation and transcription. ‘Particularly anything that proves your claims as to Koch’s identity and his guilt of war crimes. We’ll also want to know where the original sources are so we can make sure they’re genuine. I’ll arrange for someone to collect the material you have here. Is that okay?’
‘Yes,’ the woman nodded. ‘We have copies.’
‘I’ll also need you to provide full statements as to your movements over the past few days and especially on Saturday and Sunday.’
‘That’s not a problem.’
‘Right, okay. I think that’s it for now. What will you do now that Koch is dead?’
‘Once we are no longer considered suspects, we will tell the world his story. Just because he’s dead does not mean that the crimes he committed die with him. People should know what he did. Do you know what Ostara means, Superintendent?’
‘No.’
‘Ostara was the pagan god of rebirth and new life; new beginnings. In some places she was known as Eostre. It’s where the word Easter comes from; the time when things re-emerge after a dark winter and start to grow again. Kucken saw Ireland as a place where he could forget his past and start over afresh. We’re going to expose that past and why he needed to start again.’
‘And what about the people who work for Ostara Industries,’ McEvoy said, starting to think through the ramifications of their story. ‘They might lose their jobs if the company gets in trouble.’
‘If history is anything to go by, they might experience a slight downturn, then grow back. Look at all the big German companies today. Many of them served the Nazi war machine and now they are thriving. The uniform Kucken wears in this photo,’ she held it up again, ‘was tailored by Hugo Boss. People forget and forgive corporations quickly. But they will not forgive Adolf Kucken.’
McEvoy nodded his head in agreement and pushed himself to his feet. ‘I’m afraid that I must request that you do not leave the country until further notice.’
Ewa and Tomas levered themselves standing.
‘We understand,’ Tomas said.
‘Somebody will come to collect your material and statements.’ He shook their hands and left the room.
McEvoy exited the bed and breakfast and waited on the steps leading down to the gate, shielding his eyes from the low sun. He felt strangely calm. All of his frustration and stress seemingly dissipated. The couple’s story was otherworldly. If true, then the search was no longer for the killer of a rich, but innocent, old man. Rather they were seeking someone who had killed a murderer, a monster who had been an active contributor to genocide. A monster who had not only evaded justice, but had prospered seemingly without guilt or shame. The front door closed behind him.
‘Well?’ John Joyce asked.
‘They had a strong motive for searching Koch’s house,’ McEvoy said neutrally. ‘Perhaps they disturbed him, he came downstairs and they got into a fight? Koch almost certainly had a gun. They could have been defending themselves?’
‘Perhaps,’ Joyce said unconvinced.
‘And the hanging rope would make sense as a statement.’
‘Or that’s what someone wanted us to think,’ Joyce speculated.
‘Well, we have two definite lines of enquiry for now – Marion D’Arcy and her strong desire to see her father’s will and our two friends in there.’ McEvoy gestured over his shoulder. ‘Marion D’Arcy might not have been snooping round the house, but that’s not to say that someone else wasn’t doing it on her behalf. I want you to get hold of the doctor who pronounced Koch’s death and find out if Mrs D’Arcy placed pressure on him to declare a natural death. Also track down Koch’s solicitor. I’ll want to talk to him. And get Kelly Stringer to organize the collection of whatever evidence those two have, to take full statements from them about their movements, and to talk to the landlady to corroborate their story.’
‘I’ll talk to the landlady again before I leave,’ Joyce said.
‘And ask Kelly to check with military records about Frank Koch’s internment in the Curragh,’ McEvoy continued. ‘I’m going to talk to him again.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘Jesus,’ he whispered to himself. He was late for his meeting in Trim about the dead Lithuanian. He was going to have to delay it for now and also rearrange his meeting with Stefan Freel.
* * *
Frank Koch opened the door before McEvoy had a chance to press the bell. ‘Superintendent?’
‘I’m afraid I need to ask you some more questions. Can I come in?’
‘Yes, yes,’ Koch said smiling, ‘please. It’s good weather for a change, no?’
‘Anything’s better than rain,’ McEvoy said, following Koch into the living room.
Mary Koch was sitting in the same chair, a newspaper in her lap. ‘You look better than yesterday,’ she observed. ‘More colour in your cheeks. Do you want a cup of tea? Frank, will you put the kettle on?’
‘No, no, I’m fine,’ McEvoy muttered. ‘I need to ask you both some more questions though, if that’s okay.’
‘Sit, sit,’ Mary demanded.
McEvoy and Koch sat in the same places as they had the day before.
‘Are you making any progress?’ Mary continued. ‘It’s terrible about Bertie. I still can’t believe it’s happened; to attack an old man like that.’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘We’ve been told we can’t bury him yet, so everything’s all up in the air. And I haven’t slept right since for worry. What if he tries to break into our house in the middle of the night? My Frank isn’t as strong as he used to be.’
Frank Koch pulled a tight smile, but stayed silent.
‘We’re making some progress,’ McEvoy replied, ‘and hopefully we’ll catch whoever’s responsible for Dr Koch’s death soon.’
‘I hope so, I really do.’
