Authors: Rob Kitchin
‘So he liked to keep a tight rein on power?’
Kinneally shrugged. ‘You could say that.’
‘So who will take over now then? His son and daughter?’
‘I’ve no idea. He never revealed to me, and I’m sure to nobody
else either, what he intended for the company once he died.’
‘He didn’t tell anyone? Could he do that? Surely there had to be a contingency plan in place?’
‘I did try to broach the subject with him several times, but he was adamant. He just said it’s all in his will. I imagine that the majority shareholding will pass on to either Marion or Charles, or to one of his grandchildren. Mark D’Arcy is a rising star in the company.’
‘And yourself?’
‘I’m happy enough to continue as CEO. I’m well paid and I’ll be retiring in a few years’ time in any case.’
‘So you’ve no idea who has most to benefit from Dr Koch’s death?’
‘You think he was killed for his wealth; for control of the company?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ McEvoy mumbled neutrally. ‘At the moment, all I know is that Dr Koch is dead and his house has been searched. Somebody was looking for something. So far I have no motive and no suspect. I’m trawling for possible leads,’ he said, keeping the information about the hanging rope to himself.
‘Well, I’d start with the housekeeper, if I were you,’ Kinneally offered. ‘She strikes me as a bit of a gold-digger.’
‘Roza?’ McEvoy said sceptically.
‘Don’t judge a book by its cover, Superintendent. She acts like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but she’s not as angelic as she looks. My guess is she’s been angling for a slice of the pie for taking good care of him.’
‘You think she’s been putting on an act to secure a big payoff?’
‘Wouldn’t you? She’s looking after one of the richest men in
Ireland
. Even if she only got a tiny proportion of his wealth it would set her up nicely. Perhaps she got tired of waiting?’
McEvoy let the statement hang in the air for a moment, a doubtful look on his face. ‘She could search the house when he was out; why do it in the middle of the night?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Kinneally shrugged. ‘I was just telling you where I would start, that’s all.’
‘Just for the record, where were you on Saturday night?’ McEvoy asked, turning the tables on Kinneally, tired of his bitter answers.
‘Me?’ Kinneally replied indignantly.
McEvoy nodded.
‘I… I was in my apartment in
Dublin
.’
‘And can anybody confirm that?’
‘Am I a suspect, Superintendent?’
‘Everybody’s a suspect at this stage until we can eliminate them from our inquiries.’
‘Jesus! Well if you must know I was there by myself. My wife was in our house in Kells. I was… we’re… we’re separating,’ Kinneally said, flushing with embarrassment.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ McEvoy said disingenuously.
‘Not as sorry as me, she’s taking me to the cleaners,’ Kinneally said rising, indicating that he’d had enough of the questions. ‘I really need to be getting on, Superintendent. I need to head in to work; the place will no doubt be in turmoil.’
McEvoy nodded his head, standing. ‘Perhaps I could have a word with Dr Koch’s son before I leave?’
‘If you can find him,’ Kinneally said, opening the front door for McEvoy. ‘He’ll no doubt be down the fields somewhere. You’d be better off arranging to meet him later; God knows how long he’ll be. I’ll leave a note for him if you like.’
‘Thanks.’ McEvoy held out a business card. ‘If you think of anything useful, then please get in touch.’
‘I will, I will,’ Kinneally said, shutting over the door.
McEvoy turned and shielded his eyes from the low angled sun. A shotgun fired in the distance and a horse brayed loudly.
* * *
The stables appeared deserted except for four horses staring out over their half doors. They watched McEvoy’s progress impassively as he glanced round the small yard.
Marion D’Arcy was clearly not short of money despite the tight pockets of her father. These weren’t hobby horses, but thoroughbreds. Through the far side of the yard he could see three more horses in a lush field accompanied by a young girl with tied-back, blonde hair, wearing dirty cream jodhpurs and a green wax jacket.
He heard the trotting horse before he saw it. A chestnut brown mare wheeled into the yard, its tail swishing, its neck covered in sweat, nostrils flaring for air. On its back sat a man in his late fifties, wearing a plain black riding hat, dark blue jacket over faded jeans, and black boots. He was the image of Albert Koch; the same gaunt face and thin frame. He pulled the mare to a halt and swung his right leg over her back, dropping to the ground.
‘You’re either a guard or a journalist,’ Charles Koch stated flatly, tugging at the horse’s saddle.
‘Guard,’ McEvoy replied. ‘Detective Superintendent Colm McEvoy. I’m in charge of the investigation of your father’s death.’
Koch said nothing, continuing to work on the saddle.
‘I’m trying to get a picture of your father and to work out why someone might have killed him.’
‘I was led to believe that he was killed by a thief,’ Koch stated flatly.
‘We think there might be more to it than that.’
‘You do? Why?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t say more than that just now,’ McEvoy said weakly. ‘You’re a chemist, like your father?’
