Death in Foxrock (A Garda West Crime novel Book 4)

by Valerie Keogh

  Masters shook his head. ‘I don’t, I’m afraid. They weren’t married that long, you know. Only a year, maybe less. They met at a conference almost two years ago in Abuja, and I think, although I’m not sure, that’s where she was from.’

  ‘Thank you, that is helpful,’ West said.

  ‘You’ll need to speak to Enda,’ he said, then narrowed his eyes at the expression that crossed his face. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?’

  ‘Ollie Fearon was murdered, Dom. So far, we haven’t been able to find a motive for his murder. There’s a connection between him and Enda’s wife and there may be a connection with our dead child.’

  ‘Ah,’ Masters said, understanding everything. ‘So I suppose you’d prefer if I kept all of this quiet, for the moment?’

  ‘If you please,’ West said, with a nod. ‘We need to do more investigating before we can start throwing accusations.’

  ‘It sounds to me you need to do a lot more investigating before you throw accusations at a highly regarded solicitor who’s recently lost his wife,’ Masters said with a raised eyebrow.

  West smiled. ‘Indeed.’

  Checking his watch, Masters muttered under his breath and stood. ‘I have to go. I can’t say it was good to see you again, Mike, but it was certainly interesting.’

  With a wave he was gone.

  ‘You know he’s left us the bill, don’t you,’ Andrews said, taking a quick look around to see if the coast was clear before lifting the coffee pot and pouring them both some more coffee. ‘Hot or cold milk,’ he asked in a feigned posh voice before pouring hot into both cups. He sat back with the cup and saucer in his hand. ‘What do you think?’

  West sighed. ‘We’d better step carefully for one. I’ll contact the Nigerian embassy when we get back and see if they can fill in some details.’

  ‘There are a lot of gaps,’ Andrews said. ‘If the child is a relation of hers, why didn’t she bring her with her when she came over here and married Careless?’

  ‘Maybe it’s not her child, maybe it’s a younger sibling or a friend’s child. We may be left with no choice but to ask him, but I’d prefer to have as many of those gaps filled in as possible first.’

  The waiter came to see if they wanted anything else. West shook his head and asked for the bill. When it came, even he was taken aback. He met Andrews’ eyes. ‘I’ll put it down as expenses,’ he said, ‘don’t worry.’

  Morrison, who checked all their expenses claims with a magnifying glass, would go ballistic at paying almost forty euro for three cups of coffee. Let’s hope they solved the case successfully before the end of the month.

  Back in the station, Andrews got on the phone to the Naturalisation and Immigration Service while West attempted to contact someone in the Nigerian embassy who might have the information they wanted.

  It took time and patience but eventually he was given a contact name in Abuja who, he was assured, would be more than willing to be of assistance. West hoped so. Investigating by phone was soul-destroying. He looked out to where he could see Andrews with his hand gripped in his hair. It didn’t look as though he was faring much better.

  He’d no idea what the time difference was between Ireland and Nigeria so he spent a few minutes on the internet finding out. People were much more likely to be forthcoming if they weren’t contacted at difficult times. To his surprise there was no time difference between Abuja and Dublin. He checked on a number of different sites before accepting the truth of it.

  ‘It certainly makes things easier,’ he muttered, as he dialled the number he’d been given and asked, hoping his pronunciation was acceptable, for Ginikanwa Obayomi.

  ‘Just hold while I transfer you.’

  He held, tapping the fingers of his other hand on the desk. Enda Careless’ face came to him. He’d seen the sadness there. Had it eaten away at him and made him do the unforgivable?

  ‘Hello,’ the voice came loud in his ear.

  ‘Hello, my name is Mike West; I’m a police officer here in Dublin, Ireland. I’m trying to find some details on a Nigerian subject and your efficient staff in the embassy here said you were the person to ask for.’

  ‘Mike West,’ the man said, his voice deep and melodic. ‘I’m going to ring you back in five minutes, if I may?’

  Surprised, West hurriedly agreed and hung up.

  Exactly five minutes later, the phone rang.

  ‘It’s Ginikanwa here,’ the voice said, ‘sorry about that but I just needed to check you were who you said you were.’

