The Doll's House

‘You’re lying.’ He’s an expert liar.

He puts the glass to his lips, swallows some wine. I can tell he’s trying to restrain himself. Instead of letting it go, I push further, a part of me wondering if I haven’t learned anything over the years.

‘Liar,’ I say, my voice shaking.

‘What’s that?’

‘You heard me. You’re lying,’ I roar at him. ‘You opened it. I know you did.’

He puts his glass down. It has been a while since his last outburst, but I recognise the way he looks at me, and know what will happen next.

The back of his right hand hits my left cheek. His aim: determined, solid. I fall back, but remain upright. I won’t be upright for long. The next belt hits my jaw, the photograph falling to the floor. It’s almost a relief, the physical pain, like I’m getting punished for all the mistakes I’ve made. Martin has played on this before, my need to blame myself.

Once he starts, there is no going back. Afterwards, he will say, ‘Sorry.’ He will tell me he has been under pressure. He will say how much he loves me. How much he loves Ruby. That he loves us more than anything, that we mean the whole world to him. Then he will twist and turn things, until everything is the gospel according to Martin.





Harcourt Street


On Monday morning after Kate had dropped Charlie to school, she headed to Harcourt Street, instead of driving to Ocean House, parking as close as she could to the station. She was keen to see the private members club on Kildare Street. The victim’s lifestyle was important, whether it was directly connected with his death or not. Patterns of behaviour, where and with whom the victim came into contact, often formed the opportunity for a crime. Did Keith Jenkins’s lifestyle make him particularly vulnerable, or the very opposite? Was it a lifestyle shared by his killer? The Caldine Club was the last place Keith Jenkins had been seen alive, and it was as good a place as any to begin the journey backwards into the dead man’s life.



Kate rang O’Connor as soon as she entered the station. The Special Detective Unit at the heart of the building felt very different from your standard police station, where people could walk in off the street. The further into this building Kate went, the more the outside world seemed to be left behind.

She already knew O’Connor would be a couple of minutes late. As she waited inside a long corridor without windows, lit by fluorescent lights, she couldn’t help noticing a teenage girl with her head down, sitting on one of the black plastic chairs against the wall. The girl’s light frame reminded her of Imogen Willis. But it was more than her slightness. It was the crumpled look of her body. The girl’s hands were locked together. Sitting beside her, an older woman was holding her by the shoulders. Before Kate could take in any more, a female police officer poked her head out of a side door. ‘Susie, we’re ready for you now.’ The girl looked sideways at the older woman and, as if reading her mind, the female officer added, ‘It’s okay, Susie. You can bring your mother with you.’

Kate didn’t have to wait much longer for O’Connor.

‘Are you ready for our excursion, Kate?’ His manner was upbeat as he joined her in the corridor.

‘What?’

‘Our trip into how the other half lives.’

‘Oh, sorry, yeah. I got distracted there for a minute.’ Standing up to follow him through the double doors, she said, ‘O’Connor?’

‘Yeah?’

‘There was a young girl here a minute ago, Susie, I think her name was.’

‘What about her?’

‘Do you know why she’s here?’

‘Suspected rape – Hennessy’s looking after it.’ His voice turned sharp: ‘It’s his area of expertise.’

Kate knew the drill, and it wasn’t easy. A nurse would do the initial examination, including inspection of genitalia for evidence of trauma, bruises or abrasions. The girl’s fingernails would be checked, scrapings collected, any stains swabbed, samples taken from her clothing, everything collated, right down to the combing of her pubic hair. It was an ordeal for sure, but a lot had changed in how victims were treated. Nothing would be done without explanation, the consent of the victim and, depending on her age, her parent. The most important thing for her was the sense that she was back in control. Rape victims experienced far more than the assault. It was nothing like a punch in the face or other kinds of physical attack. It carried emotional and social damage that few other crimes came close to. Despite her ordeal, this was Susie’s first step to recovery. As well as receiving medical treatment for any injuries, and prevention against infection, her mental well-being would be monitored.

As Kate followed O’Connor out onto the street, she remembered for the zillionth time how close she had come to being another Susie.

‘O’Connor?’

‘Yeah?’