First Death In Dublin City (Thomas Bishop Book 1) (6 page)

‘He’s a nut.’ Said Anne.

‘Exactly.’ Said Tommy.

‘Wait, this isn’t the way to Harcourt Street.’ Said Anne.

‘I know, I’m going to Donneybrook Station.’ Said Tommy.

‘Really? What the hell for?’ Asked Anne.

‘Cross Hugh off our list.’ Said Tommy.

##

It took them just fifteen minutes before they reached the station. One of the largest in the city, it sure got a lot of work for a station in what was meant to be one of Dublin’s most exclusive postcode.

A man sitting behind the desk writing barely looked up at them as he nodded them into the back of the station. Tommy climbed two sets of stairs and reached a heavy wooden door. Knocking and opening, Tommy came upon a grey haired man sitting behind a cluttered desk.

‘Well, if it isn’t Tommy Bishop.’ Said the man, getting up to shake Tommy’s hand.

‘This is Sergeant O’Mahony.’ Said Tommy, and Louis, the man behind the desk, and Anne shook hands.

‘Busy as ever?’ Asked Tommy, looking at the giant piles of folders Tommy recognised as a referral.

‘Well, you know, kids never stop getting JLO’s.’ Said Louis. Louis was the Juvenile Liaison Officer in Donneybrook, and the only one in an area that was famous for its teenage discos. Tough gig.

‘I need you to tell me about someone.’ Said Tommy.

‘Couldn’t find them on PULSE?’ Said Louis. Tommy assumed it was JLO humour; minors weren’t placed on the PULSE system.

‘Ok, gimme a name.’ Said Louis when he saw Tommy’s face.

‘Hugh Trimble.’ Said Tommy.

‘Rathmines resident?’ Asked Louis.

‘Know him?’ Asked Tommy.

Louis breathed out slowly. ‘Quite a fucking character.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Said Tommy, in an attempt to get Louis to elaborate.

‘Diagnosed with Conduct Disorder, at eleven? That’s just odd.’ Said Louis.

‘Sorry, Conduct Disorder?’ Asked Tommy.

‘Yes, the precursor to Anti-Social Personality Disorder. The kid is a wreck, a wild light. I’ve seen him four times already and he’s only eleven.’ Said Louis.

‘We’re looking at him as a suspect for a crime.’ Said Tommy.

‘What crime’s that? Is it arson?’ Asked Louis.

‘No, Amy Clancy going missing actually.’ Said Tommy.

‘Jesus.’ Said Louis.

‘Any way you can rule him out?’ Asked Tommy.

‘Well, the only thing that ever rules anybody out is an alibi. Got one of those?’ Asked Louis.

‘He has one, yes, but Anne here said the old man who gave it to him was a little shaky on the memory front.’ Said Tommy.

‘Oh, his neighbour, yeah. I had to take an inventory of his day. That kid spends an inordinate amount of time with his neighbour. Helping out and the like. His one redeeming characteristic I suppose.’ Said Louis.

‘So you’d trust the neighbour’s alibi?’ Asked Tommy.

‘Yeah, I ran him, a stand-up guy. He’s been a mentor within the community for years.’ Said Louis.

‘Right.’ Said Tommy.

‘No, Id trust him if he was giving the alibi.’ Said Louis.

Tommy turned to Anne and shrugged.

‘Looks like Hugh’s off the hook.’ He said.

##

Again, the seminar room was empty, when a dishevelled John Ryan was taken in. Tommy noticed how he wasn’t given cuffs, unlike most of the other prisoners Tommy had dealings with. He was being kept in the Training Centre, generally an easier place to be than most in the Joy and obviously no one saw him as any kind of physical threat.

‘Detective, never thought I’d see you again.’ Said John, considerably calmer than he’d been before.

‘Well, you weren’t making much in the way of sense.’ Tommy said.

‘So you believe me?’ Asked John.

Tommy just stared at him.

‘You, you believe me right? That’s what you’re here for? Right?’ John asked, becoming worried now.

Tommy continued to stare.

‘Look, why would you come if it wasn’t to tell me you think I’m innocent.’ John said.

