Authors: Rob Kitchin
He exited the car, climbed the steps to the front door and clunked down the large, brass knocker.
A few seconds later it was opened by a flustered looking man in his late twenties. ‘Yes?’
‘Detective Superintendent McEvoy. I believe you’re expecting me?’
‘What? Yes, yes, join the party!’ the man said sarcastically, standing to one side and ushering McEvoy into a cold, wood-panelled hallway. A broad staircase rose on the right-hand side, a narrow, stain-glass window on the landing above letting in weak light.
‘I really don’t think all this attention is necessary,’ the man said to McEvoy’s back. ‘The doctor said he died of heart failure.’
‘Who is it?’ a shrill female voice asked from an adjoining room.
‘Another guard,’ the man answered as if McEvoy wasn’t there.
‘Can’t you get rid of him? I thought we’d got this awful mess sorted out?’
McEvoy headed towards the woman’s voice, pushed open the door and entered a simply decorated living room. It was occupied by a woman and man sitting together on a mid-blue sofa. They appeared to be in their late fifties and dressed smartly: the woman in casual, tan trousers with a pale blue cashmere cardigan over a white blouse; the man in dark blue suit over a cream shirt with gold cuff-links and no tie. The woman’s shoulder-length hair was dyed blonde, though her grey roots were just starting to show, and her make-up was subtly applied. A fire was blazing in the grate, warming the chill air.
‘I’m afraid the answer to that is no,’ McEvoy stated flatly. ‘I’m Detective Superintendent McEvoy. I’m in charge of the case, if there is a case. First, let me offer my condolences on the death of Mr Koch. He was…?’ He let the question hang.
‘My father. He was my father.’ The woman raised a white cotton handkerchief to her left eye, but left the impression of crying crocodile tears. ‘I’m sorry, superintendent, but I think you might have had a wasted trip. The doctor says he died of natural causes.’
‘Look… er… You have my deepest sympathy, Mrs… Koch?’
‘D’Arcy.’
‘Mrs D’Arcy. And I’m sure the last thing you need right now is the guards intruding at such a difficult moment, but one of the officers who responded to the emergency call feels there might be more to it.’
‘And your officers are qualified doctors, are they?’ Mrs D’Arcy asked facetiously.
‘No, but they’re trained to observe for signs that might indicate foul play. The state pathologist is presently in Trim and since she’s so close, if I agree with the officer, I’ll be asking her to come and take a look to clear up any misunderstanding.’
‘I don’t think that’s necessary,’ the man stated. ‘He was an old man; in his nineties. He died in his sleep.’
‘And you are?’ McEvoy asked curtly.
‘James Kinneally,’ the man replied rising to his feet. ‘I’m the CEO of Ostara Industries, the company Dr Koch founded.’ He held out his hand which McEvoy shook firmly.
‘With all due respect, Mr Kinneally, we have to investigate all suspicious deaths even if that suspicion turns out to be groundless.’
‘But the only person that has that suspicion is one of your officers,’ Kinneally protested.
‘Look, I know you’re both upset by the death of Dr Koch, but it will only take a minute to verify if there’s anything worth investigating. If there isn’t, we’ll be out of your hair shortly and you can get on with your arrangements. If there is, then I’m sure you will want to bring the perpetrator to justice.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Marion D’Arcy muttered to no one in particular.
* * *
McEvoy and the local sergeant, Tom McManus, were standing next to the double bed on which lay the body of Albert Koch. The cadaver was covered by a pure white duvet, only his head showing, propped up on a pillow. His face was gaunt, the skin pulled tight to the bones, a full head of grey hair messily arranged.
The man who had opened the front door hovered nearby. McEvoy had discovered he was Kevin Boyle, a former journalist, now employed as a PR person for Ostara Industries. He was there to handle the press or any other parties interested in Koch’s death, including the gardai. He’d made it clear to McEvoy that Ostara and Koch had a public image that had to be managed scrupulously.
‘I’m sorry, but can you leave us alone please,’ McEvoy stated gruffly, his earlier tetchiness surfacing again.
‘I… I was just…’ Boyle trailed off, unsure whether to stay or go.
‘This is an official investigation; don’t worry, we’re not going to steal anything,’ McEvoy said sarcastically.
‘Er… right.’ Boyle backed out of the bedroom.
McEvoy turned to Tom McManus, a thick-set man, almost bursting out of his dark blue uniform, with short black hair and stubble in need of a shave.
‘Okay then, you better show me what set off the alarm bells.’
‘Well, I… I’m not too sure… I mean…’
‘Look, don’t worry about what the doctor said or the rest of them,’ McEvoy reassured. ‘Plenty of doctors make mistakes.’
‘Well,’ McManus took a step forward, ‘there seems to have been a blow to the head, here.’ He pointed to a spot on the top of Koch’s head. ‘And he appears to have some bruising on his legs.’
He moved back to let McEvoy occupy his position.
‘Also the way he’s lying on the bed,’ McManus continued. ‘It’s like he’s slightly twisted, as if he’d been thrown on. I mean, you couldn’t sleep like that – well, not for long anyway.’
McEvoy leaned in close to Koch’s scalp. It was possible to see slight traces of blood near the roots.
