Murder in Ballyhasset (10 page)

'Unless she saw something she wasn't meant to see,' said Libby.

On Monday afternoon, Libby arrived at the offices of Cork County Council, located on the Carrigohane Road, after she ate a hasty lunch. After asking a ground floor receptionist for directions, she took the lift to Mr Doody's office on the second floor.

His private secretary looked up from her typewriter as Libby entered. Libby explained she had an appointment, and the young girl showed her into a waiting area.

From the bay window, Libby could see cars humming by on the street below her. She scrutinised the many images hanging on the walls, noting several pictures of a woman wearing a cap and gown and holding a degree certificate. It was Mick's dead wife Kathleen, she saw. Kathleen's narrow pretty face held a triumphant expression. She seemed very pleased with her degree, brandishing it up close to her chest.

Mick Doody came out to greet her. After showing her into his private office, he asked her to sit down opposite him.

'Has the council sold part of Seapoint Promenade?' Libby asked, as she faced him across his enormous desk.

'We haven't yet,' he replied, in a confident voice, 'but we will.'

'You don't have to sell that site,' said Libby, with a scowl. 'Surely you can find somewhere else to build houses. Look at all the land around Ballyhasset.' She leaned forward and glared at Mr Doody. 'It's not like we're in the heart of Dublin. I can understand why they build apartments. Land is scarce up there and there's a huge population. We've only got three thousand people down here in Ballyhasset, for crying out loud.'

He gazed at her in surprise. 'You have a point, I suppose. I hear some of the bar owners are angry about this.'

'They don't want apartments spoiling the view,' said Libby, in a heated voice. 'Especially the bars on Seapoint Avenue, they're the ones who fear this development the most.'

Mick scratched his chin. 'I suppose I can understand their point... maybe.'

'Yeah, Nuala Sullivan's got a lot of signatures against it. She wants to get a few more.'

'No doubt I'll be seeing that list shortly.' Mick Doody shrugged. 'Never thought people would get so heated about such a small promenade.' He looked at her thoughtfully, with a faint grin.

'We depend on our town's beauty to attract visitors, you know,' added Libby.

His face brightened. 'That's right. Ballyhasset is the most beautiful town in Ireland.'

Libby smiled. 'You can understand why the hotel owners don't want to lose that fantastic view.'

'We won the Tidy Towns competition two years on the trot,' he said with a grin. 'We beat Clonakilty twice.'

She tapped the desk lightly with her finger for emphasis. 'That just proves my point.'

The planning officer hesitated. 'You know we can change our mind yet. We may have to, I suppose.'

'I think you should.'

'Do you want to see the plans anyway?' he asked. 'The builder's architect sent them into us.'

Libby said without enthusiasm, 'If you have them.'

He rummaged through the cabinets and brought out a folded plan of the proposed development. He spread the drawings on the table in front of Libby. She noted there were new shops to go beside the new apartments.

'This is what it will be like when it's finished,' Mr Doody said, pointing to the images.

She grimaced, thinking the buildings looked horrendous. 'Very modern.'

The planning officer eagerly agreed with her. 'I thought so. It's the way forward for our town - more shops.'

'Don't you think we've got enough shops in Ballyhasset?' Libby asked.

'These are designer shops,' he answered, glancing at her sceptical expression. 'Still not convinced?'

'Not at all,' she said.

He grinned. 'Don't worry, they're just ideas, nothing has been set in stone.'

'I hope so,' she said.

He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. 'Now to more urgent matters. How are you getting on with your investigation of Kathleen's murder?'

Libby said awkwardly, 'I've reached a dead end. Anyone could have broken into the hospital. But why did they kill her? Nothing was stolen, and she wasn't raped.'

Mick flinched at her bald statement, and she felt a flicker of remorse for her crassness. Racking her brain for ideas she asked, 'Did Kathleen mention any of the male doctors to you, the ones she worked with?'

He hesitated. 'Yeah, she mentioned Shane Collins, he worked with her. She met him a few times in the pub on Friday nights.'

'Without you?' she asked.

'Yes, I didn't bother going. I knew what they were at.'

Libby raised her eyebrows. 'What was that?'

Mick's voice was quiet. 'She bought drugs off him. Cocaine.'

