The Scholar Page 4

  But Emma being at the lab so late was nothing new. She’d always worked long hours, always been dedicated to her job, and their move to Galway the year before had done nothing to change that. They’d moved for Emma’s job. She’d been headhunted by John Darcy himself. He was familiar with her work – she was a research scientist, a designer specialising in cutting-edge biotechnology – and he’d argued that only Darcy Therapeutics could offer her the environment she needed to make the kind of breakthrough she was capable of. Other pharma companies were either too small to carry the cost, or so big that corporate processes would slow her down.

  Emma had wanted it badly, had been ecstatic when Cormac said he would support her, move with her, but he’d always wondered how much of her enthusiasm was rooted in a wish to get away from Dublin, to get away from everything that had happened there. Cormac had played down to Emma the degree to which he’d been sidelined in Mill Street over the past year. He hadn’t wanted her to worry, hadn’t wanted to disturb the stability they’d managed to establish in Galway. And now here she was, smack in the middle of another trauma. If they were lucky this case would pass over quickly, at least as far as Emma was concerned. He found himself hoping that the dead girl wasn’t Carline Darcy, that she was instead a stranger with no connection to Emma’s lab. Emma could give her statement about finding the body and that would be the end of her involvement.

  Cormac had just about decided not to wake her, to continue on into the station, when his phone rang. Fisher’s name flashed up on the screen, and Cormac answered it.

  ‘It’s Darcy all right,’ Fisher said. ‘The pathologist had a quick look at her, then they turned her, checked her pockets. No phone, no wallet, but she had an ID tucked deep into her back pocket. Some sort of security swipe with her photo and her name. The killer must have missed it. It’s a small card.’

  Christ. He’d have to call Murphy at home.

  ‘Is there an address?’ Cormac asked.

  ‘Not on the ID,’ Fisher said. ‘But I ran a search. She lived at 1 Harbour View, Dock Road, Galway.’

  Dock Road was city centre, a few minutes’ drive from the station. Cormac pulled away from the kerb and headed that way. He called Murphy on his way. Cormac didn’t like him, was all but convinced that Murphy was corrupt. There had been hints, suggestions that Murphy might be dirty when Cormac had first arrived at the station, but in the year since Cormac hadn’t seen him put a foot wrong. He was political, sure, and he kept Cormac on way too tight a leash, but he seemed to run a clean station.

  Murphy was at home when Cormac rang, had obviously been asleep, and asked only a few questions. He said nothing about Cormac being on the case. His only concern was notifying the Darcy family, before the media started circling and Twitter made the notification for them.

  ‘I’m heading to the girl’s apartment now, sir,’ Cormac said. ‘Possibly there’s someone there who’ll be able to identify her body, though her face was badly disfigured. I don’t know if she had any distinguishing marks. We might have to wait on dental records, possibly even DNA.’

  ‘Do what you can as quickly as possible,’ Murphy said. ‘If it has to be DNA it will be fast-tracked. I want a call from you the moment you have confirmation.’ Murphy hung up without another word, and Cormac drove on.

  It was nearly one a.m. but it might as well have been early morning; any tiredness had been burned off by the adrenaline rush of having a live case again. He dialled Fisher’s number, waited for him to answer.

  ‘I want you back at the station,’ Cormac said. ‘Get the case room set up. We’re not likely to get much done tonight, but I want it ready to go for the morning. Grab a few bodies if you need help. I’m going to the address now, to see if there’s someone there who can confirm the ID so we can notify the family.’

  ‘Yeah, no problem. On the way.’

  ‘And Fisher? See if you can track down whoever’s been working with Carrie O’Halloran on the Henderson case. I’m taking it over and I want a briefing on that too, first thing.’