‘I’d like to ask about when your brother moved to Ireland,’ McEvoy said to Koch. ‘His son, Charles, said he moved here in 1948.’
‘Yes,’ Koch replied warily.
‘He came from Germany to join you in Athboy?’
‘Newbridge,’ Mary answered. ‘We were living in Newbridge. That’s where I met Frank. We moved to Athboy in 1952 when they bought the factory.’
McEvoy nodded. The Curragh internment camp was a couple of miles from Newbridge in County Kildare, about forty miles to the south of Athboy. ‘The factory?’ he prompted.
‘We bought a fertiliser factory that had just gone out of business,’ Koch stated flatly.
‘The two of you?’
‘Yes. We worked very hard for four years to save enough to buy it. It took us three months to get it operational again. We lived in the factory to save money.’
‘All of you? I mean, both of your families?’
‘Yes. We couldn’t afford anything else.’
‘So Albert was now married?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Mary said. ‘He’d married Maura in 1950. She died in 1987 of breast cancer. It hit Bertie hard.’
‘And both his children had been born?’
‘Yes,’ Mary answered. ‘Charles was born just a couple of months b
efore we all moved. It was not easy living in the factory with young children. We had two of our own at that stage and I was pregnant with Karl. The place was filthy and there were mice and rats everywhere, but we coped.’
‘And did anyone else move with you from Newbridge to Athboy?’
‘Why are you asking these questions?’ Frank Koch said, his voice hardening.
‘I’m trying to get as full as picture of Dr Koch as I can. When he married Maura, he also took on her daughter as well, didn’t he?’
‘If you already know the answers why are you asking these questions?’
‘Because I don’t know all the answers. I have some bits of information, which may or may not be true, that I want to piece together into a full story.’
‘Maura O’Coffey was my best friend, Superintendent,’ Mary said. ‘She went to Britain in 1943 to work as a nurse in Liverpool. She stayed on there after the war for a couple of years and returned to Ireland not long before Bertie arrived. When she finally travelled home she had a four-month-old daughter. She told her family and friends that she had married a local man, but that he had died a couple of weeks previously whilst clearing a bomb site – a wall had fallen and crushed him to death. With a young child and no breadwinner she decided to come home.’
‘And was she married?’
‘No. But this was 1940s Ireland, Superintendent. Mothers without husbands were sent to Mother and Baby Homes. The child might have been taken away for adoption. The family would lose face with their neighbours. It was easier for everyone to pretend that she had been married. And then Bertie came along.’
‘He rescued her?’
‘They fell in love. They were close from the minute he arrived. They were both determined to make a better life for themselves.’
‘So it wasn’t a marriage of convenience then?’
‘What has this got to do with anything?’ Frank Koch demanded. ‘He was killed by a thief.’
‘It’s to do with understanding Albert Koch’s family tree,’ McEvoy replied, ignoring Koch’s assertion. ‘In 1948 your brother arrived in Ireland. He met Maura O’Coffey – Martin O’Coffey’s sister – married her and took on responsibility for her daughter. They then had a son a couple of years later. Martin O’Coffey, Albert’s warring neighbour was his brother-in-law, and Marion and Charles’ uncle. I’m assuming Martin O’Coffey moved here with you in 1952?’
‘You can’t possibly suspect Martin,’ Mary said. ‘There’s not a bad bone in his body.’
‘I never said Martin O’Coffey was a suspect, Mrs Koch.’
‘Martin helped at the factory,’ Frank Koch said. ‘He was our first employee.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Just helping out. He left after a few years to run his farm. I left to open my first garage. Albert was the chemist, I wanted to be a car salesman, not a fertiliser salesman.’
‘There must be a lot of money in just helping out to be able to buy a farm,’ McEvoy noted.
‘We all worked hard and we all shared the rewards of that work. Land was not that expensive at the time.’
‘Albert didn’t resent the fact that Marion was not his natural daughter?’
‘Bertie loved Marion and Charles equally,’ Mary replied.
‘But they argued all the time,’ McEvoy stated.
‘Marion is like her mother. And her father,’ she added. ‘Headstrong. Albert loved Maura and he loved Marion.’
McEvoy decided not to push the issue any further, instead changing tack. ‘When I spoke to you yesterday you said that nobody had been asking about Dr Koch, but we have had several reports of a couple going round trying to talk to people about him. We’ve managed to track the couple down and we’ve spoken to them. They say they’d tried to talk to you.’
‘Pah!’ Koch spat, waving his hand.
‘They have some very strong accusations about your brother,’ McEvoy said evenly. ‘Did you speak to them?’
‘They were crazy. I sent them away.’
‘They say they have evidence that your brother was a war criminal.’
‘That’s nonsense! He worked as a chemist during the war. I do not want to talk about this. It is lies and it makes me angry.’
‘Frank?’ Mary asked, her brow furrowing.
‘They were crazy,’ Koch said to his wife. ‘They were saying crazy things. Did you ask them whether they killed him?’ he asked McEvoy. ‘Hey? They kept going to his house.’
