No Easy Answer

by Valerie Keogh

  ‘What? You think I might have killed them?’ Hennessy sniffed. ‘Is that why you wanted to go upstairs? To see if they were lying there, dead?’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it over his eyes. ‘They might as well be. My wife is Russian.’ He said it as if that explained everything.

  ‘Russian?’ Andrews suddenly wished that West were there because his own knowledge of Russia was limited to bad guys in Bond movies.

  ‘You didn’t know that, but then why would you?’ Hennessy shoved the handkerchief back into his pocket and sat back. ‘The company I worked for folded last year. I’d worked for them for several years and should have had a big redundancy package but it transpired that the company had been diddling the books for years. There was no money left so I got a statutory payout. A paltry sum but it would have been okay if I’d been able to find another job straight away.’ He slumped down in the chair. ‘I was out of work for several months and was afraid I’d never get another position so I did what I thought was best… sold our Rathgar house and bought somewhere smaller.’

  Hennessy waved a hand around the room. ‘This was the best I could do, but Annika, my wife, hated it. She complained it was so small she couldn’t breathe.’ Hennessy pulled out his handkerchief again, wiped it over his eyes. ‘She hated the house and resented me… no, make that hated me… for my failure. Last month, she left, took the two kids and went to live in Moscow with her family.’

  ‘You have rights,’ Andrews said.

  ‘Yes, and my solicitor is arguing them for me.’ Hennessy sighed loudly. ‘Unfortunately for me, Annika’s family are rich. I’m talking Russian oligarch rich, you get me?’

  And Andrews did. He might know little about Russia but he knew a bit about inequality. There was the law, and there was the law for the very rich. Only a fool thought it didn’t make any difference. He saw the defeated face of the man opposite; he wasn’t a fool. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said simply and got to his feet. ‘We’ll be on our way.’

  Outside, Andrews looked back at the small townhouse. ‘Poor man,’ he muttered.

  ‘I thought for a while there we were going to have a familicide on our hands,’ Allen said as he buckled his seat belt. ‘I was thinking of those mummified bodies we found and wondering if they could have been his wife and kids.’

  Andrews looked at him with a puzzled frown. ‘Those remains are nearly fifty years old.’

  ‘Science can be wrong. Maybe there’s a way of ageing dead bodies to make it look as though they’re older.’

  ‘That’s why you and Jarvis get on so well,’ Andrews said, doing a U-turn on the narrow road. ‘You both talk a load of rubbish.’ Stopped at the lights on the way back to the station, he turned to Allen. ‘Best to check out his story though. Not that I think your daft story has any credence, but just in case we’re having the wool pulled over our eyes.’

  He pulled into a parking space outside the station. ‘Go home,’ he said to Allen. ‘The morning will be time enough for the rest.’

  Andrews wasn’t surprised to find West sitting in his office. ‘I hope you had more luck than we had.’

  ‘Afraid not and, into the bargain, Cara Donaldson is adamant she saw her mother at the weekend. I told her about the impossibility of it, that to freeze and thaw a human body would take at least eight days and do you know what she said?’

  ‘That the science was wrong?’

  ‘Exactly,’ West said.

  ‘Allen said much the same thing on the way home although he was referring to a different matter.’ He gave West a quick breakdown of their conversation with Hennessy. ‘Allen’s going to check his story in the morning but I think he’s telling us the truth.’

  West looked at him. ‘Something troubling you?’

  ‘I was thinking… maybe they’re right. Cara Donaldson and Allen… maybe the science is wrong. You’re going to laugh but I’ve actually thought of a perfect quote to explain what I mean. Arthur Conan Doyle said it, Mike. “When you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth”.’

  17

  ‘Andrews quoted Arthur Conan Doyle?’

  West twirled spaghetti around his fork before replying. ‘I thought he was going to admit to being a closet Sherlock Holmes fan, but he heard it quoted at a conference years ago and it stuck in his head.’

  Edel laughed. ‘Sounds more like it.’