‘Not quite like my father. I’m a very ordinary chemist at a small, Irish university. My father was a brilliant chemist, but he chose the path of business.’
‘You weren’t interested in following your father’s footsteps?’
‘I was never presented with the opportunity. It was expected that I would become a great chemist; follow the path that he would have liked to have trodden. My father might have licensed and sold my discoveries, should I have had any, but I was to walk the hallowed halls of academia.’
‘But that’s not what you wanted?’
‘That’s exactly what I wanted, but the truth is I’m no Carl Bosch. I do solid work, but I was never destined to win a Nobel Prize. The only way I would be appointed to the faculty at one of the major universities was if my father offered them an enormous donation or an endowed chair. And to be honest, even if he had, I would have preferred to stay in
Galway
. I would have felt like a fraud.’
‘And what now? You’ll take over from your father? Run Ostara Industries?’
‘I doubt it.’ Koch slid the saddle from the horse’s back, steam rising from the dampness underneath, and draped it over a stable door. ‘I imagine that it’ll be passed over to the Board of Directors or something. I’ve no idea how these things work.’
‘But surely ownership passes to you and your sister?’
‘We’ll see, but I’m not holding my breath. My father had his own way of doing things.’
‘But who else would he pass it on to?’
‘That’s a good question. I don’t know. Perhaps we will inherit, but even if we do, I doubt we’ll be in charge of the business. He’ll have wanted someone who knows what they’re doing in order to keep his legacy going.’
‘James Kinneally?’
‘Perhaps. I don’t know. I’m happy doing what I’m doing. I’m not rich, but I’m not poor either. Whatever happens, I’ve no plans to change anything.’ Koch started to lead the horse towards McEvoy, who was forced to step backwards. ‘I’ll be retiring in a couple of…’
‘Ah, shit!’ McEvoy spat, interrupting Koch. He stared down to where his right foot and the hem of his suit sat square in a fresh pile of horse dung.
‘It’ll wash off, Superintendent; occupational hazard of hanging around stables.’ Koch led the horse into a stall and started to remove the bridle.
McEvoy eased his foot free and squelched to the stable door, trying to shake the dung free. It was his best suit, picked out with his daughter at the end of the Raven case.
‘And what about your sister, will she be happy at that?’
‘
Marion
? She’ll be livid. She’s always resented being frozen out of things.’
‘Is that why they argued?’
‘Amongst other things.
Marion
argues about everything. It’s in her nature. She always thinks that she knows best.’ Koch hung the bridle on the door and started to rub down the horse with a handful of straw.
‘Is that why your father blocked her working for Ostara? She was too combative?’
‘I’ve no idea, Superintendent. And I can’t see what it’s got to do with my father’s death either.
Marion
is a lot of things, but murder isn’t her style. Not unless she got a cast-iron guarantee that we inherit Ostara, with her at the helm.’
‘And you don’t think she has?’
‘I seriously doubt it. My father was fit and well. The only documents he signed are ones that made him more money.’ He dropped the straw on the ground and patted the horse on the neck.
‘But if you do inherit, that would give her a lot of say in things.’
‘She didn’t kill him, Superintendent. Why risk it? He was an old man. She’d inherit in time in any case.’
McEvoy let the statement hang in the air. As reasons for murder went, financial power was a pretty potent force. ‘Any ideas as to what the killer might have been searching for?’ he asked eventually.
‘No. My father was surrounded by rumours. When I was a child, he’d started his business using stolen Nazi gold and he still had some hidden in the house for emergencies. Or it was looted Jewish treasures, or money stored in mattresses, or old American bonds. My father was German, he arrived in
Ireland
after the war and started a successful business. He attracted wild speculation.’
‘But there was no truth in the rumours?’
‘My father arrived in 1948 with a small cardboard suitcase to join his brother. The case could barely carry his few clothes let alone gold bars. He worked extremely hard for four years to get enough money together to buy a failing fertilizer plant and to start Ostara. He was shrewd, clever and determined to succeed. He didn’t need gold bars or treasure.’
‘How about enemies? Can you think of anybody—’ McEvoy was interrupted by the horse braying at his mobile phone’s ringtone. He held up a hand in apology and backed away from the stall. ‘McEvoy.’
‘It’s John Joyce. The gossip in the area is that the Lithuanian found dead in Trim worked on Koch’s farm.’
‘What?’
‘I said—’
‘I heard what you said. Have you spoken to Jim Whelan?’
‘Yeah, he’s on his way up.’
‘And did Koch employ any Lithuanians?’
‘Occasionally the farm manager took a couple on for seasonal work, though he says there are none working for him right now. A few work in the factory in Athboy and some others over in Kells.’
‘Okay, I’ll be back shortly.’ McEvoy ended the call and headed back to where Koch was pulling the saddle from the stable door. ‘Look, thanks for your time, I’ve got to head off. I’m very sorry about your father’s death. I’ll be in contact over the next few days as we work on the case.’