‘We did ask them and it appears they have an alibi. We are checking it at the moment. So, you think there’s no truth in what they said?’ McEvoy asked, aware that he needed to talk to Frank Koch alone since his wife clearly didn’t know anything about the accusations being levelled against her brother-in-law.
‘There is absolutely no truth. It is all lies. My brother was a good man.’
‘Right. Right, okay,’ McEvoy said, nodding his head and rising to his feet. ‘Well, I think that will do for now. Thank you for answering my questions.’ McEvoy didn’t move towards the door, waiting for Koch to show him out.
Eventually the old man rose and headed from the room, McEvoy trailing after him.
McEvoy paused at the front door. ‘If there is any truth in their accusations, it will all come out. And if it is true, then your brother will be remembered as a monster.’
‘We’ll fight any slander on our family name.’
‘Which name is that,’ McEvoy said, ‘Koch or Kucken?’
‘Koch,’ Frank Koch said firmly. ‘I do not want you to come here anymore. If you want to speak to me again I will come to the police station. I do not want my wife upset for no reason.’
‘We’re already checking the military records. If there’s a Franz Kucken but no Frank Koch registered for the Curragh camp, I’ll be back to talk to you again.’ McEvoy turned and set off for his car.
Koch stayed on the doorstep until McEvoy was out of sight, then slowly closed the door.
* * *
He was driving from Athboy to Trim, winding his way through low lying, gently rolling farmland and a procession of odd-matched, one-off housing, when his mobile phone rang.
‘McEvoy.’
‘Superintendent, my name is Mark D’Arcy, Marion D’Arcy’s son,’ the voice said evenly. ‘Can I speak to you please?’
‘I’m driving, but yes, okay. I have you on the hands-free.’
‘I want to protest to you in the strongest possible terms,’ D’Arcy said calmly, ‘as to how my mother is being treated by you and your investigation. She is extremely upset by your visit this morning. She feels she’s being treated as a suspect in my grandfather’s death. As a result, she’s already consulted some of her lawyer friends. I am sure this is all a misunderstanding and I want to stop things spiralling out of control. The gardai and the family should be working together to catch my grandfather’s killer, not falling out unnecessarily.’
‘I… I know your mother was upset, but I am only doing my job, Mr D’Arcy,’ McEvoy said uncertainly. ‘Unfortunately that means I have to ask people, including your mother, questions that they might feel are upsetting or inappropriate. That’s especially the case when there are no definite lines of inquiry or suspects.’
‘I understand that, Superintendent, but my mother is extremely upset at the death of my grandfather. I can’t possibly see how she could be a suspect. What would she have to gain?’
‘Your grandfather was extremely wealthy, Mr D’Arcy. With wealth comes power. Your mother is potentially about to inherit a fortune. Whether she’s guilty or innocent that makes her a suspect, even if she is not the prime suspect. And I’m afraid the whole family are suspects until either we have solid alibis or we get a positive lead. That might not seem fair, but that’s the way it has to be.’
‘I understand that, but my mother has a solid alibi. She was at home.’
‘But she doesn’t have anybody who can corroborate that.’
‘But that’s…’ D’Arcy said as if he was going to correct McEvoy befo
re trailing off.
‘That’s what?’ McEvoy prompted.
‘That’s preposterous,’ D’Arcy managed to catch himself, his calmness starting to fray. ‘My mother has built up a very successful business of her own and my grandfather was very old. She’s already independently wealthy and would inherit shortly in any case. Why would she risk doing anything stupid?’
‘Perhaps because she’s not set to inherit? I don’t know. It could be for any number of reasons. I’m not saying your mother did kill her father. I’m saying I can’t simply rule people out without substantive evidence.’
‘This is ridiculous!’ D’Arcy snapped. ‘My mother might be all kinds of things, but she is not a murderer!’
‘I haven’t said that she is,’ McEvoy tried to say patiently. ‘All I’m saying is that I can’t yet eliminate her as a suspect.’
‘The family want to make an appeal for witnesses,’ D’Arcy said, changing tack. ‘And Ostara Industries is willing to put up a fifty thousand euro reward for information leading to the capture of my grandfather’s killer.’
‘Perhaps we could start with the appeal for witnesses?’ McEvoy suggested cautiously. ‘The money will bring out every crank on the island. All the rubbish they’ll give us will just slow the case down.’
‘And buried in the rubbish could be the truth,’ D’Arcy said pointedly.
‘There’s no point burying it when it could be on the surface. Let’s try appealing for witnesses, offering the reward in a couple of days if we don’t get anywhere?’
‘Okay,’ D’Arcy conceded reluctantly. ‘How do we go about doing that?’
‘You need to talk to our media relations team. Are you ringing on a mobile?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll forward your number to them once I’ve parked up and they’ll call you shortly. That okay?’
‘That’s grand. Look, Superintendent, my mother really isn’t responsible for my grandfather’s death,’ D’Arcy said, returning to his original theme. ‘She’s very delicate at the moment. She might act all tough and businesslike, carrying on regardless, but it’s all an act – putting up appearances. She’s an emotional wreck. I’d appreciate it if you could tread lightly around her, even if she is one of the thousands of potential suspects,’ he added, slight sarcasm in his voice.
