The Doll's House

A sharp beam of sunlight shot across O’Connor’s face with an unexpected break in the clouds. The next full squad meeting would be at three p.m. and, with his shirt sleeves rolled up, O’Connor had been surfing the net since getting back from the Jenkins house in Malahide. Edwina, Isabel Blennerhasset’s daughter and Keith Jenkins’s widow, had proved to be something of a red herring, but Isabel linking Jimmy Gahan and Keith Jenkins was the first bit of decent luck they’d had. Adrian Hamilton was part of this story. Three men meeting their deaths through drowning was a coincidence too far.

Keith Jenkins had been the only publicly named director of Hamilton Holdings, but the original company had been set up thirty-seven years previously by Adrian Hamilton. O’Connor was keen to find out why Jenkins had been currently running the show.

He checked his watch. Lynch would be back there soon. If what Ozzie Brennan had implied to Kate and Lynch was true, and Jenkins had been Jimmy Gahan’s benefactor, the next question was why? What had Gahan on him?

Higgins and Clarke had paid another visit to the hotel, Maldon House, this time with a selection of mug shots. O’Connor hadn’t been particularly surprised to discover Jenkins had registered under a pseudonym. What had surprised him was the description of the woman, which Higgins had been quick enough to pick up on. He’d shown the receptionist a number of images, including one of Jenkins’s latest girlfriend, Siobhan King, and on a hunch, Gloria Sweetman. The receptionist couldn’t be one hundred per cent sure, but she had picked out Gloria Sweetman’s face from the bunch as Jenkins’s companion.

Jenkins spending the night with a model wasn’t a shocker. But Gloria Sweetman was now very much a dead model, and the word ‘suicide’ attached to the death of Adrian Hamilton and Gloria Sweetman was circling in O’Connor’s brain. The hotel receipt had been dropped by either Jenkins or the killer, and O’Connor had his suspicions that it was the latter.

O’Connor’s eyes felt as if two large prodding fingers were pressed on top of them. He needed to get his drinking under control. This case was tough enough without him voluntarily putting obstacles in his way. Isabel Blennerhasset had been on the phone to the chief super already, and although Butler was glad the connection had been made between Gahan and Jenkins, he had again warned O’Connor to tread carefully.

Stretching his back, O’Connor then took a gulp from the cold cup of coffee by his computer, before scanning through the files on screen. The Irish Times newspaper archive was the only one searchable online. There had been an inquest into Adrian Hamilton’s death, and misadventure was the outcome. Hamilton had borrowed a small boat from a business colleague, leaving the estuary at Malahide very early on the morning of his death. The alarm was raised later that evening when he had failed to return the boat as promised. It hadn’t taken long to find him and, with calm waters, bad weather was quickly dismissed as the reason for Adrian Hamilton’s fully clothed body having ended up in the water. According to the report, large amounts of alcohol had been found in his system. That, coupled with the fact that he hadn’t worn a lifejacket, had led to a verdict of misadventure: he had fallen overboard while intoxicated.

If Adrian Hamilton’s death was connected with the current case, O’Connor needed to discover who had owned that boat. He couldn’t find any mention of a name anywhere in the archives. He’d have to gain access to the old case notes, an arduous task that he would assign to Lynch. O’Connor stared at the image of Adrian Hamilton on the screen. He’d been a successful businessman. The Irish economy wasn’t exactly booming at the time, but it hadn’t hit the full deprivation of the late eighties. If Hamilton’s death hadn’t been an accident but suicide, as Isabel Blennerhasset had said, he needed to talk to the family. Unfortunately Adrian Hamilton’s widow, Lavinia, had recently passed away from cancer. There were surviving children, Dominic Hamilton and Clodagh McKay, but they would have been very young at the time of Adrian’s death, and probably not a whole lot of use to him. Jimmy Gahan had a surviving sibling, Deborah Gahan, now chairperson of Kenmo International, a thriving export business. She was top of O’Connor’s list for the next house call. He’d have to run background checks on the others. He also needed to be careful not to put too many eggs in the one basket.

The next call O’Connor received was from Monroe, a new detective to the squad at Harcourt Street. ‘I have that number and address for Deborah Gahan.’

‘I assume she’s been told about the demise of her late brother?’

‘Yeah, she’s just identified the body.’

‘Right. Does she know I’m looking for her?’

‘Not yet, but I can set it up.’

‘No, you’re fine, Monroe. Just give me the number, and I’ll make the contact.’