The Scholar
Dervla McTiernan’s debut novel, The Ruin, is a critically acclaimed international bestseller which was shortlisted in two categories for the 2018 Irish Book Awards, and was named on the Amazon US Best Book of the Year list 2018.
Dervla was born in County Cork, Ireland, to a family of seven. She studied corporate law at the National University of Ireland, Galway, and the Law Society of Ireland, and practised as a lawyer for twelve years. Following the global financial crisis, she moved with her family to Western Australia, where she now lives with her husband and two children. An avid fan of crime and detective novels from childhood, Dervla now writes full-time.
Also by Dervla McTiernan
The Ruin
Copyright
Published by Sphere
ISBN: 978-0-7515-6932-2
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © Dervla McTiernan 2019
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
Sphere
Little, Brown Book Group
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
www.littlebrown.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Contents
About the Author
Also by Dervla McTiernan
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Dublin, Ireland: February 2006
Prologue
Galway, Ireland: Friday 25 April 2014
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Saturday 26 April 2014
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Monday 28 April 2014
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Tuesday 29 April 2014
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Wednesday 30 April 2014
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Thursday 1 May 2014
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Friday 2 May 2014
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
For Mum, for all the words.
For Dad, for the songs.
Dublin, Ireland
February 2006
PROLOGUE
Carline was eating watermelon and pancakes in Laila Barrett’s kitchen when she heard about her father’s death. They were on a playdate – though at twelve Carline and Laila thought they were too old to have their social lives arranged for them. It was one of the few things they agreed on. Laila’s au pair Alice was watching the news on the television. A blonde journalist in a ski jacket and a hat spoke directly to the camera.
‘Eoghan Darcy, son of John Darcy and heir to the multinational pharmaceutical company Darcy Therapeutics, was killed yesterday in an avalanche. Mr Darcy was skiing with a small group of friends in the Glacier du Pisaillas area of the Val d’Isère resort. The glacier had been closed due to avalanche risk. There were no survivors.’
Carline swallowed and put her fork down. On the TV the journalist gestured towards a distant mountain that was all but obscured by falling snow. She was still speaking, but Carline couldn’t hear the words through a sudden roaring in her ears. Alice stood up, fumbled with the remote control, pressing buttons until the screen changed to show a soccer match, then pressing again until the screen finally went black. They sat for a moment in frozen silence. Carline closed her eyes. The roaring in her ears faded, and she could hear her own breathing, the distant sounds of traffic, the spatter of rain on the window panes.
‘My dad isn’t dead,’ she said. But when she opened her eyes and looked straight at Alice, Alice just looked afraid. Laila was staring at her, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, as if it were her father the journalist had been talking about. As if she didn’t have a mother and a father safe somewhere in the city, along with two older sisters, and a younger brother who was right at that moment playing in the other room. Laila didn’t even want Carline there. She’d told Carline that herself. Her mother had made her ask Carline over and she had been angry because she’d really wanted to ask Aoife.
‘I want to go home,’ Carline said. ‘Please can I go home now?’
Carline and Laila waited in the front room for Marie to pick her up. It seemed to take a long time.
‘I’m sorry about your dad,’ Laila said eventually.
Carline shook her head.
‘You can cry if you want to,’ Laila said.
Carline stared straight ahead and after a while Laila got up and left the room. Carline sat as still as she could on the couch, as if by staying quiet she could keep the dark thoughts at bay. Her father couldn’t be dead. Maybe he had been knocked down the mountain by the avalanche. Maybe he was lost somewhere and they hadn’t found him yet. Or he could be unconscious in a hospital and the doctors didn’t know who he was. Yet one thought forced its way into her head, crowding everything else out. They wouldn’t have said it on the television if it wasn’t true, would they? Carline leaned forward and pushed the palms of her hands into her eyes. She pushed hard, but the tears came anyway.
Marie got to the house at six o’clock. She said it was traffic. Traffic was terrible. She gave Carline a long hug and kept her arm about her all the way to the car and when they got back to the house, she made them both tea. Then they sat together at the big table in the kitchen.
‘I’m so sorry that you had to find out that way. From the news,’ Marie said. ‘I didn’t know, you see. No one called me to tell me.’
Carline looked at her plate. ‘Do you think he’s really dead?’ she asked. ‘Not just missing?’