Now Tommy leaned forward.

‘How the fuck could I know if you were innocent? There’s a shitload of evidence pointing right your way buddy. So, what, your wife wasn’t using her real name in all her documents? It’s hardly reasonable doubt.’

John’s expression curdled, he looked like he was about to cry.

‘But.. But.. But..’ He began.

‘But.’ Tommy said. ‘I happen to be quite the perfectionist, and the thought of leaving this uninvestigated leaves me feeling the slightest bit uncomfortable. Now, John, you’re on trial for murder in a month’s time, between then and now I’m going to investigate as to who exactly your wife was. If you want me to get anywhere with this, I’m going to need your help and you are going to answer every single question of mine. Do you understand?’

John nodded.

‘Thank you.’ He said, and to that, Tommy nodded.

‘Now, where did you meet Elizabeth O’Hara?’ Tommy asked.

‘Ghana.’ Said John.

Tommy looked up at him.

‘Ghana?’ Tommy asked.

‘Yes, see, she was an English teacher by trade, and I met her when I was on holiday, and she was teaching English locally with an NGO.’ John said.

‘When was this?’ Tommy asked, taking a bottle of orange juice from his pocket, and swallowed it in three large gulps.

‘I went to Ghana in the January of 2006, and met her there.’ John said.

‘She came back with you?’ Tommy asked. ‘To Ireland?’

‘Goodness no, she remained in Ghana until the following December when we married. I visited between times, whenever work didn’t call.’ He said.

Tommy tried to rack his brain as to when he last heard an Irish person use the word ‘goodness’ but no such instances came to mind no matter how hard he thought.

‘When she returned to Ireland, what did she do?’ Tommy asked.

‘She returned to college, to teach Braille.’ John said, tears forming at the corner of his eyes.

‘To teach braille, why not go back to teaching English?’ Tommy asked.

‘She, uhm, well she seemed to have parts of her old life in Dublin she’d rather not return to.’ John said.

‘You’re certain she’s from Dublin?’ Tommy asked.

‘Positive.’ John said, now quietly sobbing to himself. Tommy had seen such displays before, but this one was particularly well acted, as John’s aged face wrinkled in emotional pain.

‘You didn’t ask her about it ever, did you?’ Tommy asked.

‘Oh, if only I had, then maybe she’d still be with me.’ John said.

‘Tell me about her hobbies – what did she do with her free time?’ Tommy asked.

‘Well, she only ever thought part time, otherwise she was involved in several charities. I have been rather luck Detective, to be rather successful in my field and to therefore have become wealthy. I therefore have supported a number of charities with Betty’s support.’ John said. Despite himself Tommy was starting to like the guy.

‘And what charities did she support?’ Tommy asked.

‘Uhm, the DSPCA, the DSPCC and, uhm, the Women’s Aid. She was on the board for the Women’s Aid shelter in Tallaght.’ John said.

Women’s Aid. Tommy thought, already beginning to race ahead of his thoughts.

‘I’m going to investigate this John. But there’s nothing I can promise. A fake ID is not enough to overturn all the evidence stacked up against you.’ Tommy said.

‘Detective, I am innocent. But I will understand your tentativeness in believing it. Just, investigate it for me. And for the love of God, find the monster that shot my wife.’

Tommy nodded, then turned and signalled to the Prison Guard in the corner who came forth and guided John from the house. Tommy, however, did not follow them out – an NA meeting was due to start in this room within fifteen minutes. So, he just sat patiently thinking of the reasons Betty O’Hara had for becoming Betty O’Hara.

##

Why don’t we visit hotels anymore?’ Asked Jennifer.

‘I don’t know, maybe we should do so someday soon. Hire a room with a giant bathtub, go for a swim separately in the pool, then bathe together at night. It would be beautiful. We’ll hire a room with a balcony, and sit there naked, raining or not.’ Said Tommy, glassy eyed at the thought.

‘Sounds fabulous honey.’ Said she. Tommy just ignored her use of that word.

‘Oh, sorry, I forgot you hate that word.’ She said.

‘It’s fine.’ Tommy said.