Libby's eyes flashed in annoyance. 'You might have mentioned this before. I've been going around in circles.' She stopped for an instant. 'At least I can focus on Shane now.'

Mick responded dully. 'Sorry, I was hoping I could keep that quiet, protect her reputation.'

'I don't mean to be cruel, but she's dead, you can't harm her now. You want to find her killer, don't you?'

'Of course I do,' he replied. 'That's why I hired you.'

'Dr Shane Collins slept with Kathleen,' continued Libby. 'I asked you about this before. Shane admitted to us that they had a one-night stand.'

Mick snorted. 'Well, so what? Obviously, she didn't consider the affair important. She never mentioned it to me.'

'So you weren't jealous?'

Mick glared at Libby. 'I didn't know about this affair, how could I be jealous? I only know she bought drugs from him.' He got off the chair, went to his office door and opened it.

'I want you to go now, Ms Hargrove, I'm busy.'

She stood up, but remained where she was. 'Are the police hounding you still?'

'No, they've stopped following me. They did it for a week. Two policemen in plain clothes, driving a silver car, followed me everywhere I went, for a while.'

'Did you ever manage to find the boarding pass for that flight on Tuesday May the 23rd?' Libby asked. 'The one you lost.'

'I did. It's dated for the Tuesday, which means I was still on the plane at two in the morning when Kathleen died. And I found a taxi receipt for that Tuesday morning.' Mr Doody gazed at her in triumph. 'I handed them into the police.'

'That's great news for you. I always knew you never killed her.' Libby smiled and then left his office, relieved to hear that the police had stopped hounding him.

After all, he was still her client and he always appeared to have been genuinely fond of his wife. She felt responsible for his welfare, and hoped to clear his name. He had suffered enough in losing his wife without being blamed in the wrong for her death as well.

Libby attended Pamela's funeral in St Jude's Church in Ballyhasset. The church stood on a short road just off High Street. Pamela's family originally had planned a small private service. However, in the days before the funeral, Mrs Kelly had received many phone calls and cards of condolence. Pamela had many friends and colleagues who insisted on saying their last goodbyes in a church.

Libby waited with Dawn and Gina outside the front door of the church. The rain lashed down on them while they stood getting drenched, having foolishly forgotten their umbrellas.

Arriving in the black funeral car were Pamela's parents. Conor got out of the car slowly after them, with an awkward gait, as if he was drunk or sedated. He was dressed in an ill-fitting black suit whose trouser legs were too short and showed his white socks. His eyes were bloodshot, Libby noticed, as he came over to thank her for coming.

Conor whispered to Libby, 'Pamela's parents have taken it hard. You can imagine how upset they are today. No parent wants to bury their child. It's not the natural order of things.'

Nodding, Libby gazed at Pamela's father for the first time. He was a small grey-haired man with a sallow complexion and a lined face, who stood with a tense expression beside Pamela's mother. She looked pale and drawn.

'I feel dizzy,' Conor said in a quiet voice. 'I hope I don't faint during the service and make a show of myself.'

'You'll be fine once the Mass starts, I'm sure,' Libby replied, trying to reassure him. 'It won't last too long, hopefully.'

After an interval, they entered the chapel, glad to be out of the rain, which had shown no sign of stopping. The large bright church contained an altar full of vivid red gladioli in silver vases. Beside the altar stood an impressive white marble pulpit. Brendan walked up to the front pew of the church with Pamela's mother, father, and Conor, near the closed coffin, which stood in the central aisle. The casket was made of dark wood with a simple decoration of roses. Behind them, the rest of the mourners filled up the pine benches. Some of the local people joined them.

A choir of three women sang a hymn softly, their voices emerging from the balcony above and behind the congregation. As the priest appeared, their voices rose in a beautiful rendition of ‘The Lord is My Shepherd’.

Speaking in a calm soothing voice, the priest began the funeral service. Libby stood at the back of the church with Dawn, the nurse Gina and some of the other hospital staff. She buttoned up her light summer jacket as she felt a sharp breeze coming from the main entrance, where the doors were still open.

Brendan Sullivan went up to the pulpit to read the First Reading. He picked a piece from the Book of Isaiah. Libby whispered to Gina, 'Why have they chosen him to read? He's not family. He's not even a close friend of Pamela.'

