The Doll's House

‘Jaysus Christ,’ O’Connor muttered below his breath, ‘this investigation is starting to grate on my nerves.’


He didn’t have long to wait before Isabel Blennerhasset, Keith Jenkins’s mother-in-law, introduced herself in the same courtly manner as her grandson. From the moment she made her entrance, wearing black from head to toe, except for her pearl necklace, O’Connor could tell she was a force to be reckoned with. If she was harbouring any anxiety about being the first to talk to the detective, she kept it well hidden. She entered the room like a woman who had places to go and things to do, but with no particular urgency about any of them.

‘So, you want to see my daughter, Detective Inspector?’

It was the crisp business-like manner in which she asked the question that precipitated a less than sympathetic response from O’Connor: ‘That was the general idea.’

‘You’re in charge of this investigation, I understand.’ She beckoned him to sit down.

O’Connor obliged. ‘That is correct. I’m heading up the team.’

‘You’re working with Chief Superintendent Butler?’ She remained standing.

O’Connor caught the inflection in her tone: she wanted him to know she was well aware of who was ultimately in charge. Isabel Blennerhasset had done her research.

‘I’m here to help, Mrs Blennerhasset. It’s important for everyone concerned that we try to work out who might have done this wrong to your family.’

‘Indeed. Nothing but awful crime these days. Don’t you agree, Detective Inspector?’

O’Connor was taken aback by her distant remark. ‘Mrs Blennerhasset, no offence, but I came here today to talk with your daughter.’

‘And why would that be?’

For a moment O’Connor wondered if the woman was senile. ‘Your son-in-law has been murdered, Mrs Blennerhasset. I would consider that a very good reason.’

She gave O’Connor a wry smile. As he glanced from her stiff but focused expression to her walking stick, O’Connor wondered if she was capable of hiring a killer.

‘Do you mind if I sit down, Detective Inspector? The old legs aren’t what they used to be.’

‘Of course not.’ O’Connor took out his notebook, unsure how he was going to handle this one.

Sitting down opposite him, she showed the first sign of being human, rubbing what appeared to be an aching shin. ‘Don’t go feeling sorry for me, Detective Inspector. This is just a temporary affliction – boating accident on the Shannon. A darn table hit it.’ O’Connor held his silence while she repositioned herself on the couch, sitting upright like an aged goddess. He could see where her daughter had got her attractive features, and if the daughter was anything like the mother, this was going to be a long afternoon.

‘You can call me Isabel, Detective Inspector.’

‘Your daughter, Mrs Blennerhasset – I mean Isabel? I was hoping to talk to her.’

‘Now, Detective Inspector, I want you to understand something. This is a difficult time for all of us, especially my daughter.’

‘I understand that.’

‘I doubt that, Detective Inspector, unless you’re walking in our shoes, which obviously you are not.’

Looking at her holding her walking stick tightly, as if it was her most important prop, O’Connor decided he was beginning to like the old bag. He admired people with spirit, and, despite her advancing years, she had plenty of that. She oozed the kind of beautiful elegance that not many can. Her perfectly groomed grey hair, cut short, exposed her long neck, and with her shoulders held back, Isabel Blennerhasset’s posture had class.

‘Mrs Blennerhasset – Isabel, please …’

‘Don’t rush me, Detective Inspector, a little respect if you don’t mind.’

O’Connor let out a sigh. He checked his watch, deciding to give her five more minutes.

‘You see, Detective Inspector, young people, children, they’re allowed to be silly. They can hide, get up to mischief, come home covered in muck, and nobody would think it strange. They have their own rules, sulk when they don’t get their own way and refuse to do as they’re told – although, by and large, they learn ultimately to toe the line. When they enter adulthood, everything changes. But when you get old, like I am now, it’s different again. If I were to run like a young girl, not that I can with this stick,’ she lifted it like a weapon, ‘my bones wouldn’t have the same agility. I might look awkward, like a lazy old mule, but I do gain something in old age. At my age, I’m allowed to be silly again. I’m allowed to be eccentric. I can even sulk if I want to. It’s all part of the advantage of being elderly. People accept my ill-mannered madness as endearing, humorous, even.’

O’Connor shifted on the couch. Four minutes.

‘I suppose you’re wondering why I’m telling you this, Detective Inspector.’