Murder in Ballyhasset (3 page)

'Teatime, in the canteen last week. On the Monday afternoon, around six, I think. I went home after that.'

Libby hesitated for an instant. 'I heard you were very friendly with her.'

'Well, I'm the senior house officer in surgery. I worked on the same ward as Kathleen. I saw her in the theatre on most days.'

'No, I meant on a personal level.'

Dr Collins sighed. 'You've been listening to the canteen gossip. We had a one-night stand at a party in her house. We were both pissed.' His shoulders sank. 'Both of us felt mortified afterwards.'

'Kathleen's married,' Libby said, 'you must have known that.'

'Yeah, we agreed to pretend the night never happened,' he said, checking his watch. 'Are you finished now with these questions? I've a lot of work to do.' He walked away from her in a hurry before she had a chance to say more.

'The staff didn't like Dr Lynch,' Dawn said, over a cup of tea when the two investigators were alone in the canteen. 'No one seems to miss her much, not even the man she had a fling with.'

'Can't be easy being a surgeon, especially a female one. Kathleen's bound to have ruffled a few feathers' suggested Libby with a shrug of the shoulders.

Dawn stared her. 'Male or female feathers?'

'Both I'd say. Kathleen was pretty and clever, and she was a bully.'

Ballyhasset town had a small population of around a thousand people. It was two streets long and three streets deep. There were about twenty businesses in the Main Street, including three restaurants, four pubs, a gift shop, a pool hall, a chemist and two supermarkets.

Until the summer tourist season began, at around the middle of June, the town was quiet. After that the town sprang to life at night-time and there were open air markets and festivals. Tourists, mainly middle-aged cheerful American tourists dressed in polyester trousers, packed the hotels and bars.

The police station was a granite-stoned two-storey building on High Street. It was nestled between two shops at the east end of Ballyhasset town, the nearest end to Cork City. Libby paid a visit to the police station on Wednesday afternoon. She walked into the reception area, which held a counter and a few plastic chairs. A young uniformed Garda who stood at the main counter greeted her. She asked him if she could speak to Garda Sean Maguire. The desk officer disappeared indoors to fetch him.

Libby knew the sergeant socially, from the times when Sean used to work with her estranged husband Derek, in Cork City. The two men often went drinking together, with their wives in tow. Libby had spent many a happy night in the company of Sean and his wife.

The sergeant appeared after a few minutes. He was a plump sandy-haired man of around thirty, with a freckled complexion and a wide mouth. He wore his Garda uniform, which consisted of a pale blue shirt and navy trousers.

'Hi Sean,' said Libby. 'How's life treating you?'

He smiled. 'Not bad. I hear you've set up in the private investigation business.'

Libby nodded. 'I have indeed.'

'You'll be making plenty of cash in your new job.'

'Wish I was.' She sighed. 'But it's early days yet.'

'Interesting, I'd say.'

She smiled. 'It's certainly that. I never know what's going to turn up next.'

'Good to hear,' said Sean. The young officer, standing behind the reception desk called out, 'I'll be back in a minute, Sean. Hold the fort.'

Sean nodded as the man walked off down a short corridor and into a room on the right.

'So have you left the North Cork Garda Station permanently?' Libby asked.

'I have,' Sean said, his expression proud, 'I've been promoted to sergeant.'

'Good for you.' She smiled.

'What brings you here?' he asked.

'We're investigating the death of the young doctor last week up in Ballyhasset hospital.'

The sergeant jerked his head in surprise. 'Dr Lynch, the gynaecologist. We're still working on the case. Who hired you?'

'The husband Mick Doody,' she replied.

'Oh, him, he's a bit of a shaper, all right.' The sergeant grinned. 'He's obviously not happy with us then, if he hired you.'

'He just wants to find the killer,' said Libby, 'he says money is no object.'

'Good luck with him. He thinks he's a big shot.'

'He does.' Libby paused, silent for a moment. She had no wish to discuss Mr Doody's opinion of the police. 'How did Dr Lynch die, what's the official verdict?'