Gina turned her head slightly to face Libby. She kept her voice low. 'Brendan pleaded with Mrs Kelly to let him do the reading. I wanted to, but she refused to let me. Mrs Kelly likes him a lot because he's on the church committee.'

Brendan's voice was slow and soothing. The short extract emphasised the importance of people comforting each other after death. Next, Pamela's mother read out the short Responsorial prayers in a loud nervous voice. She was followed by Conor. He quietly read out the Second Reading. It was a short piece from the Book of Revelations about Christ giving up his life so that we gain eternal life after death. Then the priest read out the Gospel.

After this, Pamela's father ascended the pulpit. He peered nervously at the congregation. He coughed and cleared his throat. He glanced down at the words he had written and began giving a speech.

'Pamela was the ideal daughter, full of energy and ideas, kind and caring. She's been like that ever since she was born...'

Mr Kelly's voice broke suddenly, and he stopped and started weeping. He left his piece of paper behind him and ran down from the altar, running out the side door of the chapel. Brendan came to the rescue and finished reading out the speech Mr Kelly had written. He ended with the words, 'Confronted with the deep mystery of why our lovely Pamela died, human words are inadequate. When we die, life is changed not ended. She is at peace now in heaven.'

The words had a soothing effect on Libby while she pictured Pamela gazing calmly down on them during all of this, her troubles finally over.

At the end of the Mass, the choir sang a Latin hymn. Six men carried the coffin down the aisle and out into the funeral car. The black limousine brought the coffin to Ballyhasset Cemetery for burial.

Libby walked for ten minutes with the other mourners past many graves to get to the family plot at the back of the cemetery. She observed Conor weeping silently. Brendan had his arm around Conor's shoulder. The crowd arrived at Pamela's family plot at last and stood huddled together with belted raincoats and wide black umbrellas as the rain pelted down. A cold northerly wind blew strong gusts at them as the priest recited a short graveside blessing.

Pamela's friends and relatives all listened as Mrs Kelly read out the final prayer. Then the men helped to lower the coffin down into the dark hole the gravediggers had dug. Conor threw in a piece of earth on top of the coffin. The rain pelted it with droplets. The mourners walked slowly away from the grave in twos and threes.

Libby said goodbye to Dawn and walked back to her own house, which was a short distance down the street. She felt drained, as she always did after funerals. However, this death was particularly poignant and gave her a lump in the chest. It was the death of a young woman whose life had been brutally cut short. Pamela should have had the chance to get married, have children and grow old like everyone else.

***

Libby spoke to Conor in the Green Lemon on the following evening. He sat on the sofa, slumped over his drink, looking dishevelled. His shirt was open at the neck, and his tie was crooked. He blinked at Libby and gave a small belch.

'How many drinks had you had?' Libby's voice was sharp.

'Not enough. I just need a few more. Pamela was my best friend. I should have minded her better.'

Libby's voice was soft. 'You did your best. Pamela wouldn't have wanted to see you like this, so upset.'

'I know. She always wanted me to be happy.' His eyes filled up.

'You should have a long rest,' said Libby. 'Things will seem better tomorrow.'

'Did you find out any more about Kathleen's death?' asked Conor, after an interval of silence. His voice sounded slurred.

'It's still a mystery why someone smothered her,' confessed Libby. 'Is there anything you've forgotten to tell me?'

Conor leaned forward towards Libby, and nearly toppled over. 'Kathleen's husband, Mick, had an affair behind her back, Pamela told me.'

'Did she give the name of the woman involved?'

'Ruth Breslin, she's a medical intern in St Gabriel's. Long blonde hair, great figure she has.'

Libby's eyebrows rose. How careless Mick was to have an affair right under his wife's nose. 'Thanks for that, Conor. I'll talk to her.'

'Pamela was always so kind.' His mouth turned downwards and his lips trembled.

Libby hoped he wouldn't start crying. 'How are you getting home?'

'I'm walking.' He grinned at her stupidly.

'That's all right, so.' She rose from her seat. 'As long as you're not taking your car. Have you got anyone with you tonight?' He shouldn't be alone in this state, she thought.

'Brendan is calling over to my house later,' said Conor slowly.

She gazed at him with concern. 'Go to bed early and sleep off the booze.'

'I will,' he said sleepily, as he drained the last of his pint.