The Doll's House

‘Good. Now start counting.’


I do as Gerard asks, and soon I can smell the candle wax. He’s sitting on the chair as he did before. ‘Why did you bring me back, Gerard? I was going on an adventure.’ Even as I say the word ‘adventure’, it sounds ridiculous. ‘It felt important.’

‘Clodagh, I want you to tell me about Emma.’

‘She was my doll. She fell. Her face cracked. Did I not tell you this before?’

‘When she fell, what age were you?’

‘Seven.’

‘The year your dad died?’

‘Yes, the same year as Emmaline.’





Mervin Road


It was after nine o’clock by the time O’Connor got back to his flat. After putting in a fourteen-hour shift he should have been exhausted, but he felt as far away from sleep as anyone could feel. The day had been a fiasco. They’d had a lead about an ex-boyfriend of Siobhan King with a nasty temper. He fitted the physical description of the killer, and also had a vague connection to Gahan through family ties. It had come to nothing in the end because the man’s lawyer had spent the day wasting everyone’s time. It didn’t take O’Connor long to down half a bottle of whiskey. Surprising how easily it can disappear.

It was on a whim that he’d phoned Kate. He should have rung her earlier, but so far they hadn’t unearthed a whole lot more on either Dominic Hamilton or Clodagh McKay. O’Connor knew he had taken his eye off the ball, and wasn’t keen on being reminded of it. Tomorrow he would invite them all down to the station, including Clodagh McKay’s husband, Martin, who it seemed had done business with Alister Becon. If any of them played awkward, the mountain would have to go to Muhammad.

After phoning Kate, he got a taxi to her apartment, but decided to give it a few minutes before going up. He really wanted another drink, but he lit a cigarette instead. He knew he’d been burying his head in the sand. It was partly the reason he’d got into this mess in the first place. He could trust Kate, and he needed to talk to goddamn someone.

The yellow streetlights on Mervin Road blurred his eyes. Leaning back against the lamppost, he asked himself for the hundredth time how he of all people had managed to fuck it up so much. Maybe that was why he’d never married: he hadn’t wanted to get dragged into a complicated compromise with anyone. Like everyone else, he had a past and his own demons. He looked up at Kate’s apartment. She could test his resolve.

O’Connor sucked in some air in an attempt to clear the smell of nicotine and booze. He thought again about Alister Becon. That bastard had got under his skin too, with his larger-than-life self-belief. He had treated O’Connor’s warning about potential danger with the kind of disdain that only his kind of self-opinionated, egotistical, rich bastard could perfect. O’Connor had been left in no doubt about the man’s character. All that fine talk and good education didn’t fool a seasoned detective like him. Maybe this was the drink talking. He didn’t really care. In his eyes the man was capable of murder, but whenever the shit hit the fan, Alister Becon would be well protected.

Misjudging his footing, O’Connor roared, ‘Shite!’ to the empty street. Straightening, he reminded himself that tomorrow was another day. He glanced at his watch. It was already Friday morning.





Mervin Road


Kate was so engrossed in work that she’d lost all track of time. When O’Connor phoned, she hadn’t realised it was already past midnight or she would never have agreed to him calling to the apartment. She thought she’d detected a slight slur in his voice.

After checking on Charlie to make sure he was fast asleep, she tidied herself up, brushing her hair, cleaning her teeth, applying some blusher so she wouldn’t look half dead, making herself presentable to the world. Taking one last look in the bathroom mirror, she added some lipstick.

Much to Kate’s annoyance, O’Connor kept his finger pressed on the intercom buzzer although she’d told him Charlie was asleep. It was only when she opened the apartment door, and got the whiff of whiskey, that she realised why there had been a slur in his voice. When he stepped into the hall, she saw that his eyes were glazed. He wasn’t out and out drunk, but he had a good few on him.

‘I have the kettle boiled, O’Connor. Strong coffee is looking like a good option right now.’ If he’d noticed the sarcasm in her tone he kept it to himself, happy to follow her down the hall into the kitchen. As they passed Charlie’s bedroom door, she warned him, ‘Keep your voice down. Charlie’s asleep.’

O’Connor put his index figure up to his lips like a guilty but obedient child. She must be a complete lunatic allowing him to call at this ungodly hour. He’d better sober up fast, or this meeting would be a waste of time for both of them.

Kate made a large pot of coffee, placing it on the kitchen table with two mugs. ‘I tried to get you earlier.’