The Doll's House

‘I’d like to talk to Hennessy about the girl.’


‘Kate, focus on the case in hand. There’s no point trying to save the bloody world. Besides, Hennessy and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms.’

‘So?’

‘So drop it. I’ve got news from Morrison.’





Off South Circular Road


It had been a while since Stevie had called in a Monday-morning sickie, so he felt relaxed enough sitting in his car watching a pair of lovebirds kissing. This area was student flatland. The girl was playing coy, but she was probably different in the sack. Had he not noticed Ruby McKay’s ginger hair from the corner of his eye, he might have missed her altogether. Like Mummy dearest, she had that clear porcelain skin, but instead of beautiful curls, Ruby’s hair was cropped tight. She had the high forehead too, but with her small pert nose and pretty lips, she had more the look of Lavinia Hamilton than Clodagh.

There were six of them in the group. Stevie could tell Ruby was playing the boys off against one other, the other two girls barely getting a look in. The guys wanted her, the girls wanted to be like her. Anyone within a five-mile radius could see that.

None of them took any heed of him, far too caught up in their own conversations to be bothering with anyone else. Stevie didn’t believe in gangs, not any more. Gangs required allegiances, and he wasn’t an allegiance kind of guy.

They chatted among themselves for as long as it took Stevie to smoke two cigarettes, laughing like hyenas at each other’s jokes, finding the whole bloody world hilarious.

Ruby hadn’t looked quite so happy puking her guts up outside Neary’s when her friend had to call her a taxi home. Stevie was glad he’d noted the address off the South Circular. She hadn’t looked happy the night he’d seen her in the window of that fancy restaurant either, living it up with a man three times her age.

Perhaps it was the smile growing on Stevie’s face that had caused Ruby to notice him for the first time. She’d given him a look all right. He had seen it a couple of times before, the who-gave-you-permission-to-enter-my-magical-kingdom look. He smiled right back at her, and the testosterone-fuelled idiot beside her must have sensed something was wrong because he looked across at Stevie, asking, ‘Are ya all right there, bro?’

Fucking bro, thought Stevie. The one thing he sure wasn’t was this guy’s brother. ‘Ah, yeah, cool. Waiting for someone. You don’t mind, do you?’ It wasn’t a question Stevie expected an answer to. ‘Pretend I’m not here.’ He shot them another smile.

‘Let’s go,’ Ruby said to the others, continuing to stare back at Stevie. And as they walked away, the thought uppermost in Stevie’s mind was that he had managed to rattle the little princess. There had been something in the flicker of those eyes. She hadn’t liked seeing him there, convincing Stevie that his hunch was right. The girl was hiding something.

He drove on past the group, slowing down to register the exact address. The place was a bit of a hovel, a far cry from her home in Sandymount, which was a three-storey number with wrought-iron gates and a gravelled drive. He had heard through the grapevine that Martin McKay, despite driving a top-of-the-range black Mercedes, was feeling the pinch moneywise. Maybe Ruby wasn’t the only family member keeping secrets.

Thinking about the old house on Sandymount Strand, it irked him that, as a boy, he had imagined being part of it, not just some unwanted visitor. Ruby wasn’t his type. She was too much like the grandmother. Clodagh was special, though, the gorgeous feel of her hair, and how the rain frizzed it into a wonderful mass of tiny curls. He remembered her as a kid too, how she was always talking to those bloody dolls of hers. As if they knew the answer to everything.





Harcourt Street


Striding up Harcourt Street heading towards the Kildare Street club, Kate had to pull O’Connor back. ‘Will you slow down and fill me in on what Morrison had to say?’

‘Oh, yeah, right. Sorry, Kate.’ Then, pointing to a small coffee shop near the top of the street, he said, ‘Let’s grab a coffee. Mr Devoy can wait for a bit.’

It was far too cold to be sitting outside, but Kate didn’t object when O’Connor waved to the small iron tables at the front of the café. Once a copper, always a copper: less chance of being overheard outside than in. When O’Connor appeared back with a tray and two tiny cups of coffee, she smiled, but he kept his face serious.

‘Blasted cups wouldn’t last two seconds in the station. Places like this have no idea what the size of a proper mug should be.’ He lit a cigarette.

‘I thought you’d quit.’

‘Yeah, well, that was then.’

Kate let it go. ‘You were going to tell me about Morrison.’

O’Connor took a long drag. ‘He’s got some early results. The liquid in Jenkins’s lungs confirmed diatoms in his system. Morrison is a happy man – the bastard loves it when he’s right.’