  Amused, West asked, ‘So who did you check with?’

  ‘Our embassy in Dublin to begin with. They confirmed what you’d said. Then I rang the Garda Siochana head office. They were happy to fill me in on your qualifications.’

  West, who’d used the word police officer rather than Garda Siochana, was impressed with the Nigerian’s pronunciation.

  ‘Now what can I do for you?’ Ginikanwa asked.

  He told him the details of the case. ‘This Nigerian woman, Lesere Osoba, took her own life. There is no doubt with the finding. What we are trying to ascertain is if she had any connection to a small child who died several months ago, and whose body was discovered recently.’

  ‘A child, you say?’

  ‘Yes, less than three years old. Our theory is that she was the victim of a people trafficker who transported her into Ireland in a large suitcase. She had Sickle Cell Anaemia and possibly suffocated.’

  The Nigerian’s tut tut was loud. ‘Shocking,’ he said. ‘And the child was not reported missing?’

  ‘No, we did a comprehensive search through various agencies. But you know how difficult it is, with so many children displaced because of war and unrest.’

  ‘Indeed. Well, let me see if I can help you put a name to the child.’

  ‘The University of Dundee did a reconstruction of the child’s face for us; it may not be accurate but may be of some help so I’ll send you the image. And I can send you a photograph of Lesere Osoba, if that would be of assistance?’

  ‘It would all help, certainly. You can fax it to me.’ He read out the fax number, said he’d contact him later if there was anything to report, and hung up.

  It was back to the waiting game that was often such a large part of his working day. He usually managed to fill the wait with something useful. That blasted audit, for instance, he could get finished with that. He stared at the computer screen but, restless, he stood and left his office. Perhaps it was time to check up on the progress of other minor cases the team were dealing with.

  There was nothing of any importance; certainly nothing they needed his help with. He poured two coffees, and placing the sweetened one in front of Andrews he perched on the side of his desk and waited for him to finish on the phone.

  By the sound of his end of the conversation, he’d learnt something more useful than West had. Andrews sensing his scrutiny, looked up, nodded and held his thumb up.

  West gave an exaggerated sigh of relief that brought a smile to the other man’s face. After a few minutes of listening to the repeated uh-huh and a-ha that was Andrews’ side of the call, he took his coffee back to his office and sat waiting for his phone to ring.

  It would be good to get these two cases closed. He could spend some time with Kelly, get away to that spa hotel in Aughrim he’d heard such good things about. It was tempting to ring up and see if they had a vacancy for the following weekend, but it was also tempting fate. He could wait.

  Resting his elbow on the desk, he linked his fingers and tapped his chin, a position he was still in several minutes later when Andrews appeared in the doorway. ‘A penny for them,’ he said, ‘but from the expression on your face I guess it’s Kelly and those damn photographs.’

  West smiled. He was sure he’d not always been such an open book, or maybe Andrews just knew him too well.

  ‘You found something interesting,’ he said, getting the conversation back to the crime in hand.


  ‘I found lots interesting,’ Andrews said, plopping into a chair. ‘I have a sore ear from the phone. We should have those ear-pieces that those call-centre people have.’

  ‘Well, hopefully what you found out will make up for it,’ West responded, resisting the temptation to say get on with it.

  Andrews opened the A4 pad he was holding. ‘Lesere Osoba. Born in Abuja in nineteen ninety. She was a lecturer in politics in the University of Abuja. Two years ago, she met Careless at a conference. He made several visits to Abuja over the following months until, eight months ago, they married and she came to Ireland. There isn’t much known about her since she came here. She didn’t work. She socialised with him but didn’t appear to have any friends of her own. Then three months ago, he arrived home to find her hanging from a tree in the garden. There was a typed suicide note, which read, I’m sorry.’ He stopped and looked at West. ‘A sad suicide note. What was she sorry for?’

  West frowned thoughtfully. ‘I’m sorry for marrying you? I’m sorry I came to Ireland?’

  Andrews shook his head. ‘How about, I’m sorry, I can’t live without my daughter?’

  24

  ‘Her daughter,’ West repeated.

