Murder in Ballyhasset (2 page)

'Where was your wife killed?' Libby asked quietly, hating having to ask these awkward questions.

'In her bed while she was on duty at the hospital.' Mick Doody stood up abruptly. 'Do you mind if I smoke?'

'No, fire ahead.' Libby hated smoking but this was his house after all.

He placed an ashtray in front of him. 'I'm trying to cut down, but I need one right now.' He took out a cigarette and lit it, inhaling deeply. 'In fact, I could do with a drink. Do you want a drop?'

She shook her head. 'No, thanks. It's a bit early for me.'

He walked over to a small oak cabinet and took out a whisky bottle, poured himself a large one, adding a little water from a jug. He sat down again.

'So she was killed on duty, you say.' Libby's brow furrowed. 'Do you think one of the hospital staff killed her? Was there anyone at the hospital that your wife didn’t get along with? Can you make a list of a few such names for me?'

'I don't know of anyone.' He shrugged.

She gazed at him with a thoughtful expression. 'Perhaps they meant to kill someone else?'

'I never thought of that. That's your job now, to find out what really happened.'

'Where were you on the night Kathleen died, and when was it exactly that she died?'

'It was Monday night and I was in New York. I took a plane from Shannon Airport and stayed in a hotel near Central Park.'

'What were you doing in the States?' Libby asked.

He took a large gulp from the glass and then said impatiently, 'Playing golf with two mates of mine.'

'When did you return to this house?'

'I flew back to Ireland on Tuesday morning. I arrived at Shannon Airport at about four am, and then I drove straight here.'

' And what day did you say you flew out of Shannon? Can anyone verify this?' she asked.

'Yes, my friends can. I can show you the plane tickets, if you like.'

Libby's face brightened. 'Please send them in to me when you get the time. I can pass them onto the police for you. Anyway, what time did you arrive back from the airport that day?'

'About five am, I think. My maid arrived later, at around half-eight, I remember. The day is etched on my memory, the day from hell.' He wiped his eyes. 'Not long after that, I got the awful call from the police. They told me they found Kathleen dead. After the call, I rushed down to the hospital. I had to see her body before I believed them.' His voice became hoarse. 'Then the whole awful reality sunk in. I saw her lying there. I felt confused. Everything afterwards became a blur.'

'Did Kathleen mention some recent arguments with any of the staff?'

'No, we had an agreement that we wouldn't discuss our jobs.' He folded his arms in a defensive gesture.

'Why's that?'

'Because we spent so little time together. I travel a lot, and I own property abroad and Kathleen worked such long hours.'

'I'll have to see where Kathleen was killed.'

'Talk to Pamela Kelly. She worked under Kathleen.'

'Is she also a doctor?'

'Yes, one of the interns.' He sounded impatient. 'Talk to her.' A man used to giving orders, thought Libby. She wondered what his army rank had been.

'Keep me up to date,' he said, 'I want to know everything you find. Ring me any time.'

‘We will charge you the going rate plus expenses, is this acceptable?.'

'Fine. Send me your bills. I'll pay them weekly and there's a bonus at the end if you find the killer. I want to find the brute who murdered her.' He added, 'Don't worry. I'll pay whatever it takes to find the bastard who did this. Money's not an issue.'

A client with open pockets would be a welcome change, thought Libby, even if he is somewhat arrogant. But maybe I should cut him a break, probably the arrogance is masking some pretty strong grief.

She rose from the chair and Mr Doody accompanied her to her car.

After driving for a short while, she dropped into a little café in Kinsale village to drink a cup of tea and use the phone. She rang Dawn at the office and told her Mr Doody's incredible story.

'You can meet me at St Gabriel's at two this afternoon,' she said. 'We'll talk to the doctors who knew Kathleen.'

Dawn's voice was excited. 'Great. My first serious case.'

Libby realised that the sky had blackened alarmingly, as she gazed out the shop window. 'It's going to lash,' she said to Dawn, before she said goodbye, and put down the phone.

St Gabriel's was a small general public hospital with just seventy beds. Sitting on a hill at the most westerly tip of Ballyhasset town, the furthest point from Cork City, it was H-shaped and south facing, and contained an east and a west wing.

The hospital consisted of three floors in all. The medical wards were located on the ground floor, surgical wards on the first floor and the theatres and doctors' residence rooms on the second floor. The doctors consisted of four interns, two senior house officers, three registrars and five consultants.

After meeting in the car park, the two private detectives entered the main lobby of the hospital. Libby glanced around her, noting the walls were white and featureless. The place was dark and old, although the brown shiny parquet floor was spotless.

She sniffed the air, detecting a pungent smell of disinfectant. She had never liked hospitals. They always had a way of reducing a person to being just a body in a bed. She always felt that hospitals stripped a person of their dignity and made them a sick person in need of care, like all the other sick people on the ward, a person who just took in drugs and food and produced waste matter to be disposed of. Sickness was the great leveller, like death it ignored what made a person individual and unique.

There was a set of lifts to the right and a short narrow corridor beyond, leading into the east wing. To the left stretched another short corridor, which led to the west wing.

