The Doll's House

‘I don’t want you to worry.’


‘You are worrying me.’ My head hurts. ‘Dominic, tell me.’

‘According to the news, he died the same way as Keith Jenkins.’

‘I can’t believe what I’m hearing.’

‘Clodagh, they’re part of the past.’

‘Dominic,’ my voice is more assured than I feel, ‘I want to meet you at the house tomorrow.’

‘What house?’

‘Seacrest, of course – I need the key to the attic. You still have it, don’t you?’

Again he takes his time answering, and while I wait, I can’t get the image of the attic out of my mind – Dominic, Martin, Stevie and me hiding up there as kids, as if we’d done something wrong. It feels connected to Emmaline, but I can’t work out why.

‘But, Clodagh—’

‘No buts, Dominic. When can you get time out from work?’

‘I’m not in work tomorrow.’

‘Good. I’ll meet you after Martin’s ten o’clock call.’

‘Clodagh, I don’t think this is a good idea.’

‘Dominic, bring the key. I’ll see you there at eleven.’ I hang up before he can say another word.





27 Benton Avenue, Ranelagh


Kate made good time getting to Benton Avenue, somewhat relieved to arrive before O’Connor. She looked at her face in the rear-view mirror. In the blame game, if she was being honest, she had been part of the problem, but that didn’t make the pain of Declan being with someone else any less. She laid her head against the headrest. She felt utterly alone.

Losing her mother, her only surviving parent, had changed things. Something happens when both your parents die. It’s like all traces of what went before are abandoned to memory. You can never hear their voices again, see an expression change on their faces or touch them. You think there must be some kind of continuation, but of what?

Had that been why she’d been fooling herself, thinking she and Declan could make things work, a desperate desire for family, to feel normal? Surely she of all people hadn’t been that na?ve. Charlie was her world now. But if he was, why the hell wasn’t she with him, instead of sitting here waiting for O’Connor?

O’Connor didn’t need her there. He could have handled the interview with Deborah Gahan alone. Yet she’d agreed to meet him. Would she have agreed if it hadn’t been him doing the asking? What the hell was wrong with her? Kate drew a deep breath.

Whatever her reasons for being there, she had to use this time wisely to consider aspects of the case. Was the murder of both men a form of perverted justice on the killer’s part? Had either or both known their killer? The connection to the Hamilton drowning could turn out to be important or send them on a wild-goose chase. She looked in the rear-view mirror again. Passion and emotion were playing a role in the attacks. If the killer was on some kind of crusade, who or what was he seeking justice for? Himself or someone else? Kate thought again about the eye-witness statement from Grace Power. She’d described the men as similar. There was nothing obviously different about their dress or appearance, meaning Jenkins’s attacker wasn’t some thug he’d accidentally stumbled upon. If the killer was middle class, he might not have a previous record. She thought again about the risk. Was it geographical convenience, a form of familiarity?

Adrian Hamilton had met his death in a similar way. Again, it was a long shot, but a connection. All three men had known each other. It was obvious from what Ozzie Brennan had said that there was no love lost between Deborah Gahan and her late brother. Deborah Gahan wasn’t the killer, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t involved.

Kate sat in her car as she watched O’Connor pull in on the opposite side of the road. Soon they would be talking to Jimmy’s only surviving sibling.





38C Seville Place, Ringsend


Stevie’s meeting yesterday evening hadn’t gone according to plan. The smooth bastard had gained in arrogance over the years, becoming a lot more powerful than Stevie had realised. Still, timing was everything. Ruby McKay was only seventeen, and even if she wanted to keep her mouth shut, that didn’t mean Stevie had to.

She had opened up completely, once she’d got some coke inside her, believing she had a listening ear, thinking, like most spoilt brats, that it was her way or the highway. Stevie wasn’t so green. He’d fed her full of the crap she’d wanted to hear. Once she’d believed he was on her side, it had all come spluttering out, every last rotten bit of it. And anything little Ruby didn’t care to share wasn’t too difficult to fill in.