The Doll's House

‘It will, don’t worry. Relax as much as you can. Keep your eyes closed. Clodagh, I’m going to talk you through complete physical relaxation from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. Each step along the way, another part of you will relax, until your body is ready to let your mind follow.’


It’s a relief to physically let go. To feel my body become limp and loose, willing my mind to do the same. Again Gerard needs to change the game plan, first by asking me to count backwards, then counting forward to thirty-seven, moving my eyes from right to left, and back again. It’s harder to let go, now I know what to expect. Gerard asks me to open my eyes, to concentrate on a point on the ceiling above me. When I do, I realise he’s doing the counting, mixing up the numbers, skipping forward and then backwards again. When I least expect it he taps me twice on the forehead, and on the second contact, I feel my mind racing. Almost instinctually, I close my eyes, unsure of where I will end up.

‘Can you still hear me, Clodagh?’

‘Yes.’ My voice is so low I can barely hear it.

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m falling, down, down. It’s dark, black. I’m so afraid. I don’t like this feeling. I don’t want to be here.’

‘Where are you?’

‘At home in Seacrest. The dolls are here.’

‘Which dolls?’

‘Sandy and Debbie. They’re sitting under the blackboard.’

‘Can you see your younger self?’

‘Yes, but it feels wrong.’

‘How is it wrong?’

‘Nobody is talking. I have scissors, small hand scissors. I’m cutting off my dolls’ hair.’

‘Why are you doing that, Clodagh?’

‘I don’t want them to be pretty any more. Their hair is scattered beneath them, like falling leaves. Sandy looks so sad. Her lips are drooping. But Debbie’s different.’

‘How is she different?’

‘Her eyes are angry, wild. “You’ll be sorry,” I hear her say.’

‘Clodagh, what are you feeling?’

‘I still feel frightened. I don’t understand what’s happening. It’s like a bad dream I can’t wake up from.’

‘I want you to go further back, Clodagh. Go back to the first time you felt frightened.’

I have a sense of falling again, tumbling through time and memory.

‘Where are you now, Clodagh?’

‘I’m with my father.’

‘Are the two of you alone?’

‘No, there are others here.’

‘And where is here?’

‘We’re on the strand at Sandymount. The tide is coming in. My seven-year-old legs wobble, feet sinking into the sand, seaweed between my toes. In my arms I hold a doll, with curly blonde hair and sea-blue eyes.’

‘Breathe easy, Clodagh.’

‘It is neither night nor day; the light is white, sparse, as if, like memory, it can be whisked away …’

‘Keep going, Clodagh.’

‘A cold breeze batters my face, exploding into my ears. I see my father. Against the sea and the sky he stands, trouser legs rolled up, chalk-white skin. He is smiling at me, the centre of my canvas. I wonder about his voice. I try to hear him, even a whisper, but I hear nothing. I scream, the wind cutting out the sound, swallowing my sobs.’

‘Try to slow down. Why are you screaming, Clodagh?’ Gerard’s voice remains calm.

‘I’m afraid I’m going to lose him.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know. That he’ll leave us, my mother, Dominic and me. I want to run out to him, but someone’s stopping me. They’re holding me back.’

‘Can you look up, Clodagh? Can you see who’s holding you back?’

‘My father turns away from me, looking into the ocean. He has his back to me as the ice-cold water eats his feet …’

‘Clodagh, listen to me. You need to look up. You need to tell me who is holding you back.’





Harcourt Street Police Station


‘Kate, when you say he isn’t capable of waiting a protracted interval, what kind of time frame are you talking about – days, hours?’

‘The gap between the Jenkins and Gahan murders was less than three days. The first murder took place in the early hours of Saturday morning, with Gahan’s killing late Monday night. He’s already allowed a lengthier timeframe to elapse. My guess is he won’t wait much longer. If it’s a form of psychosis, the progression will be gaining momentum as each day passes. He might have been capable of managing the second murder with reasonable efficiency, but as time moves on, the level of his anxiety will heighten, and the disintegration of his personality will continue, as will his grossly distorted thoughts. Once the first killing occurred, everything would have changed for him. Things will have accelerated. It’s impossible to say how long, other than that the time will be short, within days, I would imagine, and maybe even hours.’

‘Kate, can you hold on? I’ve a call coming in. Don’t go away.’

Kate bit her lip as she waited.

O’Connor was soon back. ‘Something’s come in on the house-to-house.’

‘What?’

‘Once you narrowed down the geographical reference, we extended the parameters to include the neighbourhood around the Hamilton and McKay households. One of Martin McKay’s neighbours mentioned a car arriving home at unusual hours of the morning.’