The detectives approached the brown wooden-panelled reception area. Libby asked a middle-aged woman, who was dressed in a navy suit, if they could speak to Dr Pamela Kelly. The woman obliged and paged the doctor.

After a few minutes, a small thin young woman in flat heels came quickly down the corridor towards them, white coat flapping. She wore a stethoscope around her neck, and her large coat pockets bulged. Her features were delicate, her face heart-shaped and pale in complexion. She looked as if she hadn't slept for days. She wore her black hair in a ponytail. She gazed at the two women with apprehension.

'Hi, I'm Libby Hargrove, this is Dawn O'Grady.' Libby smiled and offered her hand. 'We're private detectives.'

'Pleased to meet you,' the young doctor answered, shaking hands with both women. 'I'm Pamela Kelly.'

Since when did doctors start being younger than I am? Libby wondered. 'It's about Dr Kathleen Lynch's death. You worked with her, I believe?'

'Yes, I was her intern,' the doctor replied, her voice shaky.

'Kathleen's husband suggested that speak to you first.'

'Yes, I know,' Pamela said, 'he told me you wanted to see me.'

'Is there somewhere private we can talk for a minute?'

'We can use Dr Moran's office.'

The two private detectives followed Pamela down the corridor to the outpatients' department in the east wing. They entered the consultant's office and sat down.

'You found Kathleen's body,' Libby began.

'That's right. I did.' Pamela's voice was flat, her face unnaturally white.

'What day did you find her?'

She hesitated for a moment. 'Last Tuesday, May the 23rd. That date is ingrained in my memory. I'm still having nightmares about seeing Kathleen lying there.' She shuddered.

'At what time did you discover her body?' Libby asked.

'Around half-eight. I came up to call her when she didn't answer her bleep.'

'Was Kathleen's door locked?' Libby asked.

'It was closed, but not locked. I walked straight in.' Pamela's voice became choked. She frowned at Libby. 'I've told all this to the police.'

'Please tell us again. We want to find her killer.'

'Okay then,' Pamela said with reluctance. 'I went into the room and saw Kathleen lying still on the bed. Her eyes just stared at me.'

'You knew she was dead,' prompted Libby.

'I examined Kathleen for a pulse in her neck, there was none. I shook her. Her skin felt cold, and she looked so pale. My stomach heaved, I ran out of the room.' Pamela stopped for a breath. 'I dialled 999. Shortly afterwards, the police arrived here.'

'Can you show us Kathleen's on-call room?'

Pamela nodded. She brought them up the lifts to the second floor, then down a short narrow corridor to the residence rooms in the west wing, where doctors slept when they worked the night shift.

Kathleen's room was third from the end of a narrow corridor containing six bedrooms and a bathroom, all along one wall. Libby saw the room was sparsely furnished and contained a narrow bed, a locker, a wardrobe and a miniature hand basin in the corner.

'Nobody has used the room since,' said Pamela. 'The police told us to leave everything the way it was. They took Kathleen's clothes and personal items to examine them.'

The door had not been forced open, Libby saw. She walked over to the window, noting it was closed and undamaged. Our killer must have entered and left by the door, she thought. She looked down and saw they were too high up to make it easy for him to come and go through the window. He would have needed a ladder to do that, she knew.

Kathleen's clothes stood in the open wardrobe at the foot of the bed and her white coat, filled with instruments, hung on a chair.

Next, the two private detectives walked down to the hospital canteen with Pamela. An anonymous-looking place, the canteen was crowded with hospital staff having lunch. Groups of nurses, in their starched white dresses, sat chatting and eating together while the sun blazed through the large windows. A group of older men wearing green trousers and shirts sat at another long table. Porters, Libby presumed.

At one small table a lone young doctor, wearing blue surgical scrubs sat, eating silently. They found an empty table near him, in the corner, and sat down. The room smelt slightly of cabbage.

'Did anything special occur the day she died or the day before?' Libby asked, as they ate their meat salad.

'Well, Kathleen's behaviour was worse than usual,' the doctor answered, biting her lip. 'She nearly knocked me down in the car park on the Monday morning.'

'Is this usual behaviour for Kathleen?' Libby asked. There has to be something that triggered this murder, she thought.

Pamela's eyes narrowed. 'She also threw me out of the operating theatre for being too slow, the rotten cow.'

'Go on, any other unusual behaviour?' asked Libby.

Pamela shrugged. 'Nothing really, she went ahead with the operation that day.' The young doctor frowned. 'But later on, in the afternoon, Kathleen frightened one of her patients terribly.'

'Go on.'

'The woman asked Kathleen not to do a speculum examination.'

Libby grimaced. 'I wouldn't fancy this myself. Still if you visit a gynaecologist, what do you expect?'

'But you can have this done under anaesthetic,' said Pamela. 'That's what this woman asked for.'

'I see. So Dr Lynch wouldn't agree?'

'She told the patient to lie back and stop wasting her time.' Kathleen was an iron woman, and not very pleasant, thought Libby.

'What did Kathleen do then?' Libby asked.

'She was quite brutal. She forced open the woman's legs.'