Marie put her hand on Carline’s and squeezed. And then she told Carline that there was no doubt. That her father had been carrying a geolocator, and his body had been found. The avalanche was just too big. Once it started none of them had a chance, but it would have been very quick, and her father wouldn’t have suffered.<
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Carline thought about what her father must have felt when he saw the tsunami of snow barrelling towards him, felt its brutal weight bearing him down, burying him. And then the realisation that he was under the snow, the panic as he tried to claw his way out. The cold, the snow in his mouth and then his lungs. Suddenly her own breathing felt constricted. She opened her mouth, took a single gasping breath, then another. Tears burned in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her body and found that she was rocking herself and crying, feeling like she might never be able to stop. Marie came around the table and hugged her hard, and they sat together like that until her tears ran dry.
That night Carline’s sleep was broken. The shadows in her bedroom were unfriendly. It was cold and she needed her quilt for warmth but the weight of it troubled her. For much of the night she lay, dry eyed and staring at the ceiling, thinking about her dad. He loved to ski. He loved to drive fast cars and he loved to travel. Work hard, play hard. That’s what he said when he ruffled her hair as he left for another trip, left her with Marie or the au pair before Marie or the one before that. Why couldn’t he just have stayed home? All night long Carline thought about what she could have done to prevent him from leaving, and it was only when the sun came up that she realised how stupid she had been. All through the night she had thought about her father and never once about what would happen next. But she should have. She should have been thinking about that because she was only twelve, and that meant she had to live with someone until she grew up. And there weren’t very many options.
She needed to do something before it was too late. She got up and went to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth extra carefully, tied her hair neatly in a French plait, and dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a bright blue jumper that her father had once said brought out her eyes. Then she found her best coat and boots, put them on, and let herself quietly out of the back door.
Once, Carline had watched a movie about a girl whose parents had decided to divorce. The girl loved her parents and was determined to stop them. She did all sorts of crazy things to try to keep them together, to make them realise that they still loved each other. In the end they didn’t get back together but they did become friends again and the girl was sad but accepting. Nothing about the scenario had been familiar to Carline. For starters, her parents had never lived together. Carline had always lived with her father in Dublin, and her mother, Evangeline, had always lived in Monaco. Carline saw Evangeline only twice a year, when they would have afternoon tea in Evangeline’s rented suite at the Shelbourne hotel. Visits always started with a stiff hug and a kiss on the cheek. Afternoon tea would always come with a bottle of champagne. Evangeline would ask Carline questions, but her eyes would be on Carline’s father. And then the bottle of champagne would be gone and maybe another one would follow, or there would be too many trips to the bathroom and the atmosphere in the room would become more dangerous. Then there would be more hugs, and kisses that were too wet, and after that the anger would come with shouting and horrible, horrible words. Carline had never for a moment wanted her parents to live together. She’d felt nothing but relief each time her father stood, took her hand, and told her it was time to go.
The train from Blackrock to Dalkey took exactly fourteen minutes. Carline usually liked taking the Dart. She liked to look at the people, and at the sea, even when it was a grey day and the sea looked sulky and dangerous. But that day she could not look at the water, because the waves made her think of a wall of snow bearing down, and she could not look at the people because she felt as if she were wide open, and they could see her all the way through. So she looked down at her feet, and told herself not to think about anything at all.
She got off the train in Dalkey and walked straight out towards the Vico Road. Her grandfather lived in a house on the top of a cliff overlooking the ocean. She’d never been in the house, but she knew where it was. She followed the Ardeevin Road. It was very pretty. The road was narrow, but it had a footpath that she could walk on and there were nice houses and lots of trees. It was good to have a few minutes to think, to try to plan what she might say. Most important of all, she knew, was that she mustn’t cry. Her grandfather wouldn’t like it. The road climbed as it curved, bringing her higher and higher, and when she was halfway there the view opened out and she could see a vast expanse of ocean spread out far beneath her. From her position high on the cliff road the water was different. At this distance the waves were muted, the water seemed still, and she felt safe.
Her grandfather’s house was hidden behind high, cut-stone walls and protected by ornate wrought-iron gates. There was an intercom button on the right-hand gate post and Carline pressed the button firmly and waited. After a moment there was an answering buzz and a woman’s voice said, ‘Yes?’
‘I’m Carline Darcy.’ Carline made her voice as strong as she could. ‘I’d like to speak to my grandfather.’
There was an uncomfortably long pause, then a buzz and the gate swung open. Carline walked through and down the drive towards the house. A woman opened the door. She had a nice face. She had grey hair, tied back, and was a bit thin. For a moment Carline wondered if this was the grandmother she had never met, and then she dismissed the idea. The woman looked nervous, perhaps, but not hostile.
