Murder in Ballyhasset (5 page)

Libby went for a stroll with her dog along Seapoint Beach in the evening. The sea was calm and grey; the tide was out. A few fishing boats stood far out in the deep waters, barely visible from the shore. Seaweed lined the wet sand near the water's edge and seagulls screeched overhead. A chill rose from the water, and she shivered in her light cotton summer dress.

Buddy skipped around, he wet his feet but would go no further into the water. Instead, he charged up and down at the water's edge, his stumpy tail wagging furiously. A Jack Russell Terrier ran towards them. He chased Buddy and caught up with him. The pup stopped and rolled over on his belly, and the Jack Russell sniffed him curiously.

 A small girl came up to the dogs and said, 'Here, Rex. Come here, boy.' The dog ignored her completely. Buddy began circling madly around the Jack Russell. 'Rex, come here now,' the girl repeated. Buddy ran up to the small girl and jumped at her legs. He then raced back to the other dog.

Libby ran over to her dog and clipped his lead onto his collar. She approached the thin fair-haired child, who seemed about ten years old. The little girl wore pink Wellington boots and a blue tracksuit and looked rather forlorn.

'Buddy is just a pup, he won't harm you.' Libby smiled.

The child's face brightened, she gazed at Libby with interest. 'I know, I love dogs.'

'What's your dog's name?'

'Rex,' replied the girl, 'he's very bold. He won't come back to me.'

'Here Rex,' Libby called. She held out a dog treat. The dog did not react, just stared at her blankly. 'He's not answering to his name,' Libby said, looking puzzled. She watched the dog as he raced around, ignoring everyone. 'Here Bob,' she said, on impulse.

Sure enough, the dog bounded up to her, taking the treat from her hand in an instant. She remembered the photo of Bob, and the black patch. This dog belonged to a certain frail old lady, Libby knew.

'Where did you get this dog?' she asked the girl.

'I found him on the beach. He was all alone so I took him home.'

'When was that?' Libby asked.

'A few days ago.' The little girl's face held a defiant expression.

'I know who his owner is,' said Libby. 'She's a little old lady, and she's been searching everywhere for Bob.'

'I want to keep Rex, Bob - I mean,' said the girl, pouting.

Libby said softly, 'He'd be happier with his real owner, she misses him very much.'

'I like Bob, he's furry and soft like a teddy, and he plays with me. I want to keep him.' She bent down to pat Bob, who merely ignored her. The dog sniffed at Libby's shoes.

'Surely your mammy will get you your own dog, just like Bob.'

'Maybe.' The girl thought for a few minutes. Libby waited in silence, hoping the child would change her mind. 'Okay then. You can take him back to the old lady.' She handed Libby the dog's lead. 'My mammy doesn't like Bob, anyway.' Her eyes danced as she spoke. 'Ma says Bob humps her.'

'You're a good girl,' said Libby, taking the thin, short lead. 'Bob's owner is going to be delighted when she sees him.' Libby turned to face the little girl. 'Where do you live? I'll walk home with you. I'll tell your mother I'm taking the dog.'

'Over there.' The child pointed to a house just across the road from the beach.

'Come on dogs,' shouted the little girl, as they all left the beach.

When they approached the little girl's house, a woman came out. She was young and wore a worried expression. She carried a baby in her arms. She turned to the child and said crossly, 'There you are, Emma. I've been searching for you everywhere. You shouldn't have gone off on your own.' The woman then stared at Libby, with a question on her lips.

'I'm taking this dog back to its owner,' Libby explained, pointing to Bob.

'Great,' said the woman, her face relaxing. 'Emma found him, but I told her I can't keep a dog, I've too much to do.'

Libby brought the Jack Russell to her own home. Then she searched her notebook for the elderly owner's phone number, found it and rang her. Libby opened wide her front door to the woman, ten minutes later. The old woman's face lit up as she grabbed the wiggling animal.