  ‘Yes, and we have a name. Abasiama. The very knowledgeable Sandra I was speaking to in the immigration office told me it means blessed by God. They have a fairly large file on Lesere Osoba.’ He flicked through the pages he was holding. ‘Since she moved to Ireland, eight months ago, she’s made several visits to them. According to Sandra, she was trying to have her daughter brought into the country under family reunification guidelines.’

  ‘There wouldn’t have been any issue,’ West said with a frown. ‘But I’m puzzled, why didn’t she bring the child with her in the first place. They’d have had to organise residency for her, so why not include her child?’

  Andrews threw the A4 pad on the desk and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Because they couldn’t find her, Mike. She wasn’t married to the child’s father, a Nigerian called, Utibe Omotoso. Just over two years ago, when the child was only a few months old, he went to South Africa to work. He liked it there and asked Lesere to follow but she refused. He came back to Abuja to beg her to go, when she continued to refuse, he went back without her. She didn’t realise until too late that he’d taken the child with him.’

  ‘Ah, now I understand.’

  Andrews nodded. ‘He left no forwarding address. She tried to contact him, but he hadn’t applied for any permit to work there so there was no way she could trace him. She spoke to rental agencies to see if he’d rented somewhere to live but had no luck there. Officials she spoke to told her he could be living in any one of a number of townships.’ He shook his head. ‘Do you know that some of those townships can have up to a million inhabitants, many of them immigrants with no status?’

  West nodded. He knew the statistics. ‘It sounds like she might have been looking for a needle in a haystack, Pete.’

  ‘Sandra said she contacted social workers in several townships.’ He reached for the pad and opened it. ‘Kayalesha, Zwelihle, Langa and Khayelitsha Townships,’ he said, pronouncing each phonetically. ‘They probably don’t pronounce them that way,’ he said with a smile, ‘but I had her spell them out to me.’ He tossed the pad back onto the desk. ‘She had no luck, obviously, and then a few months after the child went missing she attended the conference where she met Careless.’

  ‘She would have told him, and probably asked him for help.’

  The phone interrupted them. It was the Nigerian, Ginikanwa Obayomi.

  ‘My colleague, Garda Peter Andrews is here with me,’ West told him, ‘may I put you on speaker?’

  ‘Of course, my friend,’ he said, ‘it will be good to tell my story to two rather than one.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, pushing the button for speaker and returning the handset. ‘Am I still clear?’

  ‘I can hear you perfectly,’ Obayomi said, ‘greetings to you Garda Andrews.’

  Andrews raised his eyes to heaven before answering. ‘Greetings to you.’

  ‘Well, since the formalities are done with, let me tell you what I’ve discovered about the poor lady, Lesere Osoba.’

  Most of what he had to tell them they already knew, but he had a few new pieces of information to add. Lesere had appealed for help to the authorities in Nigeria who in turn had contacted the South African authorities. Nothing worked simply because they couldn’t locate either father or daughter.

  ‘Lesere met one of your countrymen, Enda Careless, at a conference in Abuja. He tried to intercede with the authorities for her but quickly discovered that their hands were tied. How can you do business with a ghost?

  ‘But they didn’t stop trying to locate the child. Regular emails were received requesting updates on the situation. Then eight months ago, as you know, Lesere and Careless were married and she relocated to Ireland. I suppose she felt she could do as much there as she could from here.’ A loud sigh came down the phone. ‘A few weeks later, Utibe Omotoso and his daughter were seen in Khayelitsha Township by a social worker who had seen his photograph. Unfortunately, by the time the police arrived, he’d fled.’

  ‘Was the information passed on to Lesere?’ West asked, trying to keep the timeline straight in his head. Was this before or after she met with Fearon?

  ‘Yes, of course, Garda West,’ the Nigerian said, ‘she had a right to know.’

  Of course she did, but it was what she did with that information that West was more interested in. ‘Can you tell me what date she was told?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The date made him close his eyes briefly before he looked across at Andrews and nodded. A week before she met Ollie Fearon.

  There was nothing more to be learned from Ginikanwa Obayomi. West promised to keep him informed of any break in the case.

