Authors: Rob Kitchin
‘I don’t know. It’s possible. I wasn’t always here when his family were visiting. I usually went back to the office or home. The information here is interesting, but I’m not sure what they would do with it.’
‘Perhaps they were searching for something else,’ McEvoy offered. ‘Such as Dr Koch’s will.’
‘He doesn’t keep a copy here. That’s kept by his solicitor. He wasn’t prepared to discuss it with anyone.’
‘Not even you?’
‘Not even me.’
‘So tell me about Ostara Industries,’ McEvoy said, changing tack.
‘Such as?’
‘Let’s start with some history. Koch and his brother, Frank, started Ostara in 1952 after buying an old fertiliser factory. What happens next?’
‘They manage to make a go of it. Dr Koch knows his chemistry and his brother’s a natural salesman. The 1950s is a tough time in Ireland; lots of people getting the boat to England, some to America. Thousands are leaving agriculture given the weak economy and farm mechanization, but Ostara manages to catch the first wave of farming intensification selling specialist fertiliser depending on soil or crops. In the late fifties, his brother left to set up his own business and Ostara diversified into pharmacies.’
‘With Maurice Coakley,’ McEvoy said, remembering the previous day’s conversation.
Freel nodded. ‘In the sixties the company diversified again into cement, concrete and oil refining. The seventies saw a move into dyes and paints and a modest expansion of all the other divisions. Where we really start to hit the big time is in the early eighties’ London property boom, followed by our own Celtic Tiger.’
‘Yet, Ostara are hardly in the public conscience and Koch is barely a public figure.’
‘That’s not entirely true. Ostara Pharmacies are on the main streets of pretty much every town in Ireland, and anyone in agriculture or construction would have heard of us. As for Dr Koch, well, he liked to keep a low profile. He knew all the major players in any sector, but he didn’t seek any publicity. He didn’t need to and he didn’t want to.’
‘And the company is sound? It’s not about to collapse in a debt ridden heap?’
‘The company is thriving despite the recession. Certainly some of the divisions are under pressure – paints and dyes, for example. The property portfolio is down a fair bit, along with construction supplies. It’ll bounce back again, eventually.’
‘You think?’
‘I know. Property always rises over the long term. As long as you can ride out the negative equity and pay back the loans you’re fine.’
‘And you can?’
‘Nearly all of our property is owned outright. He hated paying interest to the banks.’
McEvoy nodded his head and rose to his feet. ‘Well, thanks for your time,’ he muttered.
‘That’s it?’
‘I need to get on.’
‘You think it was one of the family?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘The searched files and the fact that there is no sign of a break-in. Someone let themselves in.’
‘Or they were a professional,’ McEvoy said, heading for the door. ‘Wouldn’t have taken more than thirty seconds if you knew what you were doing. And more than the family had keys – yourself, Roza, the farm manager. Perhaps even his good friends, Martin O’Coffey and Maurice Coakley.’
* * *
Roza’s quarters consisted of a large living room-cum-kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom. The space was several degrees warmer than the old house, heated by a wood burning stove that also pumped hot water to a set of radiators. The living room had a contemporary feel – varnished pine roof with spotlights, granite breakfast counter, a silver extraction fan above a gas cooker, and a large abstract painting above the stove.
Roza hadn’t looked pleased to see McEvoy as she opened the door, though she had invited him in, given him a cup of coffee and offered a plate of sliced cake and chocolate biscuits. Her complexion was still pale, her eyes rimmed red.
‘Mr Freel said that you don’t like going into Dr Koch’s house,’ McEvoy said with a mouthful of cake. He was sitting on a red, two-seater sofa, Roza to one side on a wooden rocking chair, her feet tucked up, her hands warming on her mug.
‘It does not feel right. He is haunting it. It makes my back shiver.’
‘But you don’t need to worry about that much longer; Mrs D’Arcy has asked you to leave?’
Roza shrugged as if it didn’t matter. ‘Without Dr Koch there’s no job. I can’t stay here. There are ghosts here – Dr Koch and others. I can feel them.’
McEvoy nodded. Even if Roza didn’t know the story of The White Gallows and the men murdered within fifty yards of her rooms, the place had a haunted feel in the pale afternoon light.
‘You’ll go back to Poland?’
‘I’ll get another job. Here in Ireland. I like it here. Pay is good.’
‘Given the economic crisis there are no jobs.’
‘I’ll find something.’
‘Mr Freel said he’s offered you a job as his personal assistant.’
‘I don’t want to work for a snake.’ She pulled a weak smile. ‘I might get rich, but I might also get bitten.’
‘You don’t like Mr Freel?’
‘He is interested only in himself and money. He looks at you as if you are the next course in a dinner.’
‘You think he’ll treat you like dessert?’
‘I think he thinks that I would be a good fuck.’ She immediately blushed. ‘Sorry, I should not say such things. Maybe he would be okay.’