'Bob, where did you go, you bold boy?' The terrier licked his owner's face while wagging his stumpy tail ferociously.

'He's glad to have found you again,' said Libby, smiling.

'What's the charge?' The woman struggled to open her shoulder bag while holding the dog. 'I'll write you a cheque.'

'Not at all. I found Bob this evening on the beach when I was taking a stroll.'

'Oh thanks, you're very kind.' The elderly woman smiled. 'Bob strays a lot,' she said, as she stroked his wiry coat.

'You'll have to mind him better,' replied Libby, 'get him neutered maybe.' The woman left, and Libby sighed with relief.

***

Later that same evening, Libby sat in front of the TV with a ham sandwich and a cup of tea. She was engrossed in Coronation Street. Buddy sat beside her on the sofa, chewing one of her old shoes.

The back door slammed as Andrew arrived in from the local school dressed in a muddy tee shirt, shorts and runners, his face pink from exercise. He threw his heavy bags down on the floor.

'Ma, can I ask you something?' He parked himself down on the sofa beside her.

'Fire ahead.' Libby gazed at him directly.

Andrew's face was relaxed and smiling. 'I'm thinking of becoming a fisherman. I want to go out on the seas and catch fish. My best mate's Dad is a fisherman.'

Libby started at the news. 'Are you sure? It's very dangerous, you know, a lad was drowned last week. He was only twenty and I believe it was his first long trip.'

He shrugged. 'Sorry Ma, this is what I want.'

She sighed. 'Have you thought about other careers? What about college – you said you wanted to be a doctor. What about the police? You could be a police officer, like your father.'

He gave a slight smile. 'You mean I should choose any other job, apart from this one.'

Libby observed he had developed a faint dark moustache, which contrasted with his long blond hair. Her boy was growing up fast.

'You could study science and become a teacher maybe? You're brilliant at explaining things.' Libby's voice grew animated.

'I want to be a fisherman. I want the excitement, and I want to work with my hands. I want to work outdoors. I can't bear to be cooped up indoors all day.' He gazed at her with his arms folded.

'Teachers work nice short hours, think of those long summer holidays,' she said.

'Holidays don't matter if you enjoy your work.'

She laughed. 'Wait until you start working before you say that. You'll change your tune, believe me.'

'Yeah, sure.' He shrugged.

'I know you're clever, Andrew, but fishing is such a rotten job, long hours and low wages. And there's always the danger of being drowned.'

'That's only the bad part.' He picked up the TV guide and flicked through it.

'It's not glamorous like you see on the telly. I'm really not happy about this.' She leaned towards him. 'You'll be throwing your life away. Your uncle Vincent was a fisherman, my older brother. Do you remember him?'

'Yeah. He died, didn't he? I was only eight then.'

'Vincent died of a heart attack on the boat. His workmates couldn't get him to the hospital in time. He was only thirty-five.'

Andrew's jaw tightened. 'You've said all that before.' He remained silent for a while. 'Anyway, I've talked to Dad already. He thinks I'm making the right choice.'

'What about the danger? Is your father fully aware of this?'

'Yeah, of course he is.'

'So you've both decided all this without even consulting me.' Her face flushed. 'Wait till I see your father, the nerve of him going behind my back.'

'It's my decision, not his.' Andrew glared at her. 'Dad trusts me to make the right choice, he's not like you.'

'Well, at least think about it again. Speak to a real fisherman about what's involved. Maybe your best mate’s Dad could take you out some time.'

He shrugged. 'Okay I'll do as you ask, but my mind is made up, I'm not going to change.'

'I can ask one of the local fishermen to talk to you.' Who'd be the best to put him off the whole idea? Libby wondered. She resolved to ask Sean, her Garda friend. Sean knew all the local fishermen. He could find her a chatty fisherman willing to tell her son the ins and outs of the job.

'Thanks, Ma. See you later.' Andrew turned away and picked up his bags. He went upstairs, carrying his heavy bags of books and football gear.