  ‘Cara Donaldson is sticking to her story. She swears that she saw her mother at the weekend. We said that was impossible, that Muriel Hennessy had to have been dead before that. So if we eliminate that…’

  ‘Then she’s right. Her mother was alive and the science is wrong.’

  ‘Makes it sound so easy but I’ve a feeling Niall Kennedy is going to dispute that.’

  ‘If I was writing this story, I’d make him the bad guy. He’s altering test results for his own nefarious reasons.’ Edel reached for the wine bottle and topped up both their glasses. ‘Of course, I’d have to change his appearance. He’s too boyishly handsome to be the bad guy; I’d make him moody and have his face heavily lined instead.’

  West smiled. ‘I wish it were that easy for me.’

  Edel pushed her plate away and picked up her glass. ‘But it’s true, isn’t it? If she’s right, the science… and Niall… must be wrong. Okay, he’s not altering results for nefarious reasons – this is Niall after all – but couldn’t he simply be mistaken?’

  ‘It is, unfortunately, something I’m going to have to look into.’ West shook his head. ‘It won’t be the easiest conversation.’

  ‘Bring him one of those big meringues that he likes, and you’ll be fine.’

  Next morning, it seemed the best idea to go straight to Drumcondra. West rang on the way and asked the administrator for five minutes of Dr Kennedy’s time.

  ‘Since it’s you, he’ll probably squeeze you in,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell him you’re on your way.’

  It didn’t bode well for the success of West’s visit that when he called into Thunders, he was told the meringues weren’t ready.

  ‘Not for another hour,’ the assistant said. ‘If it’s fresh cream you want, we have éclairs and cream donuts.’

  Settling for two of each, he paid and carried the box to the car. He hoped the contents would sweeten what was going to be a trying conversation.

  As it turned out, it wasn’t as difficult as he’d expected. When West asked if the science could possibly be wrong, Kennedy, with his mouth full of cream donut, merely sputtered sugary crumbs over the table. ‘Science, my friend, is never wrong!’

  ‘I know, and I’d be the first to say exactly that, Niall. But I’m stuck with this one. The daughter swears she saw the mother when you said she couldn’t possibly have done.’

  Kennedy dusted sugar from his fingers and reached for an éclair. ‘I prefer the meringues, but these are a good substitute.’ With the éclair demolished in a few bites, Kennedy stood and rinsed his hands in the small wash-hand basin. ‘I only know what the results tell me, Mike,’ he said, turning as he dried his hands. ‘The level of cellular damage I saw would have required the body to be completely frozen. Based on mathematical and scientific calculations for a body of her weight, that would take two to three days depending on the freezer.’ He sat behind his desk again. ‘Since the body was not frozen when it was found, it had to have been defrosted prior to being dumped. That’s roughly another six days.’

  ‘Maybe it was frozen, and defrosted while it was lying there?’

  Kennedy shook his head slowly. ‘Rodents won’t eat frozen meat.’

  West remembered seeing the photographs of the damage done to Muriel Hennessy’s body and shuddered. ‘Horrible thought.’

  ‘As I already explained to you, the level of degradation in peripheral tissues was inconsistent with the tissue deterioration of internal organs.’

  ‘Yes, you did. Tissue on the outside was decomposing while her insides were still frozen.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Kenne
dy wagged a hand side to side. ‘But there wasn’t a huge difference – they didn’t thaw the body somewhere warm, for instance, which would have made the disparity more significant. My guess would be in an unheated room or garage. It would take six days to defrost.’ He thought a moment. ‘Maybe five, but no less.’

  ‘Not four.’

  ‘Definitely not four.’ Kennedy waited for that to sink in before adding, ‘I do have some news for you though. And please notice I didn’t say good news.’

  ‘I would have preferred if you had,’ West said. ‘I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t say bad. Go on, what is it?’

  ‘We got the DNA results back. The skulls match the bodies we found. And even better, we now know that the younger adults were full siblings. One of the older bodies was the father of the two. The other is no relation to any of them.’

  ‘A father, two children and a woman.’ West shrugged. ‘Baxter is trawling through the lists of missing persons but it’s not an easy task. Have you been able to narrow down an age for us?’