‘No don’t be like that.’ Jennifer said.

‘I’m hardly being like anything, am I?’ Tommy said.

‘You seem stressed, even more stressed than usual.’ She said, running her hand down his sternum.

‘It’s Amy Clancy. I keep fucking seeing the same photo of her whenever I close my eyes.’ Said Tommy.

‘I thought you said you were certain she would just turn up.’ Said Jenny.

‘It’s been too long. Far too long. Something’s happened to her. I know it.’ Said Tommy.

‘You’re beating yourself up over something that didn’t happen. You’re a homicide cop, I thought you’d be used to this kind of thing?’ Asked Jennifer.

‘But she was so fucking alone in the world, no one loved her, no one wanted her until she went missing. And now I have her mother calling me every three hours to ask where she is. I don’t even have the balls to tell her to fuck off like I usually would; and each time I tell her I’m getting closer. I’m not getting any closer. She has to come back alive.’ Said Tommy.

‘I wish I could stay Thomas, I really do. But I’ve a constituency meeting in the morning, so I do have to go.’ She said.

Tommy reached out and took her hand in his.

‘At least stay until I fall asleep.’ Said Tommy. And Jennifer’s face scrunched up in concern.

‘I dunno.’ She said. Tommy knew what it was: at least when she was home within reasonable time limits, Fionbar could pretend that she wasn’t having an affair. Tommy, however, was feeling rather selfish.

‘Please.’ He entreated upon her.

She smiled.

‘Ok, you fall right asleep.’ Said she, and Tommy fell back into the pillows while Jennifer lightly stroked his scalp and hummed to herself a relaxing lullaby, and within minutes Tommy was gone.

12

The phone buzzed on the tabletop, puncturing Tommy’s serenity.

‘Tommy, you there?’ The voice on the other end asked. Sporadic gusts filled the background; the speaker was in the same rain that was hammering off Tommy’s window.

‘Yup, who’s this?’ Tommy replied sleepily, settling into his pillow softly.

‘It’s McCabe; I’ve something here for you.’ The voice on the other end said.

Garda Sean McCabe. Tommy’s opinion of him being a bit of a spare was not going to be improved by calls at six o’clock in the morning.

‘Can’t it wait?’ Tommy asked.

‘It’s a body, dumped in Glenaulin Park.’ McCabe said.

Glenaulin Park. Given that it was just at his doorstep Tommy could understand why McCabe would call him.

‘Then you call whoever’s on duty in Ballyfermot McCabe.’ He said, closing his eyes and preparing to doze off again.

‘I know but Tommy the body’s a girl.’ Said McCabe.

‘So what?’ Tommy said.

‘She looks just like that photo you sent around.’

Tommy sprang up into sitting position. After a week, Amy’s disappearance finally made it to the front pages of even the broadsheets; with the tabloids running pages of coverage of the missing blonde southsider. As was procedure, photos of Amy had been released to the media, and it was those that Tommy assumed McCabe was talking about

‘Describe her to me Sean.’ He said.

‘She’s not hit puberty yet, between nine and thirteen I’d say; blonde hair.’

Fuck, maybe it was Amy.

‘I’ll be there in five.’ Said Tommy, and he hung up.

Tommy closed his eyes then opened them, trying his best to dispel the oncoming sleep. He reached out with his left hand but found only empty bed space; Jenny must have left in the early hours of the morning.

He jumped out of bed and threw on a crumpled pair of Levi jeans he had bought in the late 90’s at the bottom of his bed. Downstairs in the conservatory, Morris was sleeping on an old pillow, the pit bull’s jaws bared.

Tommy unlocked the back door and whistled. Morris glanced up at him with one eye open but didn’t budge. Tommy now told him to get out, using a stern tone of voice and, not looking particularly happy about it, Morris walked out into the rain. Tommy locked the door after him.

From the hook beside the front door Tommy took the house key and with that he was gone. He sprinted out of his driveway, and putting up his hood against the spattering early morning rain, he jogged right. Along cracked suburban sidewalks with grassy segments he ran. The street was empty, as the rain meant even the elderly early risers decided to stay inside with their marmalade and brown bread.