One Sunday evening, in early June, Conor Reilly held a small party in his own house Conor invited some of his old friends from his college days, and two lads from his office. His close friends - Dr Shane Collins, Shane's girlfriend, and of course, his girlfriend Pamela, were all coming.

 Conor's business partner, Brendan Sullivan, helped him organise the party. One of the nurses asked Dawn, her old friend from nursing school, to come along. Dawn invited Libby along too.

Libby knew it was a good idea for her to go. It was an opportunity to see how the hospital staff behaved when they were relaxed. Libby herself sported a white trouser suit and a flowery blouse. She chose this outfit to blend in with the guests, most of whom were at least ten years younger than she was.

She examined herself in the mirror before she left, hoping she wasn't mutton dressed a lamb. She remembered that Dawn often wore clothes that always seemed too small for her full figure, miniskirts and short T-shirts that showed her midriff. Dawn got away with her flamboyant attire and always looked great, but she was only in her early twenties, whereas Libby was a good deal older, at thirty-eight. Libby took a final glance at herself and finally decided that her hair looked well; it was cut into a bob, shiny and newly highlighted. And yes, her trouser suit was definitely suitable for the party.

Dawn collected Libby in her little red Austin Mini and drove to Conor's house at a brisk speed. Dawn wore a white crochet skullcap over her long black hair. When they stepped out of the car, Libby noticed with amusement Dawn's high silver platform boots and shiny silver trousers.

Conor's house stood on Albany Road, a mile outside Ballyhasset's High Street. A three-storey Victorian house, it had a nine-foot high wall surrounding a large garden with mature trees. The drawing room was yellow and very wide, with a high ceiling. A log fire burned cosily. At eight o'clock, after most of the guests had arrived, Conor turned on a loud stereo, and dimmed the lights. Brendan had organised a running buffet in the kitchen.

Conor greeted his friends, who floated about, chatting easily and loudly together. The laughter and noise increased as the alcohol the guests brought, which consisted of bottles of cheap red wine, was consumed. Libby realised that the topic of Kathleen's death was being well and truly avoided.

She reflected on how callous people are. It was only little more than a week since their colleague was murdered and yet here they were, enjoying themselves as if nothing had happened. Is it because they're all doctors and nurses? she wondered. They are used to seeing people die and have become hardened about death.

'We need to do something constructive,' Shane told his friends in a loud voice. 'Organise a proper strike about these long hours.'

'Yes,' agreed Raman, the surgical registrar, 'the hospital managers don't care how much we suffer. We have to threaten them someway, cause some form of chaos maybe.'

Another small man, with a pale face and black-rimmed glasses, added, 'You're right, we have to do something major soon. The whole system is a mess. Look at the problem we have in getting interns for next year. All the final year students have decided to scarper abroad.'

'A group is coming from India to fill these posts,' said Shane. 'That's going to make our work even harder.' The voices got louder as they struggled to make themselves heard above the music.

'Too right,' said the small doctor. 'Some of them can't speak English fluently at all. They can't even take a proper history.'

Raman stared at each one of them in turn. 'I resent this. My English is perfect and I'm Indian. You people know that, you all work with me.' Nobody answered him.

Libby and Brendan stood listening to this conversation. Libby spotted a glamorous girl standing alone in the hall, holding a drink. The girl wore a scarlet mini dress that barely covered her thighs. The dress showed her slim, tall figure and shapely legs to maximum advantage. Brendan's green eyes lit up at the sight of her, Libby noticed with amusement.

He bounded over and gave her his most radiant smile. 'Hello,' he said. 'Who you?'

She glanced at him with a bored expression. In her high heels, she was the same height as him. 'Gina,' she said.

'Doctors are a snooty bunch, don't you think?'

'Well, some of them are, I guess.' Gina glanced sharply at Brendan, puzzled at such a bald statement. Then she shrugged. 'Most of them are just normal people like the rest of us. My boyfriend is a doctor.'

Brendan scowled. 'Is he really?'