  Cormac got off the call quickly, focused on what he might find at Carline’s home. He was hoping for at least one roommate. If she’d lived alone he would need her family’s permission to enter the property. A roommate would have information, could consent to him looking around, maybe picking up a toothbrush or hairbrush for DNA. If he was exceptionally lucky, said roommate would be able to describe a birthmark or tattoo that could identify the body. Murphy wasn’t likely to wait on DNA before getting the news out to John Darcy.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Cormac pulled up outside the apartment block. Harbour View. He didn’t recall seeing the structure before, had a vague memory that 1950s terraces had once occupied the space to the right of the Dockgate building. They were gone now, replaced by an ultramodern apartment building, all oversized glass windows and wood-look composite panelling. Cormac parked directly outside, noting the clearway sign that wouldn’t be in force for another few hours. There were two young fellas smoking outside. They looked up at his approach but didn’t break from their conversation, which seemed to involve a considered, if drunken, discussion about whether the taller of them should try his luck with some girl named Rebecca, or settle for Ailbhe, who was more of a sure thing. The main door to the apartment building, an impressive-looking creation that stood a good four feet higher than Cormac’s own six feet three inches, had been wedged open with a hurley; the smokers, probably, holding the door open so they could return to the ever fortunate Ailbhe.

  Cormac entered the hall and went straight to the lift. The button for each floor had a little brass plaque off to the side, listing the apartment numbers. Apartment 1 was the only apartment listed for the fourth floor. He pressed the button, and the lift started its ascent. Cormac ran through possible approaches to the conversation ahead as the lift climbed. Notifying family members and close friends of the death of loved ones was never easy, but he had become removed from the process as the years had gone by. More than once he had watched a family member fall into believable paroxysms of grief, only to find some days later that the grieving sister, or brother, or parent was the one who had wielded the axe. Cormac understood the importance of holding on to his humanity in this job that could so easily burn it out of you, but he approached notifications now with his compassion tightly zipped and antennae raised.

  The apartment door was directly opposite the lift. Cormac knocked, and waited, then knocked again. After a delay of some minutes, the door was opened by one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. She looked like someone who had just come in from an evening out – her face was still made up and she was wearing fitted jeans with a black silk shirt. She didn’t look Irish – maybe Italian, South-American? Her skin was light brown, her hair very dark. When she spoke it was with a south county Dublin, private school accent.

  ‘What?’ she said. As she took Cormac in her initial irritation gave way to interest. ‘Oh. I thought you were those guys from downstairs. They’re having another party.’

  ‘Detective Inspector Cormac Reilly,’ said Cormac, holding out his ID and giving the girl time to look it over before he put it back in his pocket. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news.’ He paused to give her a moment to take in his presence and what it might mean. ‘May I come in?’

  She hesitated, then stepped back, opening the door wide and leading him into an unexpectedly large open-plan space, with floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the harbour. It was still dark, so he could see little of the sail boats that he knew were moored directly below, but the working lights at the coal yard on the north-eastern boundary of the docks were lit up, so that there was a distant view of a coal barge unloading its cargo. The apartment looked nothing like any student digs he had ever seen. Everywhere he looked, from the polished concrete floor to the designer light fittings, he saw money.

  The girl stood a little awkwardly in the centre of the room. She tucked her fingers into the pockets of her jeans. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Wha
t can I do for you? I’m Valentina by the way. Vee.’

  ‘I understand this is Carline Darcy’s apartment?’

  ‘Yes.’ A lightly furrowed brow.

  ‘I’m sorry to have to inform you that a girl carrying Carline’s identification was involved in an accident this evening.’ He paused, giving her a moment before he continued. ‘Her injuries were very severe, and she did not survive.’ It was brutal. Every time it was brutal. Delivering those words felt more like an assault than if he’d reached out and punched the girl.

  ‘What?’ The furrowed brow deepened to a frown.

  ‘We need someone to help us identify the body. To confirm that it was Carline who died.’ Cormac kept his voice gentle. ‘You, or perhaps a boyfriend, someone who knew Carline very well. If there’s someone who could describe any birthmarks she may have had, or provide us with her hairbrush or toothbrush. Anything you could do to help us confirm identification.’

  The girl looked back at him blankly, obviously not taking it in.

