John Brady - A Carra ring

“There’s the Taoiseach, God be good to him,” said Murtagh. “The back of his head in anyhow. The good side of him. The minister — there’s Garland. Hard to truss him, with the dickey bow — the size of him. ”

“O’Riordan again,” said Minogue.

“Shaughnessy’s talking to someone there, that’s all I can tell you.”

“Damn,” said Minogue. “Your man, the cameraman, can’t remember?”

Murtagh crunched a few crisps.

“‘Do you know how many people were there?’ says he. ‘Everyone.’”

“Ask him who then. ”

“What, a list?”

“A list, John, yes. We’ve lots of paper.”

Malone crushed the crisp bag slowly. Minogue turned back to Murtagh.

“What are our sources on Aoife Hartnett?”

“Well she had friends. Pals at work. Had a social life too. She played squash at a club. She knew a lot of people, it looks like.”

“Who, like?”

Murtagh glanced over at Malone.

“Well the sister says she knew a lot of people in the art scene. The exhibitions were a thing for her.”

“Who have we been drawing on here, John?”

Murtagh began counting.

“First, the sister, now she’s in a bad way. Her husband, Nolan, well he’s gotten over being a pain. The sister felt sorry for her lately, the past while, says Nolan.”

“Why so?”

“Well it’s a bit thick really. I mean, who’s to say here. The sister stays at home. Nolan’s a solicitor so they’re okay for the few shillings. She left Telecom after they started having kids. Anyway, Nolan says that the wife says that Aoife wasn’t that happy. Especially the last while, like. ”

Minogue leaned against the wall.

“She couldn’t settle. A let-down with a fella, Whelan. He’s a Eurocrat type. In Brussels now. No hard feelings, it just didn’t work. Nolan thinks — and the wife too — the job might have been losing its appeal too. ‘She’d only complain the odd time though’ ”

Minogue looked around the squad room. Malone was trying to dislodge a piece of potato crisp from somewhere in his lower back teeth. The inspector couldn’t settle on a question to ask Murtagh.

“Go on, then,” he said.

“The money thing was okay. She had her own place and that, paid her way. Got to go to conferences and that. But said there wasn’t much elbow room left. That, well, she’s kind of hit a level. All the jobs are filled like.”

“A plateau,” said Malone. “The roof like.”

“Nolan says he thinks the oul biological clock thing was getting to her too. Things passing her by.”

“Kids?”

“Yes. Family, he says.”

“That was all over the phone to you?”

“Yep. I told him to phone us as soon as the wife was in shape to interview. Ah, I was on the phone to him for half an hour. He’s shook now. The wheels fell off the solicitor bit when he got the idea maybe something bad’s after happening to her.”

“Who’s doing her apartment?”

“Driscoll. They started the search just after eleven. Said he’d phone us at four, whether or which. I fed him pointers we were keen on: any sign Shaughnessy was there, like. Travel stuff.”

“Her car, the Micra?”

Murtagh nodded at the clock.

“I phoned at half-nine. It’s somewhere between Castlebar and Dublin.”

Minogue slid the fax paper out from under the photocopies of statements from the airport. The list of contents, bagged and boxed and also en route to Dublin, was two tightly written pages. Minogue rubbed the paper between thumb and forefinger.

“At the museum, John. You’ve put in for interviews with the staff there?”

“I have, to be sure. One of her mates is on holliers in Kilkenny since Tuesday but he’s checking out sound anyway. Him and the wife and the kids visiting in-laws. She had a secretary who’s very shaky now. Eileen Brogan. I got her to go through the desk for us, appointment diaries, messages, and that.”

Malone was tapping his Biro on his knuckles now. Minogue watched it hop. Malone stopped.

“Phone Garland, John,” said Minogue “Ask him to free up the people she was closest to there. I’m going over there myself.”

Garland stared out the window of Aoife Hartnett’s office and rubbed at his eyes again. Minogue could hear Malone’s tones in the adjoining room, a meeting room where staff were now coming in one by one, some in tears, to tell him what they could of Aoife Hartnett. Minogue was waiting for Eileen Brogan to return from the toilet so he could interview her.

“But they must be connected,” said Garland finally. “I don’t remember seeing this Shaughnessy character at those things, but there he is in the picture. There were loads of people there.”

“Aoife went on leave the twenty-eighth, I have here?”

“That’s it,” said Garland and blew his nose. “I checked.”

“And the sick leave was in April. Two weeks, was it?”

“The seventh to the eighteenth. Yes.”

Minogue fixed the eight in eighteenth. His Biro wasn’t putting out. Garland slid one across to him. April is the crudest month; who wrote that one?

“We’ll be needing to know why.”

Garland squirmed, laid his hands on the table.

“Well, is that not confidential information still?”

“I don’t mean why you didn’t tell us the other night about her sick leave,” Minogue said. “I mean the reason for her taking the leave.”

“Well, you’ll be consulting with Aoife’s doctor, maybe?”

“When we need to. Her apartment’s being investigated as we speak.”

Garland looked down at the desktop. He made a table setting of two Biros and a pencil.

“As much as I’m allowed to divulge, now, I suppose,” he whispered.

“Aoife’s dead, Mr. Garland. ”

Garland swallowed. His eyes darted to Minogue’s.

“We’re all on the one side here, I’m thinking,” Minogue added. “She’s being examined today here in Dublin. There’s not much privacy left in the process now, if you follow me. ”

Garland leaned to one side of his chair and rubbed at his nose. He sighed and ran his hand down his face. He left his eyes closed for several moments.

“Well if you can talk to her doctor. She was getting treatment this last while ”

“For what, now?”

“Depression,” said Garland. “I think it was more burnout. Aoife needed time away from the job. I think she finally realized that.”

“Was there something that helped her realize that, something specific?”

Garland held his breath for a moment while he sized Minogue up.

“Yes.” The breath rushing out seemed to make him suddenly tired.

“Remember that Aoife and I worked together, God, nine years now. She’s a first-class scholar and archaeologist. None better, let me tell you. Single-minded, dedicated — always the one to go the distance. Very, very dedicated. I still, well.”

Minogue watched Garland swallow and pinch his eyes. The dickey bow had gone askew. Garland took out another paper hanky and turned away. Minogue studied the postcards and photos. Columns: Greece, Rome? Turkey, it turned out.

“Mr. Garland. Is there something you’re leaving out? Out of respect for Aoife?”

Garland’s face was blotchy now. He stared dully at Minogue.

“Do you always look for the dark side?”

Minogue held back his first answer. He raised his eyebrows instead.

“I’d hope I could persuade you that I’m not trying to dig up dirt,” he said. “I can think of no other way to say it at the moment. So: sorry. Help me, help us. That’s what’s needed.”

Garland cleared his throat

“All right, so. The leave was for Aoife to think over what she wanted to do. Where she wanted to go. In her career, her life, I mean.”