'You probably know him, Shane Collins.'

'I do. We were at school together. I haven't seen him in a while.' Brendan paused. 'Doctors think they're so superior to everyone else, they make me sick.' He made a face.

'Whatever.' Gina yawned. 'You must have had a bad experience in some hospital.'

'A friend of mine did.' Brendan's tone was bitter.

Gina sipped her glass. 'Conor's got a gorgeous house here.'

He pointed to the living-room window. 'Yes, you can see the beach from there.'

Libby took the opportunity to ask Brendan about his relationship with Conor. 'What type of business are you and Conor in?'

'We're both accountants. We run a small practice in Cork City.'

Libby's eyes widened. Brendan didn't seem like an accountant, more like a man who works outdoors. She couldn't picture him sitting at a desk, since he seemed so restless.

'Where did Conor get the money for this big place?'

Brendan stared at the floor, arms folded. 'His mother bought it for him.'

'Family money?'

Brendan said, 'His parents own several Dublin hotels. Conor is their only son. 'He even bought a new house in Galway recently.'

A while later Dr Shane Collins and Conor went upstairs to Conor's bedroom and closed the door behind them. Libby wondered what they were doing. She tried to listen at the door, but could not hear anything. A moment later Conor came out of the room, saying, 'I left my wallet in the car. Wait a minute. I'll get the money for you now.' He stopped talking once he saw Libby standing there. 'What are you doing up here on your own?'

'Looking for the toilet,' she answered. Conor rolled his eyes. He knows I'm lying, Libby thought.

The voices got louder as the guests emptied the wine bottles with gusto. Libby searched around the rooms for Pamela. She knew the recent death of Dr Lynch, her colleague, must have taken its toll on the young doctor's mental state. She found her in the kitchen, eating a cream bun.

Pamela said, 'I've been looking for you. I need to speak to you alone.'

'Go ahead, Now's your chance. Let's sit down.'

They both moved away from the sink and sat at Conor's spacious wooden table, which was littered with several empty wine and beer bottles.

'I've been thinking about who could've killed Kathleen.'

'Any new ideas?' asked Libby.

'There's one fellow Kathleen knew years ago. I saw him in the town recently.'

'Tell me who he is. I'll check him out.'

Then a young man and woman came into the kitchen. Pamela stopped what she was about to say. They were holding hands and laughing. They ignored the two women present and went over to the tap. They poured themselves a glass of water each. They went out of the kitchen again, laughing at some private joke.

Pamela continued, 'No, I can't, not yet. I'm afraid of him.'

'So he's someone you know?'

'I'd rather not say till I've more proof. I'll tell you more in a few days.'

'Okay, I'm always ready to listen. I'm anxious to find who killed the doctor, for her husband's sake anyway.'

'Great.'

Libby added curiously, 'What's it like, being an intern? I've heard it's a very pressurised job.'

Pamela got up and found a can of beer in the fridge and opened it. She sat down again and took a sip. 'Well now that I'm a bit pissed, and away from the hospital, I can talk about my job more. I don't like to complain in front of Conor, or my mother. People expect the world of doctors. They expect us not to have the uncertainty, worries and feeling of disgust that normal people have.' She drank more beer. 'But we have all these feelings. And interns more so than anyone else because it's all new to us and we have such long hours. The only people I can complain to are other doctors. They're the only ones who understand.'

'I guess that's why so many doctors marry doctors,' said Libby, who felt sympathetic and also a little disturbed by Pamela's remarks.

Then Pamela said with a smile, 'As you know now, I get bit maudlin when I'm pissed.'

'Do you miss Doctor Lynch?' asked Libby.

'Sometimes. It was nice to have someone to complain about. None of the other doctors liked her. Kathleen was very dedicated to the job. She always spoke strangely to everyone, in a monotone voice, devoid of feeling. If it wasn’t fact, she didn’t handle it. She started her rounds really early and saw every patient every day. I could barely keep up with her on her rounds, she walked so fast. She used to fire off a list of tasks to me. Sometimes, at the end of the day, I thought I'd die from exhaustion.'