  ‘Is there someone I can call for you, Valentina? Someone who can be with you through this?’ Cormac asked.

  The girl paused for a long moment, then held up one finger in a wait please gesture, and turned on her heel. She walked barefoot to another door at the far end of the room, knocked and entered without waiting. The door swung shut behind her. Cormac heard the faintest murmur of voices from the other room, before Valentina reappeared.

  ‘You’ve made a mistake,’ she said. A second girl emerged from the room behind her. About the same age, twenty or so, but blonde this time, and blue-eyed. She wore a silk dressing gown, which she belted as she entered the room.

  A second before she spoke, Cormac realised what was coming.

  ‘I’m Carline Darcy,’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’

  The tension Cormac was carrying between his shoulder blades ratcheted up another notch. He looked from the blonde to Valentina and back again, but it was evident that she was telling the truth.

  ‘Miss Darcy,’ he said, ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Cormac Reilly. Earlier tonight a young woman was killed in what appears to have been a hit-and-run. She was carrying an ID with your name in her back pocket. It seemed that the young woman might have been you. I came here to try to find someone to confirm the identification. I’m very glad to find you alive and well.’ Cormac let his voice trail off.

  Carline exchanged glances with Valentina. ‘I don’t understand. You thought it was me?’

  ‘Yes.’ Cormac hesitated. ‘The young woman’s injuries made her difficult to identify.’ He was choosing his words carefully, but Carline paled. She knotted her fingers in the drawstrings of her dressing gown.

  ‘Did you give your student ID to another student for any reason?’ Cormac asked.

  Carline opened her mouth to answer but turned at the sound of a mobile phone ringtone coming from her bedroom. Without explanation or excuse, Carline disappeared into her room, closing her door behind her. Cormac waited in silence, and heard the ringtone stop and the sound of Carline’s voice from within.

  ‘What did she look like? The girl who died?’ Valentina asked.

  Carline’s door opened again before he could respond.

  ‘Yes, Mother. The police are here now. I told you, a detective. No, I don’t know his name.’ She looked straight at Cormac. ‘Yes, I’ll call him.’ A pause. ‘I said I’ll call him, okay? Yes, tonight.’

  She hung up. ‘Someone called my grandfather. Was it you?’ There was irritation in her voice, but distress too.

  ‘I’d imagine it was the superintendent,’ Cormac said.

  ‘I don’t understand how this could happen. Don’t you have procedures for this sort of thing? How can you … how can you notify family of someone’s death before you’re even sure who has died?’

  Cormac silently cursed Murphy for his busy phone calls.

  ‘I understand that this is very upsetting. But in cases where there is significant disfigurement we are obliged to contact family members, to ask their help so that we can identify the body. We might need a DNA sample, for example, to rule a missing person in or out of our inquiry.’

  ‘I’m not a missing person,’ she said, her voice sharp.

  ‘Did you give your ID to a friend? To another student?’ He’d already asked the question, and hadn’t missed the fact that she hadn’t answered it.

  Carline shook her head. ‘No. Though I lost an ID at the beginning of the academic year. Some time around October I think.’

  He paused. ‘And you reported it missing?’

  ‘To the gardaí you mean? I would have been laughed out of the station. I’d imagine twenty a week go missing.’

  Carline had regained her composure. She was still pale, but looked more sure of her ground.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You’ll understand that we need to identify this girl as quickly as possible. If there’s anything you know that is relevant, either of you, now is the time to tell me.’

  ‘I’m not in the habit of lying to the police, detective. I didn’t give my student ID to anyone, and I have no idea who that girl may have been.’ Carline hesitated. ‘Didn’t she have anything else with her? A phone or a bag, a computer or something? Something that would help you identify her?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Cormac said. He made a show of taking out his notebook, opening it, and reading from his notes. ‘Do you own a long blue cardigan, lined with purple silk, made by Stella McCartney?’ He didn’t miss the quick look of surprise Valentina shot at Carline, though she tried to hide it a moment later with a theatrical yawn.