Sean answered, 'She was suffocated using her own pillow.'

'Can you show me the police photos?'

He hesitated. 'They're confidential. I'm not allowed to.'

She said, 'Ah go on, this is a big case for me.'

The sergeant glanced around and saw no one at the reception desk. 'Okay, seeing as it's you, I'll get them out. They're still on my desk. Hold on a while. I have to search under the piles of papers.'

Libby stood and waited. He emerged a few minutes later with the photos, which the forensic officer had taken.

Libby studied the victim lying face-up on the bed. Kathleen was slim and fine-boned. She wore a pink T-shirt and a black skirt, and her legs were long. They were bare and smooth. Her arms lay by her side. The quilt lay at the bottom of the bed.

Libby scrutinised a close-up photo of the victim's face. Kathleen had a classically beautiful face, big eyes, straight nose and a full mouth. The lifeless green eyes stared out. Her hair was chestnut in colour, long and thick. Libby studied Kathleen's face, but saw no marks except a slight redness on the nose tip.

She glanced through other photos. She noted the doctor's white coat hanging neatly on the back of the white chair in her pale hospital room. Kathleen's handbag lay closed on the floor, and her shoes sat neatly under the bed.

'Were you able to get any useful fingerprints?'

Sergeant Sean sighed. 'No, the door knob and the light switch had smudges, but we got no clear prints. I'd say the killer wore latex gloves.'

'Did the forensic team find any tablets in Kathleen's hospital room?'

He shook his head. 'No.' He was silent for a second. 'Anyway, she was on duty, she had to stay alert, I'd imagine.'

'Did you talk to everyone at the hospital?' she asked.

He nodded. 'We had to interview them all. Everyone on duty that night, doctors, nurses, the lot. It took the four of us ages. We asked all the routine questions. Detective Inspector Flood was in charge.'

Libby nodded absently as she continued to sift through the pictures, 'I asked them the same stuff, especially the doctors on night duty that night.'

'No one saw anything useful to us,' he replied, 'or even anything strange. The two doctors who slept on either side of her said they heard nothing.'

'Any clues at all?' She frowned. 'Did you not talk to the porters?'

'I did. There's only one on duty at night. He helps the nurses with lifting patients and keeps an eye on the main reception desk. He saw nothing.'

'Surely, you must have some idea of who killed her?'

The sergeant grew excited. 'We think it was the husband. Mr Doody says he has an alibi, he says he was abroad till the Tuesday morning.' Sean paused for breath. 'We think he came back earlier than he said. His friends arrived back to Shannon Airport early on the Monday, we checked this with them.'

Sean leaned closer to Libby. 'Our Mr Doody had booked the same flight as them. However, the friends said he didn't come back with them. He told one of them that he arrived late at the airport and missed the plane. Then Mick took a later one the same day, according to this fella George.'

'Mick told me he came in early Tuesday morning into Shannon Airport.'

Sean said sharply, 'Mick's booking receipt showed his flight arrived in Shannon on Monday. He just took a later flight that Monday. He still had time to get to the hospital. The wife was smothered at two in the morning, Tuesday morning.' Sean folded his arms, gazing at Libby confidently. 'Anyway, he must have done it. Who else had a strong motive? There was no robbery or sexual assault.'

He paused. 'He stands to inherit all her money now, anyway. I think that's a strong motive.'

Libby's eyes widened. 'What money?'

Sean said, 'There was a life assurance policy he took out on her. Not to mention the house. His wife's money paid for it. Her parents left her and her sister almost a hundred thousand each when they died.'

Libby was astounded. 'I didn't know.'

Sean smiled cynically. 'This puts a different light on things, doesn't it?'

'Perhaps' Libby replied. 'I need to have a long talk with Mr Doody about this.' She was silent for a while. 'Do you see much of Derek?'

Sean gave her a blank look. 'Derek?'

She laughed. 'My ex? You used to work with him, remember? Don't tell me you've forgotten poor Derek already.'