'Is the place chaotic without her?' Libby asked.

Pamela smiled. Her eyes had a faraway look. 'No, that's the funny thing. Since Kathleen died we've gone on as before. It's quieter and a bit more relaxed without her, but we all get the work done. We manage just as well without her. The consultant, Doctor Moran my boss, is happy and the patients don't complain.' Pamela paused. 'Anyway, don't mind me, I'm rambling. I blame the drink. Let's join the others.'

She left the kitchen and Libby stood staring after her, with a worried expression.

***

A while later Libby heard Shane and the nurse Gina talking as she drank a glass of beer nearby.

'I was all set to go to Liverpool,' Gina said. 'I only remained here in Ballyhasset because of you. Living down here in the heart of the country is boring. I've lived here for years, and now I'm sick of it.'

'Keep your voice down, Gina,' said Shane, gritting his teeth.

'I hate St Gabriel's. It's a miserable hole.'

'Shut up,' warned Shane.

Gina ignored him. 'A killer's on the loose, waiting to pounce again. It's creepy in the hospital at night time.' Gina was a nurse who worked in St Gabriel's also.

'She's right,' Pamela said as she joined them. 'It's really eerie there since Kathleen was killed. Especially at night, when we're going around the wards in the dark.'

'And as for you, Pamela.' Gina turned towards her friend, her eyes narrowing. 'Kathleen was murdered, for crying out loud. I thought you were a caring person, but you're not - you're just as selfish as the rest of them.' She glared at Shane. 'All of you are going around pretending it never happened, heads in the sand.'

'That's not fair,' replied Pamela, exasperated, 'what can I do? We have to focus on the patients. That's our job. It's up to the police or those private detectives to find out who killed her.' She turned around and faced Libby with accusing eyes. Libby stepped back, not wishing to get involved in this particular dispute.

'You never liked Kathleen Lynch,' said Gina, still glaring at the dark-haired young doctor.

'Neither did you, so don't pretend otherwise.' Pamela folded her arms and locked eyes with the nurse. 'You saw what Kathleen was like.'

'She did my head in,' said Gina. 'It's true, everyone did hate her. Still, that's not a reason for anyone to kill her.' She gave a hiccup.

Shane said, 'Listen, you're making a show of yourself, Gina, everyone's staring at you.' He glared at his girlfriend. 'You're drunk. I'm taking you home before you say something you regret.'

He grabbed Gina by the shoulders, and then walked her towards the front door. Gina let him steer her out of the room without much resistance. Pamela and Libby followed Shane and her out to the driveway to where he had parked his car.

'Who's going to be killed next?' Gina asked, turning her head back towards Pamela. 'I'd watch out if I was you, next time you're on night duty.' Gina wobbled towards the car and climbed with difficulty into the backseat.

'She'll feel better tomorrow, after a good sleep,' Pamela said, as she watched Shane get in and drive off with Gina. The engine roared as the car sped off down the driveway and out the gate.

'Have the Gardai any new ideas why Kathleen was murdered?' Conor asked Libby, as they sat together on his sofa. The other guests floated about, helping themselves to food and wine.

'Not any more than we do,' Libby replied.

'I'm probably their number-one suspect,' Pamela said, sitting down beside them. 'Seeing as I found the body and everyone knew I hated her.'

'You couldn't murder anyone,' Conor said to her, tossing his fine blond hair out of his eyes. 'We all know that.'

'Thanks, I really need moral support after the week I've had.' Pamela glanced at him gratefully. 'Seeing Kathleen dead was unreal.'

'It must have been awful,' agreed Conor. He refilled all their glasses.

Pamela took a large gulp. 'Last night I had a nightmare. I dreamt I was working on the wards at night, when Kathleen rose up from a hospital bed and followed me around the wards, with a stream of complaints.'