  ‘The child, Abasiama, she will be buried with her mother?’

  West took a deep breath. It would be a fitting end for the child to be reunited with her mother. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I would hope so. At least now, thanks to your assistance, she will be buried with a name.’

  ‘Abasiama,’ Obayomi said quietly, ‘blessed by God. Thank you Sergeant West.’

  West hung up. He and Andrews sat in silence for a moment digesting what they’d heard.

  ‘So what do you think happened,’ Andrews said.

  ‘She was desperate. Appeals to the authorities had achieved nothing. She was ripe to be milked by someone like Fearon.’ He picked up a pen and tapped it on the desk before sliding his finger and thumb down until it fell flat, then sliding it upright and starting again. An irritating habit that never failed to set Andrews’ teeth on edge.

  ‘I’ll get some coffee,’ he said, standing up.

  ‘Fine,’ West said, lost in thought, the pen sliding and tapping. ‘We’re missing a step, Pete,’ he said, when the man returned with a mug of coffee in each hand. He tossed the pen aside, took his mug and sipped.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘The child...Abasiama...she was smuggled into Ireland in a suitcase, yes?’

  On cue, Andrews nodded.

  ‘There’s no direct flight from Dublin to Cape Town. And even if there were, a big suitcase would go into the hold. The child wouldn’t have survived the journey. Fearon would have known that.’

  ‘He didn’t care. Maybe that was the plan all along.’

  To Andrews’ annoyance, he put the coffee down and picked up the pen again and started the slide-tap combination again.

  ‘No,’ West said, ‘there had to have been some plan. Lesere was an intelligent woman; she’d have wanted to know his plan to rescue her daughter before she handed over hard cash. We’re missing something.’

  Andrews stood, took a step forward, grabbed the pen from his fingers and tossed it on the table. ‘I think it’s time to speak to Enda Careless. I rang his office; they said he wasn’t working today, that we should be able to catch him at home.’

  ‘I was
doing it again,’ West said, with a grin, ‘sorry.’ The grin quickly faded. ‘Yes, you’re right. He will have the answer.’

  ‘He might also be our killer.’

  West looked down for a moment and when he looked back up his face was sombre. ‘When I find out who’s responsible for destroying Kelly’s career, I’ll want to beat the person to a pulp. If it turns out that Fearon was to blame for Lesere’s suicide, can we really blame Careless for killing him?’

  Andrews stood. ‘You might want to beat the person responsible to a pulp, but you won’t. You’ll ensure due legal process is followed. Anyway,’ he said with a chuckle, ‘you’re not the beat-someone-to-a-pulp type.’

  West stood and followed him. ‘I am,’ he said, slightly aggrieved.

  They were still discussing the matter as they drove toward Mount Merrion where Enda Careless had an apartment. If he were there, they’d ask to speak to him. If not, they’d wait.

  His apartment was a three-storied building backing onto Deerpark. They parked in a designated visitor’s parking spot and sat admiring the view.

  ‘This is very nice,’ West said.

  ‘I bet he’s on the top floor, too,’ Andrews said, ‘he struck me as a penthouse kind of guy.’

  ‘I used to be a penthouse kind of guy,’ West offered. ‘But it was in the city, always noisy. This is much nicer.’

  They got out and walked to a smart front door bracketed on each side by brass plaques and doorbells. ‘Just numbers, no names,’ West said, ‘very discreet.’

  ‘He’s in number ten.’

  There was no sound when they pressed the bell.

  ‘How do we know if it’s even working,’ Andrews complained, looking balefully at the doorbell as if it were to blame.

  ‘We don’t.’ A buzz from the door caused them both to start. ‘Well, now we do.’

  He pushed the door open into a small, bright hallway. ‘There we are,’ he said, pointing to a directory on the wall beside the lift door, ‘number ten. Top floor just as you guessed.’

  They took the stairs rather than the lift and arrived on the top landing minutes later. There were only two doors. ‘Big apartments.’ Andrews said quietly. Neither door appeared to have a number. West shrugged and went to move toward the nearer one when the other door opened and Enda Careless appeared. ‘Come on in,’ he said and disappeared again.