Authors: Rob Kitchin
‘So it wasn’t a marriage of convenience then?’
‘What has this got to do with anything?’ Frank Koch demanded. ‘He was killed by a thief.’
‘It’s to do with understanding Albert Koch’s family tree,’ McEvoy replied, ignoring Koch’s assertion. ‘In 1948 your brother arrived in
Ireland
. He met Maura O’Coffey – Martin O’Coffey’s sister – married her and took on responsibility for her daughter. They then had a son a couple of years later. Martin O’Coffey, Albert’s warring neighbour was his brother-in-law, and Marion and Charles’ uncle. I’m assuming Martin O’Coffey moved here with you in 1952?’
‘You can’t possibly suspect Martin,’ Mary said. ‘There’s not a bad bone in his body.’
‘I never said Martin O’Coffey was a suspect, Mrs Koch.’
‘Martin helped at the factory,’ Frank Koch said. ‘He was our first employee.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Just helping out. He left after a few years to run his farm. I left to open my first garage. Albert was the chemist, I wanted to be a car salesman, not a fertiliser salesman.’
‘There must be a lot of money in just helping out to be able to buy a farm,’ McEvoy noted.
‘We all worked hard and we all shared the rewards of that work. Land was not that expensive at the time.’
‘Albert didn’t resent the fact that
Marion
was not his natural daughter?’
‘Bertie loved Marion and Charles equally,’ Mary replied.
‘But they argued all the time,’ McEvoy stated.
‘
Marion
is like her mother. And her father,’ she added. ‘Headstrong. Albert loved Maura and he loved
Marion
.’
McEvoy decided not to push the issue any further, instead changing tack. ‘When I spoke to you yesterday you said that nobody had been asking about Dr Koch, but we have had several reports of a couple going round trying to talk to people about him. We’ve managed to track the couple down and we’ve spoken to them. They say they’d tried to talk to you.’
‘Pah!’ Koch spat, waving his hand.
‘They have some very strong accusations about your brother,’ McEvoy said evenly. ‘Did you speak to them?’
‘They were crazy. I sent them away.’
‘They say they have evidence that your brother was a war criminal.’
‘That’s nonsense! He worked as a chemist during the war. I do not want to talk about this. It is lies and it makes me angry.’
‘Frank?’ Mary asked, her brow furrowing.
‘They were crazy,’ Koch said to his wife. ‘They were saying crazy things. Did you ask them whether they killed him?’ he asked McEvoy. ‘Hey? They kept going to his house.’
‘We did ask them and it appears they have an alibi. We are checking it at the moment. So, you think there’s no truth in what they said?’ McEvoy asked, aware that he needed to talk to Frank Koch alone since his wife clearly didn’t know anything about the accusations being levelled against her brother-in-law.
‘There is absolutely no truth. It is all lies. My brother was a good man.’
‘Right. Right, okay,’ McEvoy said, nodding his head and rising to his feet. ‘Well, I think that will do for now. Thank you for answering my questions.’ McEvoy didn’t move towards the door, waiting for Koch to show him out.
Eventually the old man rose and headed from the room, McEvoy trailing after him.
McEvoy paused at the front door. ‘If there is any truth in their accusations, it will all come out. And if it is true, then your brother will be remembered as a monster.’
‘We’ll fight any slander on our family name.’
‘Which name is that,’ McEvoy said, ‘Koch or Kucken?’
‘Koch,’ Frank Koch said firmly. ‘I do not want you to come here anymore. If you want to speak to me again I will come to the police station. I do not want my wife upset for no reason.’
‘We’re already checking the military records. If there’s a Franz Kucken but no Frank Koch registered for the Curragh camp, I’ll be back to talk to you again.’ McEvoy turned and set off for his car.
Koch stayed on the doorstep until McEvoy was out of sight, then slowly closed the door.
* * *
He was driving from Athboy to Trim, winding his way through low lying, gently rolling farmland and a procession of odd-matched, one-off housing, when his mobile phone rang.
‘McEvoy.’
‘Superintendent, my name is Mark D’Arcy, Marion D’Arcy’s son,’ the voice said evenly. ‘Can I speak to you please?’
‘I’m driving, but yes, okay. I have you on the hands-free.’
‘I want to protest to you in the strongest possible terms,’ D’Arcy said calmly, ‘as to how my mother is being treated by you and your investigation. She is extremely upset by your visit this morning. She feels she’s being treated as a suspect in my grandfather’s death. As a result, she’s already consulted some of her lawyer friends. I am sure this is all a misunderstanding and I want to stop things spiralling out of control. The gardai and the family should be working together to catch my grandfather’s killer, not falling out unnecessarily.’
‘I… I know your mother was upset, but I am only doing my job, Mr D’Arcy,’ McEvoy said uncertainly. ‘Unfortunately that means I have to ask people, including your mother, questions that they might feel are upsetting or inappropriate. That’s especially the case when there are no definite lines of inquiry or suspects.’
‘I understand that, Superintendent, but my mother is extremely upset at the death of my grandfather. I can’t possibly see how she could be a suspect. What would she have to gain?’