  ‘Oh, that’s the good news,’ Kennedy said. He reached for a file and flicked it open. ‘It is pretty amazing what you can learn from a dead body. Okay, first: the man was between forty and forty-five. He broke his right arm when he was younger. The woman was a little younger, between thirty and thirty-five. She’d never given birth. The younger female was approximately twenty, she’d never given birth either. The boy was approximately twenty-one.’ He waved the report. ‘I’ve emailed the information to you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ West thought about what he’d just heard. Maybe it would help narrow down their search. ‘Interesting. You’re more certain of the younger ages than the older?’

  ‘Ah, but there is a good reason, my friend.’ Kennedy rubbed his head. ‘Skull sutures. There is a scientifically accepted scale for estimating age based on how much they’ve closed since birth. Generally, they are completely closed by twenty-three. Both younger skulls had sutures that were significantly closed but not closed or fused. The scale indicated their ages as I’ve said to be approximately twenty and twenty-one. For the older two, I had to use different calculations which were less precise.’

  ‘It’ll all help paint a picture,’ West said. ‘There was no indication of violence?’

  ‘You’re looking for a cause of death and here, I’m afraid, I’m going to have to disappoint you. The toxicology screen isn’t all back yet but initial results show that all four were in rudimentary good health.’

  ‘The person or persons who killed them, mummified the bodies and decapitated them may be dead themselves. But someone cut the bodies up and dumped them. I’d like to find who that person is.’

  ‘Yes, find that person, you might find who our four friends are. I’d like to see them get a decent burial.’ Kennedy stood and laid a hand on West’s shoulder. ‘You found a name for little Abasiama. You can do the same for these.’

  18

  Back at the station, West saw Baxter hunched over his computer and called him into his office.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve any good news for me?’

  Baxter shook his head. ‘There are numerous reports of missing people but not entire families, Mike. I’ve put feelers out to our friends in the UK and a contact I have in Interpol.’

  ‘Good. I’ve been to see Dr Kennedy this morning. He has some information that might help.’ West switched on his computer and waited, frowning while it booted up. ‘Someday,’ he complained, ‘they’re going to have to give me a new one.’

  ‘Cutbacks.’ Baxter grinned and perched on the edge of the desk.

  ‘Right, here you go. Their ages, a couple of other pieces of information that’ll help to paint a picture of them.’ He frowned as he read something Kennedy hadn’t thought to mention. ‘They’re European so it might be worthwhile adding that and their ages to the information for Interpol.’

  ‘Will do.’ Baxter got to his feet, stretched his arms over his head and cracked his knuckles. ‘I got a printout of all the vehicles that entered the recycling centre in the two-day period since the container had been emptied. Edwards is working through them to see if anything suspicious turns up.’

  It was a long shot but sometimes their breaks came because of one. ‘It would be good to give those four people a name,’ West said. ‘Let’s keep at it.’

  He forwarded Kennedy’s report to Baxter and got to his feet. It was time to tell Inspector Morrison what they were up to. West had been putting it off: he knew exactly what would be said.

  ‘How do you do it?’ Morrison said, his thick, hairy eyebrows joining in mutual disbelief. ‘Seriously, in all my years as a police officer I’ve never met anyone who can attract the weird and wonderful cases the way you do.’

  ‘I don’t do it deliberately,’ West said, his shoulder propped against the wall.

  ‘A frozen nonagenarian, the suspicious death of an octogenarian–’

  ‘The other way around–’

  ‘What?’ Morrison’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline.

  ‘It’s a frozen octogenarian and the suspicious death of a nonagenarian.’

  Eyebrows came down and to West’s surprise, the inspector laughed. ‘Sounds like something from between the pages of a bad novel.’ He resumed his normal severe expression. ‘Anyway, you’ve a frozen body, a suspicious body and the mummified remains of four bodies. Sounds like quite a mess to anyone’s ears.’

  West crossed his fingers behind his back. ‘We’ll get them sorted.’