'Oh sorry. I was thinking of something else.' He added, 'No, I haven't seen Derek much recently. Not since I've moved here to Ballyhasset.' He stopped for an instant. 'I tell a lie - we did meet last month for a pint after work.'

'That's good. The fact you're keeping in touch, I mean.'

The sergeant became hesitant. 'Derek told me you left him.'

'True, we've split up.' She sighed. 'But he's lying about the rest. He left me.' She smiled bitterly. 'He met someone else while he was in Africa. You really don't want to know the full story.'

She wanted a divorce. Until they change the law in this backward country Derek and I are still stuck together, she thought angrily, we're stuck with this permanent separation, an Irish-style divorce.

The sergeant glanced at her with concern. 'I knew Derek took a year off work. However, I was shocked when he told me about the separation. Gobsmacked, I was. How many years were you together?'

'Let me see,' Libby said and thought for a moment. 'My son is sixteen now, so it's seventeen years in all since Derek and I got married. How time flies, doesn't it? Anyway, I'd better let you get back to work. Thanks for all the information.'

'Keep in touch,' he said, as she left.

A woman of about ninety came into Libby's office, that same Wednesday afternoon. After she asked to speak to a private detective, Dawn buzzed Libby on the intercom, and she came out.

Libby gazed at the woman, who weighed about six stone and stood leaning on a walking stick. A strong gust of wind would blow her over.

Libby showed her into her office and the two of them sat.

'My Bob is missing,' the woman said in a frail voice, 'he never came home last night.'

'Oh, that's sad, I'm sorry to hear that. Why don’t you sit down on the couch here and tell me a little bit more about Bob,' Libby replied.

'I'm terribly worried. He's on medication, and he hasn't been feeling the best lately.'

Taking out a pen and notebook, Libby began to write. 'What's your name?'

'Susan Keogh.'

'What's wrong with your husband?'

She stared at Libby, puzzled. 'Him? Oh, he's been dead for six years. No, it's Bob. He's the one I'm worried about.'

'Who's Bob?' asked Libby.

The old woman smiled. 'My Jack Russell Terrier, I've lost him. I want you to find him for me.'

Libby smiled at her own misunderstanding. 'Where did Bob go missing?'

'On Seapoint Beach, near that large rocky area. I heard both of you girls live around there. Bridie told me about your agency, she told me to give ye a call. Bridie's a neighbour of mine. I live near Seapoint too. That's why the little fecker strayed down there.'

'I don't know Bridie, I'm afraid.' Libby said. 'But the large rocky area - I know it well, it's beside the area used for swimming. Give us a few more details and we'll search for Bob.'

'Okay, as long as you don't clock up too many hours. I'm not a rich woman.'

'I won't charge you.' Libby smiled. 'I've got a soft spot for dogs.'

'Do you need a description of Bob?' The woman rummaged in her big handbag.

'He's a Jack Russell isn't he?' said Libby. 'Don't all those little fellows look the same?'

'No, actually he's quite unique.' The old woman flashed her eyes. 'He's got a black patch over one ear. Here, I have a picture of him.' The woman handed Libby a large photo.

'You can keep the picture,' said the woman.

'Fine, Mrs Keogh. We'll be in touch if he turns up,' Libby said, gazing at the close-up of Bob. 'He's quite pretty isn’t he,' and probably stolen, she thought. She turned to his worried owner. 'We'll contact the Kinsale pound and the police also.' She paused. 'Hopefully Bob will come home on his own when he’s finished snooping around the neighbourhood.'

'Thank you so much, I appreciate your help. My poor little Bob doesn’t know how to be alone.' The elderly woman left, walking slowly and leaning on her stick.

'I've a job for you,' Libby said, going up to Dawn at the reception desk. 'Looks like old Bob is taking a break from his owner.' Dawn, looking amused, agreed to take care of the matter.