‘Your grandfather was extremely wealthy, Mr D’Arcy. With wealth comes power. Your mother is potentially about to inherit a fortune. Whether she’s guilty or innocent that makes her a suspect, even if she is not the prime suspect. And I’m afraid the whole family are suspects until either we have solid alibis or we get a positive lead. That might not seem fair, but that’s the way it has to be.’
‘I understand that, but my mother has a solid alibi. She was at home.’
‘But she doesn’t have anybody who can corroborate that.’
‘But that’s…’ D’Arcy said as if he was going to correct McEvoy before trailing off.
‘That’s what?’ McEvoy prompted.
‘That’s preposterous,’ D’Arcy managed to catch himself, his calmness starting to fray. ‘My mother has built up a very successful business of her own and my grandfather was very old. She’s already independently wealthy and would inherit shortly in any case. Why would she risk doing anything stupid?’
‘Perhaps because she’s not set to inherit? I don’t know. It could be for any number of reasons. I’m not saying your mother did kill her father. I’m saying I can’t simply rule people out without substantive evidence.’
‘This is ridiculous!’ D’Arcy snapped. ‘My mother might be all kinds of things, but she is not a murderer!’
‘I haven’t said that she is,’ McEvoy tried to say patiently. ‘All I’m saying is that I can’t yet eliminate her as a suspect.’
‘The family want to make an appeal for witnesses,’ D’Arcy said, changing tack. ‘And Ostara Industries is willing to put up a fifty thousand euro reward for information leading to the capture of my grandfather’s killer.’
‘Perhaps we could start with the appeal for witnesses?’ McEvoy suggested cautiously. ‘The money will bring out every crank on the island. All the rubbish they’ll give us will just slow the case down.’
‘And buried in the rubbish could be the truth,’ D’Arcy said pointedly.
‘There’s no point burying it when it could be on the surface. Let’s try appealing for witnesses, offering the reward in a couple of days if we don’t get anywhere?’
‘Okay,’ D’Arcy conceded reluctantly. ‘How do we go about doing that?’
‘You need to talk to our media relations team. Are you ringing on a mobile?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll forward your number to them once I’ve parked up and they’ll call you shortly. That okay?’
‘That’s grand. Look, Superintendent, my mother really isn’t responsible for my grandfather’s death,’ D’Arcy said, returning to his original theme. ‘She’s very delicate at the moment. She might act all tough and businesslike, carrying on regardless, but it’s all an act – putting up appearances. She’s an emotional wreck. I’d appreciate it if you could tread lightly around her, even if she is one of the thousands of potential suspects,’ he added, slight sarcasm in his voice.
‘We’ll try our best,’ McEvoy conceded. ‘How about you? Did someone take your statement?’
‘Yes. A Detective Sergeant Joyce. I was in
Galway
at a concert with my wife and some of her family. I spent the night at my in-laws. Believe me, if I was going to kill any of my family, that’s where I’d start. Not that I’d ever…’ D’Arcy trailed off.
‘It never seems like a joke once you say it, does it?’ McEvoy said flatly. ‘The media relations people will be in contact shortly. Perhaps we could meet sometime in the next couple of days to discuss Ostara Industries? I want to try and get a better handle on your grandfather’s business interests.’
‘You think his death might be related to Ostara?’
‘Somebody was searching the house for a reason. The reason might have been related to his business dealings. If we can determine the reason, we narrow down potential lines of inquiry.’
‘I’m not sure I’m going to be able to help you much,’ D’Arcy said cautiously. ‘You’d be better off talking to James Kinneally or Stefan Freel. They would have a much better knowledge of the company and anyone who might hold a grudge or who might want to steal company secrets.’
‘I thought you were the rising star of Ostara?’ McEvoy pressed.
‘I’m just working my way up the same as everyone else,’ D’Arcy muttered defensively, clearly used to people thinking his promotions were due to family connections rather than business acumen.
‘Nevertheless, I think it would be useful to meet. I’ll get someone to call to arrange a meeting.’ McEvoy ended the conversation. Mark D’Arcy had started assuredly then drifted towards caution, and he was holding something back. The best way to try and prise whatever it was out of him would be face-to-face when McEvoy could get a better sense of the man – gauge his body language and read his eyes.
His mobile phone beeped telling him he had a message. He sighed to himself and dialled his answering service.
‘You have one new message,’ the automated voice said. A moment later his sister-in-law started to speak. ‘Colm, it’s Ciara. I know you’re probably busy but we need to talk about Friday. I think I’ve got most things sorted but I wanted to check in with you. Give me a call, later, okay? Okay, bye for now.’
He ended the call. He’d try and remember to ring her later; he couldn’t face talking about Maggie and her memorial service right now. If truth be known, he really wasn’t looking forward to the day. Ciara wanted it to be a day of reflection, remembrance and celebration. As far as McEvoy could see it would be a whole day of re-living the past, of wallowing in grief; a day of re-stoking his anger, sorrow and guilt at her death.
* * *
The room contained more than a dozen men. McEvoy recognised only four of them – two of Jim Whelan’s sergeants, Mickie Brehan and Colin Vickers, Tommy Boland the local superintendent, and Kenny Clarke from the Garda National Immigration Bureau – all of whom he had just spoken to for updates. The others were local detective constables and others assigned to the case.