The Doll's House

The news of what had been done to Jimmy would have reached Ozzie long before it ever reached Lynch or Kate, but that didn’t deter the young detective from going through the motions. He wanted to put Ozzie at his ease, to let him feel the police were keeping him up to speed on things. Lynch told Ozzie about how he had heard that he and Jimmy had been real close, allowing a couple of moments to pass before asking Ozzie if he knew of any relatives they should contact. Looking down towards his toes, Ozzie started to sing, a low, breathless, mournful rendition of ‘Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.’


Kate looked down at the man’s feet. Despite the chill of the day, all he wore were thick brown sandals, his toes as red as the tip of his nose. Even with his head slightly bowed, she could see the drippings from his nose, which Ozzie Brennan wasn’t bothering to wipe away. Unsure if the drips were from the cold or his upset over losing his friend, Kate willed him to lift his face and look at one of them.

By the time Ozzie did look up, she got her answer. The man’s eyes might have been bloodshot from the previous night’s drinking, but there was no mistaking the tears, none of which poured down his face but rather filled his eyes, refusing to go anywhere.

His voice sounded cracked. ‘Jimmy wanted to get himself sorted. He wanted to lie on a nice comfy bed, have a bleedin’ flat-screen television and smell nice. Not a lot to ask, really, is it?’

It wasn’t a question Ozzie expected either Lynch or Kate to answer. Instead Kate looked at Lynch, then asked Ozzie if she could sit down beside him.

‘The bench is free. That’s why I’m here.’

‘Tell us about Jimmy.’

Just like Lynch, Kate allowed time before expecting the man to answer, but this time Ozzie seemed ready to talk.

‘Jimmy always had a story, an idea, a regular entrepreneur he was. He would have given Alan Sugar a run for his money. We’d be queuing up at Merchants Quay for breakfast, and he’d be going on about some bloody crap idea or venture.’

‘Do you think he knew Keith Jenkins?’ Kate tried to maintain eye contact.

‘Jimmy didn’t mention names. It’s not that he didn’t trust me, the very opposite, but names never came into it.’

‘I hear Jimmy might have found himself a nice benefactor.’ Lynch flicked to a new page in his notebook.

‘You can close your bloody book. I’m not planning on giving out autographs today.’ Ozzie stared straight ahead of him, as if talking to no one other than himself. ‘On the streets, everyone is our fucking benefactor, whether it’s an arsehole in a suit, or one of them young girls helping out with the food parcels. They’re all our bleeding benefactors. It’s shit about Jimmy, but his wasn’t the first bodybag to be taken off the streets. That famous guy, the one that got killed the other day, he’s the only one you pair are interested in. People like me and Jimmy can go to Hell for all you lot give a fuck.’

Kate put her hand on his shoulder. ‘That’s not true, Ozzie. Detective Lynch and I want to know who did this to Jimmy. When it comes to murder, all victims are equal in the eyes of the law.’

‘Yeah, well, dead is dead. There’s nothing going to help Jimmy now.’ Ozzie unfolded his arms and legs, then refolded them in the opposite direction, the shift of body position giving more weight to his words. Kate kept her hand on his shoulder.

Lynch, who had remained standing, moved in a little closer, shadowing Ozzie, his voice sounding cold. ‘Maybe not, pal, but later on tonight, when you’re here on the streets, when your body is rattling with the cold, you might get to thinking about the benefactor who did this to Jimmy.’

Ozzie gave Lynch a look. Clearly he wasn’t surprised by the detective’s coldness, at least, not as surprised as Kate had been. ‘I’m not your bleedin’ pal. I might rattle with the cold tonight, but I’m no snitch, and I won’t be worrying about any benefactor either.’

‘No?’ Kate’s tone was softer than Lynch’s. ‘Why not, Ozzie? I know you cared about Jimmy.’

‘I did care about him. Jimmy was my pal. Me and him … Well, let’s just say we had a lot in common.’

‘Like what?’

‘Both good-looking for a start.’ Ozzie attempted a laugh but it got stuck in his chest, like a mucus-inflamed cough.

Kate remembered the cocktail Morrison had spoken about after Jenkins was pulled out of the canal, thinking of how the finality of death, no matter how you dressed it up, was the same for rich and poor alike. ‘I can see that. The good looks that is.’ Kate smiled. ‘What else did you and Jimmy have in common?’

‘Let’s just say we both got fucked over by folk, but we were different as well. Me, I had my way of surviving, and he had his. The odd days, when I’d get a shower and fresh clothes from the shelter, I’d pick up a bit of work, nothing permanent, mind. I used to be a bricklayer, you know, fully qualified. I was never afraid of a bit of lugging around, never afraid of hard work. Well, once I’d get a few bob together, I’d usually pick myself up some cider. Then I’d come back here to my bench or party in some cosy doorway. Jimmy wasn’t content with that. He used to be posh, you see, lived the life of Reilly. He wanted more than a few bottles of cider. Jimmy wanted his old life back.’

‘And this benefactor, Ozzie, the one Jimmy never mentioned by name, was he a way of him getting that life back?’ Kate waited.

‘Maybe, Miss. As I said, Jimmy always had some scheme or other on the go. He did have family, though, a sister.’