  ‘I don’t believe so,’ said Carline.

  He waited, allowing the silence to spin out, waiting for her to backtrack, to elaborate, to stumble. But she compressed her lips in an unconscious manifestation of her internal self-control and said nothing. At the same moment, a door on the other side of the kitchen opened and a young man came out. He was pulling a T-shirt on over his head, looked half-asleep. He came to a standstill in the middle of the kitchen, only belatedly realising that Cormac was there. He stood, bemused, looking back and forth between Cormac and Carline.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

  Valentina turned to him. ‘There’s been an accident. A girl died.’ Then, to Cormac, ‘This is Mark Wardle, our other roommate.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with us,’ Carline said quickly. ‘No one we know.’

  ‘An accident?’ Mark said. ‘What sort of accident?’ He took a couple of steps in Carline’s direction, positioned himself to the front and slightly to the side of her. The boyfriend, maybe? He was a good-looking guy, tall, in good shape, but with a weak chin. Carline shifted slightly away, a suggestion of irritation in her expression. Not the boyfriend then.

  Cormac turned to Valentina. ‘What about you? Do you own a cardigan that fits that description?’

  ‘Stella’s not really my style,’ she said. ‘I’m more into Adam Selman. I like a bit of edge to my clothes, you know?’ Another look at Carline. ‘If the drama’s over for tonight, I’m going to bed. Things to do in the morning.’

  Cormac made no objection. Now was not the time to press her. He was going to talk to Valentina again, but next time without Carline in the room.

  ‘You’re sure? About the cardigan?’ he said to Carline.

  ‘What accident, Carline?’ Mark said again. He crossed his arms and looked like he expected an answer. Carline ignored him, addressed herself to Cormac.

  ‘I’m sure,’ she said. She looked at her watch then – discreet, gold faced, leather strap, it had probably cost more than his yearly salary. ‘I’m very sorry to hear about the accident, detective, but if you have any other questions perhaps they can wait until tomorrow? Valentina’s right, it’s late, and I have an early commitment.’

  Cormac thought about pushing her further. Then about the shit that would undoubtedly hit the fan when this evening’s mess came to light. He was on the back foot because of the screw up with the ID. If Carline knew some
thing about the dead girl, and he thought she did, he wouldn’t get it out of her without some leverage. It was time to retreat and regroup.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Carline shut the door on the detective, and turned to face Mark. Valentina emerged from her bedroom, eyes sparking. ‘Shiiit.’ Valentina drew the word out. ‘What a screw-up. Your grandfather is going to lose it.’

  Mark was still standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, disapproval all over his face.

  Carline turned and went to the kitchen, took a cup from the cupboard and flicked the kettle on. ‘Please,’ she said. There was no shake in her voice. She concentrated on that, and on keeping her face smooth and unconcerned. This was just someone’s administrative screw-up. Nothing to do with her.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Mark asked.

  ‘You don’t think he’s upset? Someone just called him to tell him his granddaughter is dead, and you think he’s going to be completely chill?’ Valentina said.

  Carline shook her head, took a lemon from the fridge and sliced it neatly. Valentina sat on the arm of the couch, letting her pedicured toes brush lightly on the floor. Her toenails were painted scarlet, the polish shining as if still wet.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Mark asked again. ‘Carline?’

  ‘It’s nothing. There was an accident. A girl died, and she had my ID in her pocket. The police thought it might be me, and somebody called my grandfather.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Mark said. ‘Who was it? Who had your ID?’

  Carline didn’t look at him. She refused to catch his eye, looked at Valentina instead. ‘Can we not make a thing of this? Please? It’s bad enough that my grandfather heard about it without you two making a drama as well.’

  Valentina’s eyes were bright as she watched Carline move around the kitchen. She knew Carline had lied about the cardigan and she would want to know why.

  ‘Any news on your big night out? Isn’t it next Thursday? Have you decided where you are going for dinner?’ Carline asked.