‘You think he was killed elsewhere?’ McEvoy asked, pulling back the duvet.
‘I’m not saying anything. It just doesn’t feel right.’
McEvoy moved down the bed, lifted up the quilt and tugged up the left trouser leg of Koch’s pyjamas. There was evidence of fresh bruising on the calf.
‘And the reason for these?’ he asked, pointing.
‘Somebody dragged him up the stairs? I don’t know.’
McEvoy nodded his head in agreement. ‘And what did the doctor say?’ he asked.
‘That he’d most probably died of heart failure. Simply old age.’
‘And the wound on the head? The legs?’
‘Nothing much. Maybe he’d fallen out of bed or had a fit and knocked it on the bedside locker. Either way, he doesn’t think it would have been enough to kill him.’
McEvoy glanced at the spotless locker. ‘I’ve heard that before. Jesus,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I’m going to need to make a phone call. Can you make sure that eejit isn’t listening at the door? And clear everybody out of the house; this is a murder scene until I’m convinced otherwise.’
‘They’re not going to like that.’
‘I don’t care what they like,’ McEvoy snapped, his temper fraying again. ‘And while you’re at it, you’d better get hold of your superintendent and get him out here.’
‘He’ll probably be halfway round the golf course at this stage of the morning,’ the sergeant replied, glancing at his watch. ‘He won’t want to be disturbed.’
‘As I’ve already said, I don’t care. I want him out here. Tell him that if he’s not out here in half an hour I’ll start shaking the tree.’
‘As long as he knows I’m only the messenger.’ McManus shook his head and left the room, closing the door behind him.
McEvoy pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. He scrolled through the names in the address book and pressed connect. The phone was answered after three rings.
‘Colm?’ Elaine Jones said brightly.
‘I think you better come up to Athboy once you’ve finished there,’ McEvoy replied flatly.
‘You don’t think it was a natural death then?’
‘No. It look’s like his head’s been bashed and the body moved. Can you also ask Hannah to follow you out?’
‘I think she’s about to head back into town; she’s in court tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, I know, but I’m only ten miles down the road and it’ll save me getting a new team out. That’ll take an age to organise. If they need to come back tomorrow, George and Chloe can work the site without her.’
‘I’ll let her know, but she won’t be happy.’
‘None of us are happy, Elaine,’ McEvoy said without rancour. ‘I’d sooner be watching Man United versus
Chelsea
, but instead I’m traipsing around the country looking at dead bodies and trying to work out how and why they died.’
‘There are worse things in life to be doing,’ the pathologist observed.
‘Such as?’
‘Such as being the dead body. I’ll be there shortly.’ She ended the call.
McEvoy stared at the phone and then turned back to look at Albert Koch. Two bodies in one morning; things really were starting to get out of hand. He patted his pockets, instinctively searching for a pack of cigarettes, then shook his head at his own lameness. ‘For feck’s sake,’ he muttered to himself.
The door to the bedroom was flung open.
‘What the
hell
do you think you are doing?’ Koch’s daughter shouted. ‘Have you
no
respect for the dead?’
McEvoy turned slowly.
She was standing in the doorway, a tumbler of whiskey in one hand, swaying slightly. It hadn’t occurred to him that she’d been drunk when he’d spoken to her downstairs. Standing behind her were James Kinneally and Kevin Boyle, both looking anxious.
‘I have every respect for the dead,’ he said flatly. ‘However, from my observations I’d say there’s more to your father’s death than simply heart failure. I’ve called the pathologist and she’s on her way. Until she confirms things one way or another this is a crime scene and I want the house vacated to preserve whatever evidence might be left. So, if you’d leave the building, I’d be very grateful.’
‘My father was
not
murdered,’ Mrs D’Arcy slurred. ‘He died in his sleep. Anyone can see that! You’re just doing this to embarrass us. I want you to leave. Now! Go on fuck off!’
‘
Marion
,’ Kinneally warned. ‘He’s just doing his job.’
‘The doctor said he died of natural causes! He was my father’s doctor for over forty years. He should know. They just want to throw their weight around, get a few headlines and blacken the family name. I want you out of here now! You hear, now!’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs D’Arcy, but we’re not going anywhere. I know you’re upset by the death of your father—’
‘Upset!’ she interrupted. ‘You have no fuckin’ idea what I’m feeling!’
‘Well, I’m afraid you’re wrong there,’ McEvoy said solemnly. ‘My wife died a year ago this Friday. I know all about losing someone you love. Now, can you please leave the house. If not, I’m sorry, but I will have to have you escorted off the premises.’
‘Don’t you threaten me!’ Marion D’Arcy screamed, ignoring McEvoy’s admission, spilling her whiskey. ‘This is my home! I know my rights. I’m a lawyer.’
‘Clearly not criminal law,’ McEvoy muttered with little sympathy.
‘Come on,
Marion
,’ Kinneally said, grasping her shoulder. ‘If they’re wrong we can sue them later.’
She tried to hold McEvoy’s stare then gave up. Reluctantly she turned on her low heels and left the bedroom.
Tom McManus poked his head round the door frame. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said sheepishly.