‘And maybe you’re right,’ McEvoy said. ‘Do you think he could have killed Dr Koch?’
‘Yes. But they were good friends.’
‘You think he’d be happy to get rid of anybody or anything that got in his way?’
‘In
their
way, yes. He liked working for Dr Koch. He respected him. Not like some. Some people think that all old people are senile or past it; that they should let younger people do everything. Mr Freel does not think that way. He liked Dr Koch.’
‘And Dr Koch liked him?’
‘They were like father and son. They were very close. They both liked making money. They liked doing business.’
‘The files in Dr Koch’s study, have you ever looked through them?’ McEvoy asked trying to steer the conversation in a new direction.
‘No. They were his personal things.’
‘Not even once?’
She nodded her head slightly, conceding her guilt. ‘I once took a quick look but I could not understand them. They were all numbers and funny words. I left them alone after that.’
‘Dr Koch never asked you to file material or tidy it up?’
‘Never.’
‘Did anyone else ever take a look at them?’
‘Mr Freel looks at them all the time – sometimes with Dr Koch, sometimes on his own.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘I once saw Mark D’Arcy looking at them. I disturbed him while I was cleaning.’
‘And Mrs D’Arcy?’
‘No, but I know she was in the room on her own. She left things out of place.’
‘And Dr Koch’s son, Charles?’
‘No, but I think his son, Francis, used to look round the house. I once found him in Dr Koch’s bedroom looking under the bed.’
McEvoy nodded. Most of Koch’s family seemed to be searching for something. ‘What did he say?’
‘He told me he thought he had heard mice upstairs.’
‘But you didn’t think so?’
‘I don’t know what I thought. I don’t like him – another man who undresses women with his eyes. They are everywhere,’ she said distastefully.
McEvoy stared at his near empty mug, not wanting to meet her eyes, worried that he might do the same. ‘I need to ask you about an East European couple who called to the house to talk to Dr Koch. They said that they spoke to you as well?’
‘They say all kinds of lies,’ she said angrily. ‘I don’t know why they do this! Dr Koch was not an easy man, but he was not a war criminal.’
‘How do you know? He was an old man; what they said happened took place a long time ago.’
‘I do not work for war criminal,’ Roza stated firmly.
‘How do you know he wasn’t a war criminal?’
‘I would have been able to tell. Many of my family died in the war, some murdered by the Nazis, others by the Russians. I could not work for a war criminal,’ she said as if saying it would make it true. ‘Perhaps they killed him, they were crazy; always coming to the house.’
‘They were here on Saturday?’
‘I don’t know. I did not see them. Dr Koch always told them to go away. He never got angry with them, despite their lies. He just sent them away. If he were guilty he would have argued with them. Instead he was patient. He always listened to them and then asked them to leave. They are damaged people looking for… looking for people to blame for things that happened a long time ago. Dr Koch was German. That does not make him a war criminal. And despite Hitler there were some good Germans.’
‘What if they are right? What if he was a war criminal?’
‘You believe them?’ Roza said aghast.
‘I need to see their evidence before making a decision, but you have never come across anything to suggest he was a Nazi?’
‘No!’ Her hand was covering her nose and mouth, her eyes blazing concern, worried that her hands had been bloodied; that she’d been serving a man who might have had a hand in the killing of her family.
* * *
Twilight was already closing in, though it was only late afternoon. Rakes of red-orange leaves were blowing across the road. Charles Koch exited the small church, made his way down to the old wooden gate, framed by ancient yew trees, and slipped into the passenger seat of McEvoy’s car. Ahead of them was a dramatic view across lush, green farm fields framed by whitethorn hedges interspersed with ash and oak trees.
‘Thanks for meeting me,’ McEvoy said.
‘It’s no trouble. I’ve not been sleeping well since his death. I don’t know why I feel so drawn to the church. I haven’t been in years. I think I like the peace and quiet, the space to reflect and mull things over. It feels like a sanctuary.’
McEvoy nodded. He’d spent many hours in the silence of his local church after Maggie’s death. It was another-worldly space; somewhere to just sit and contemplate. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a believer.
‘I still can’t believe he’s gone,’ Koch continued. ‘He seemed so invincible. I half believed I would die before him.’
‘He did a lot with his life,’ McEvoy observed.
‘He made mine seem quite trite,’ Koch stated. ‘A run-of-the-mill chemist; hardly Carl Bosch.’
‘You led your own life. Nothing more you could have done.’
‘I could have tried harder.’ Koch paused. ‘But it wouldn’t have made any difference. Even if I’d emulated Bosch he wouldn’t have been happy. He wanted me to be better than he was, and yet he intimidated me and stifled my ambition.’
‘Sounds like you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this,’ McEvoy observed.
‘Years. I think we all know our shortcomings, Superintendent, and we know why they exist. We’re much worse at admitting them to ourselves. I’m a journeyman academic. I’ve had a few insignificant ideas, I’ve taught generations of mediocre students, and I’ll soon retire to obscurity.’