  ‘At least there are no priests involved this time,’ Morrison said and waved him away.

  West saw Andrews at the coffee machine as he passed through the main office. ‘I need one too.’ He sat behind his desk and rubbed a hand over his head. ‘Mother Morrison is glad there are no priests involved in any of our messy cases.’

  Andrews put a mug of coffee on the desk. ‘It’s about the only positive thing to be said for any of the three. We’re not getting anywhere.’

  ‘That’s not quite true.’ West filled him in on his conversation with the state pathologist. ‘So we’re building a picture of the four.’

  ‘A pretty bare picture.’ Andrews held a hand up in apology. ‘I know, it’s slow but sure.’

  ‘Slow anyway.’ West lifted his mug and took a sip. ‘What about Checkley? Have we anything?’ He saw Andrews shake his head. ‘We need to speak to Doris Whitaker’s solicitor. Checkley is a cousin. How did he end up being her next of kin anyway?’

  ‘It’s Pritchard and Lane Solicitors in Dun Laoghaire,’ Andrews said. ‘You want me to make an appointment?’

  ‘I can’t think of anything else to do. Yes, go ahead. It might get us somewhere.’

  ‘We might be able to paint another picture.’ Andrews grinned, took the two empty mugs with him and left.

  He was back before West’s computer had powered up. ‘That was quick.’

  ‘I’m super-efficient,’ Andrews said. ‘A solicitor by the name of Ashley Pritchard will see us at 2pm. You don’t know him, I suppose.’

  ‘It’s five years since I worked as a solicitor. Lots of new faces in five years.’ West looked at the computer screen, then tapped a few keys to shut it down. ‘Let’s go, we can get some lunch on the way.’

  For convenience, as the solicitor’s practice was on George’s Street Upper, they parked in Dun Laoghaire shopping centre and had lunch in one of the many cafés. It was noisy, packed, and the sandwich West had chosen wasn’t very good, but the coffee was excellent. He pushed the second half of the sandwich away.

  Andrews, far less fussy, raised an eyebrow and when his sandwich was finished, he reached for it. ‘Shame to let it go to waste.’

  ‘I asked Kennedy about the science being wrong.’ West raised his voice to be heard over the cries of a baby sat at the next table.

  ‘Ha,’ Andrews said around a mouthful of avocado and brie. ‘I bet he loved that.’

  ‘Actually, he wasn’t in the least offended. Probably, in fairness, becau
se his mouth was full of cream donut.’

  ‘Thunders?’

  West nodded absently. ‘He insists it would have taken two days to freeze Muriel Hennessy’s body to cause the level of cellular damage he saw. And another five to six days to defrost it.’

  ‘Maybe the body was dumped in that laneway when it was still frozen.’

  ‘Exactly what I said, to which Niall replied that rodents didn’t eat frozen meat.’

  Andrews picked up a piece of tomato that had escaped from his sandwich and popped it into his mouth. ‘Yes, I see his point there. There was quite a lot of damage done to her face, ears and fingers.’

  ‘Thankfully, she was dead before that.’ West glanced at his watch. ‘We’d better head.’

  The office of Pritchard and Lane Solicitors was across the street from the shopping centre. Above a shop, it was accessed through a narrow door which led to an even narrower steep stairway.

  To make up for the less than salubrious entrance, the reception area was decorated in aubergine and gold with dramatic paintings in ornate gold frames on every wall. Trying too hard, West thought, as they gave their names to the elegantly dressed woman behind the desk.

  They weren’t kept waiting. A door behind opened almost immediately and a short, slight man bustled through with a hand extended. ‘Come into my office,’ he said, shaking each of their hands in turn.

  The office, with tall windows looking out over the street, was large and bright. Ashley Pritchard took his seat behind the desk and waved to two chairs the other side. ‘Sit,’ he said, then resting his elbows on the desk he steepled long thin fingers together and looked over at the two detectives expectantly. ‘Now, what is it I can do for the gardaí?’

  ‘You are Doris Whitaker’s solicitor.’

  A wary expression came over the solicitor’s face. ‘That’s correct.’