***

That evening, at around eight pm, Libby went for a walk with her young springer spaniel on the beach. The Ballyhasset vet had told her clearly that Buddy was a high-energy dog and needed daily walking. At the time, she had been angry with her son for not getting a small toy dog. That sort of dog would be happy to curl up on the couch all day. However, she was coming around to the idea that this exercise lark was not such a bad thing. It keeps me fit for chasing the odd criminal if I have to, she thought.

She arrived at Seapoint Beach, delighted to listen to the sea lapping softly against the rocks. She loved the salty, fresh smell of the sea. The sky was orange and the hills beyond were a darker shade of orange. The sea appeared dark-blue. She walked down to the water's edge. Buddy paddled a little, but refused to follow a stick she threw further into the waves for him to chase. 'Coward,' she said to the dog. A light ocean breeze blew a strand of hair into her eyes.

She walked the length of the west pier. At the furthest end, she saw two small fishing boats in bright shades of blue and green. They were moored along the edge of the pier. In the distance, she could see the town's hospital, high up on a hill overlooking the town.

She walked away from the strand and up along Seapoint Avenue. She crossed the road and walked up High Street. She walked along past a pointy church and its green leafy bushes that surrounded the property. Most of the shops had hanging baskets bursting with purple and white petunias.

Libby then called into Pamela's small apartment, located above one of the shops. Pamela had told her she lived over O'Brien's newsagent shop, at Number 29, on High Street. She wanted to ask her further questions about Dr Kathleen Lynch. The apartment was a small cosy place, obviously chosen because of its proximity to the hospital.

Pamela asked her to come in, along with her dog. 'I love dogs,' she said, patting Buddy's brown head. He wagged at her.

Pamela introduced Libby to Conor Reilly, her boyfriend. He smiled at Libby warmly and invited her to sit beside him on the sofa. Conor was narrow and around five feet ten in height. He had a small pale face, fine features and blond hair, cut in a pageboy style. He wore flared brown corduroy trousers and a white polo-neck jumper. He looked like a girl, Libby thought, a pretty girl.

'Did you ever meet Dr Lynch?' she asked him, 'Pamela's old boss.'

'Yes, I met her a few times in the Green Lemon,' answered Conor, 'that's the pub across the road from the hospital. I was drunk one night, and I got into an argument with her.

'Oh. What did you say to her?' Libby asked.

Conor sighed. 'I told her she made Pamela's life a misery.'

'How did Kathleen react?'

'She hit the roof. She started telling me how stupid Pamela was, that she'd no cop-on. The next day I remembered the argument.'

'You did Pamela no favour there,' Libby said, 'attacking her boss. Pamela had to work with her.'

'I realised that, so I rang Kathleen at her home the next day, to apologise. I really grovelled and begged her to forgive me.'

'And did she forgive you?'

Conor answered, 'Yeah, she accepted my apology and that ended the whole argument.'

'Conor might have made things worse,' said Pamela, looking at Libby. 'But strangely enough that didn't happen. Kathleen wasn't any nastier after the row than she was before.'

'How long had Kathleen been working in St Gabriel's, do you know?' Libby asked.

'Only since January of this year.'

'Where was she before that?'

'The Bon Secours in Cork,' said Pamela. 'She delivered babies there. She told me she preferred this work to treating gynaecology patients.'

'I wouldn't blame her,' Libby said. 'Being around young mums and babies must be more cheerful.'

'Still, I love some of our older patients because they are so hardy. They accept pain better than younger women.' Pamela smiled. 'Some of them have had ten children.'

'Ten children, how awful.' Libby made a face. All those painful childbirths. Once was enough for me, she thought.

'That's why the poor women have womb problems and end up in St Gabriel's,' Pamela added.

'At least you can cure them,' said Conor.

'True,' Pamela said, in agreement with him. 'They're fine after a hysterectomy.'

'Dr Lynch won't be doing any more of them,' said Conor.

'Has the hospital found a replacement for Kathleen?' asked Libby.

'Yes,' said Pamela with relief, 'a doctor from Dublin is due to arrive in the next few days.'