‘Could I see him, please?’ Carline said, and this time her voice caught a little. She cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders.
‘Your grandfather isn’t here at the moment. Is he expecting you?’
Carline shook her head, and the woman pressed her lips together.
‘I’ll call him,’ she said. ‘I’ll let him know you’re here.’
Carline waited in the dining room for quite a long time. The room was at the front of the house so there was no view of the sea. The windows looked out instead on a small courtyard garden, its shrubs and ornamental trees a little ragged in the winter sunshine. There were twelve chairs around the long dining table, and an empty fireplace. The heating was turned off and it was cold, so Carline kept her coat on and put her hands in her pockets. She took them out again and sat up straighter when she heard her grandfather’s car pull up, then his voice in the hall. He came in after a few minutes, leaving the door open behind him. He sat down in the chair opposite her and regarded her without warmth or affection. They had met only a handful of times, always at her father’s insistence. Carline’s grandmother had refused those meetings, her grandfather had attended only under duress. She wished that he didn’t look so much like her father.
‘Well?’ he said.
Carline opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. His eyes were on her. After a minute he let out a sigh and looked at his watch.
‘I would like not to live with my mother, please,’ Carline said, and if her voice was scratchy there were no tears at least. She clenched her fists under the table. ‘I would like very much to live in my own house with Marie, or with another au pair if Marie has to go home.’
‘I see,’ said her grandfather. ‘And why don’t you want to live with your mother?’
Carline closed her eyes. She had to, to get the words out. ‘She doesn’t like me,’ she said, then shook her head. That wasn’t it. It was true, but it wasn’t what she had come here to say. She swallowed, forced herself to speak again. ‘I’m afraid of her.’
Carline’s grandfather said nothing. Carline heard the front door open, heard Marie’s voice, loud and worried. Her eyes felt as heavy as bricks as she forced herself to raise them up and meet her grandfather’s cold gaze. His eyes were paler than her father’s, pale blue ice chips that looked right through her.
‘Very well,’ he said.
Marie brought Carline home. They stopped along the way to buy takeout for lunch. Carline waited in the car. She felt so strange, sort of shaky and achy and she wanted to cry again but to laugh as well. They brought their lunch home and ate it in the kitchen with the television on and then Carline got sick in the bathroom. Three days later they went to her father’s funeral
.
And after the funeral her mother came for her.
Galway, Ireland
Friday 25 April 2014
CHAPTER ONE
Carrie O’Halloran’s phone stayed stubbornly silent. She’d expected a call from Ciarán so the girls could say goodnight. When that hadn’t happened, she’d held out for a post-bedtime update. Nine o’clock came and went and her phone screen remained dark. She could have called him, she knew that, but she didn’t have the energy for another one of those conversations. Instead she put her phone in the drawer and turned again to the mound of paper on her desk.
The case she was working on needed all her attention. It should have been a slam dunk – Rob Henderson had been caught red-handed – but the case showed distressing signs of slipping out of her control. She couldn’t allow that to happen. Carrie had interviewed Lucy Henderson but had failed to make a connection. Now she was reviewing the statements of colleagues and extended family members, looking for the lever she could use to open Lucy up to the fact that her husband was a murderous bastard.
An hour passed before Carrie put her pen down and sat back from her desk. She took her phone from the drawer and woke the screen. No messages, no missed calls. Damnit. She didn’t want to go home. The girls would be asleep, the kitchen a tip, and Ciarán pissed off and sulking. It would be easier to just go down to the basement, find an empty cell, and sleep there. She’d have to be back by six the next day anyway if she was going to finish her Henderson prep on time.
Carrie shut down her computer, stood, and took her jacket from the back of her chair. She looked around. There were plenty of occupied desks, but nobody else in the room had started their shift at seven that morning. Fuck’s sake. It would be one thing if it was a one-off, but it had been like this for months. When she’d made sergeant she’d been thrilled at the thought of managing her own time. She would report to Murphy, yes, but looked forward to the broad autonomy sergeants had to run their own cases and to manage the gardaí reporting to them. The reality was nowadays she had less control than ever. As a uniformed garda she’d been able to go in, work her shift, and go home. There was always someone to take her place. She’d worked overtime, but only as needed, and in this day and age of budget cuts, as needed was a rare thing. Now she was one of only three sergeants working out of Mill Street Garda Station, and she never went home because if she did the work would never get done.