Libby's brow creased. 'How did the poor woman react?'

'She ran out of the cubicle in tears, before Kathleen could get a swab.'

'She ran out without her clothes?'

'Yeah, she just had a surgical gown on her.'

Libby's eyes grew round. 'She must have been terrified.'

Pamela nodded. 'I had to run after the patient with her clothes. I showed her into a cubicle where she dressed. Afterwards, when she was leaving, she told me Kathleen should be struck off.'

Libby stared at her in amazement. 'So I take it Dr Lynch was hard to work for?'

'You bet. She made my life a living nightmare.' The young doctor twisted her hair, frowning. 'She insulted me constantly. She laughed at my mistakes. She embarrassed me in front of our patients.' Pamela paused for breath, gazing at Libby with large serious eyes. 'When I first saw her dead, I felt shocked, but later I felt so relieved. I was glad she was gone. Doesn't that sound awful?'

'I can't answer that,' said Libby. 'I never met the woman.' Dr Kathleen Lynch was the boss from hell, she thought. How many other people did the tough doctor annoy? 'Was anything troubling her recently, can you remember?'

'Kathleen never confided much in me,' said Pamela. 'Shane Collins, another doctor here, had a fling with her recently. Perhaps he can tell you more.'

Libby jerked her head. 'Kathleen had a fling with a doctor who works here?'

Pamela straightened her ponytail. 'That's right. It didn't last long, but we all knew about it. They fooled around at a party last month. One of the nurses held a twenty-first and most of us went. We all saw Shane and her carrying on in a corner. I think they were both pissed.' Pamela smiled. 'The scandal was the talk of our canteen for ages.'

We definitely need to speak to this fellow soon, thought Libby.

***

The private detectives used the hospital canteen again the next morning to interview other hospital staff about Kathleen's last movements.

Dr Raman Sharma sat down opposite the two women detectives. Raman was a registrar on duty the same night as Kathleen. A small thin Indian man, he wore a wide white coat that seemed too big for his narrow frame. He told them he worked on the general surgical ward and explained that he had moved to Ireland a year ago on a temporary work visa.

He smiled serenely at the two women. 'How can I help you, ladies?'

'We're here to investigate the death of your colleague Kathleen Lynch. We're private investigators.' Libby showed him her ID card.

'Poor Kathleen,' he said, his large brown eyes looking earnestly from one woman to the other. 'We're all in total shock. She was a registrar, same as I am, and we worked under the same surgeon.' Raman rummaged in the pocket of his white coat. He gazed at Libby with half-closed eyes, his expression unreadable.

'What time did you last meet Kathleen the night she died?'

'At about a quarter to one.' The doctor remained silent for a while. 'I took a history from a woman with jaundice. I remember Kathleen being on the ward when I arrived.'

'Did she stay long?' asked Libby.

'She talked to a nurse, and she prescribed some drugs for a patient. She left after fifteen minutes. I stayed on a bit longer.' He paused, and then leaned forward, adding, 'You know the rosters were mixed up that night. Kathleen and I normally took turns on duty.'

Libby frowned. 'So what did you do about it?'

'Nothing. We just had less work each, more time in bed.' He smiled, showing even white teeth with a gap in the front tooth.

'More opportunity for the murderer to find Kathleen in her room,' Libby added. She racked her brain for other questions to ask him. 'Do doctors normally lock themselves in at night?'

'Yes, for safety.' Raman's brown eyes gazed at Libby serenely.

'So each one of you has a room key?'

'Yes.' His voice was flat, as he gazed at the large watch on his thin wrist. 'The maids have keys also, so they can clean the rooms.'

Libby asked, 'Were you friendly with Kathleen?'

He replied with a shrug, 'Not really. We just said hello now and again. She didn't bother much with me.'

'Why was that?'

'She told me she didn't like foreign doctors.' Raman's voice was flat.

Was Kathleen racist? Libby wondered, or did she just dislike Raman? 'Did you ever have words with her?' she asked him.

'I make it a point never to fight with anyone at work. I avoided Kathleen as much as I could.' Raman smiled as he stood up to leave.

Next the private detectives talked to the night nurse on the women's surgical ward. She told them she had not seen Kathleen all night. She said she had not spotted anyone strange wandering around the hospital that night.

***

Later that day, Libby called to see Dr Shane Collins. After getting directions from the receptionist, she went along the narrow corridor and up the stairs to the general surgery ward on the first floor. There she spotted a thin, narrow man in a white coat engrossed in conversation with another junior doctor, at the nurses' station. A patient's chart lay open in front of them on a trolley of files.

Waiting until he had finished his discussion, she then introduced herself.

'What's this about?' asked Shane impatiently as he gazed at Libby blankly with deep-set dark eyes. His face was extremely pale, and his hair was thick and black.

'I need to speak to you about Dr Kathleen Lynch's death,' Libby replied.

He nodded and gestured to follow him. He showed her into an empty office on the ward, where he said they could talk in private. They both remained standing.

'Yes, I know she was murdered.' A frown came on his thin face.

'What time did you see her last?' Libby asked.