The White Gallows (10 page)

Koch nodded his head but said nothing.

‘I’m afraid I have to ask this, but where were you on Saturday night?’

‘At the races at Navan.’

‘And after that?’

‘I have a holiday cottage near Oldcastle, close to Loughcrew.’

‘Can anyone confirm that?’

‘No. Like my father I’m a widower. My wife died six years ago of breast cancer; same as my mother. The children all left home years ago. I live by myself.’

McEvoy nodded his head. He wanted to share his grief for Maggie, but kept his feelings to himself. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said lamely. ‘Just one other thing; you said your father came to
Ireland
to join his brother. Why was he here?’

‘He was a Luftwaffe pilot. He got shot up over
Belfast
and crashed into Carlingford Lough. He spent most of the war interned in the Curragh and working on local farms. When the war ended he was shipped off to an internment camp in
Britain
. When he was released he headed back to
Ireland
to marry a local girl; my aunt. My father followed shortly afterwards, escaping the ruins of
Europe
.’

McEvoy turned at the sound of a new horse arriving, a grey stallion snorting air through its nostrils, ridden by a man in his late thirties who bore an uncanny resemblance to Albert and Charles Koch. He wasn’t wearing a helmet and his face was flushed from the ride, his hair sticking up at odd angles.

He swung off the horse before it had come to a halt. ‘This boy can really fly,’ he announced, patting the horse on the neck, ignoring McEvoy. ‘
Marion
must be delighted. A couple of months training and he’ll be winning races.’

‘My son, Francis,’ Koch said to McEvoy. ‘Francie, this is Detective Superintendent McEvoy. He’s investigating the death of your grandfather.’

‘I thought he died of natural causes,’ Francis Koch said. ‘My father said you thought… but
Marion
seemed so convinced…’ he trailed off.

‘Your grandfather died as the result of a blow to the head.’

‘So the doctor got it wrong?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Stupid old fecker. He never should have—’

‘Francis!’ Charles Koch interrupted. ‘He was your grandfather’s physician for over forty years. He had no reason to—’

‘How can you miss a blow to the head?’ Francis interrupted. He eased the saddle from the horse’s steaming back and carried it to a stable door. ‘Somebody killed him and if it had been left to the old fool they’d have gotten away with it.’

‘That’s enough,’ Koch senior said firmly. ‘I don’t want to discuss this any further.’

‘I’m afraid I have to ask you this,’ McEvoy continued, noting Charles Koch’s tone but ignoring his request, ‘but where were you late on Saturday night?’

‘I was at Navan races with my father.’

‘And after that?’

‘I went to the Darley Lodge in Athboy. I’d had a successful day. Three winners; one of them at 20/1.’ Koch junior turned his attention back to the horse. ‘I’d won over three thousand euro. Not a bad day’s work.’

‘And then?’

‘Then I went home.’

‘And can anyone confirm that?’

‘Everyone in the hotel bar. I probably made an idiot of myself, buying everyone drinks. The evening’s a little hazy. The pints and whiskey were flowing.’

‘And after the bar?’

Francis Koch wheeled round to face McEvoy, his face creased in anxiety. ‘Why are you asking me these questions? Am I a suspect?’

‘We’re asking everyone who knew Dr Koch the same questions,’ McEvoy replied neutrally. ‘We’re trying to account for everybody’s movements so we can eliminate them from the inquiry.’

‘After the bar, I went to the chipper and then I walked home to my big empty house.’

‘You’re separated?’

‘Never married. I’ve never understood its appeal; being bound to one person for the rest of your life. It would be too claustrophobic; too… predictable.’

McEvoy reflected that Francis Koch made it sound like a life sentence. For him, being married to Maggie had given him a sense of security and stability. He liked the routine and predictability, the feelings of familiarity. Marriage wasn’t a prison he’d been looking to escape from; it was something he was glad of, that he’d embraced. He’d lost that and yet it was something that Francis Koch was not even interested in attaining. Perhaps if he was more like him, McEvoy reflected, some of the pain might disappear, though it would be a shallow and banal life.

_{* * *}

The incident room buzzed with the activity of a new case. Several uniformed guards were working at different tables. Kelly Stringer and John Joyce were standing next to the whiteboard still displaying his notes from the previous day.

Stringer was dressed in a smart, two-piece, grey suit, over a pale blue blouse. She’d undone the top two buttons on her blouse and her hair was down rather than pinned up. The change was quite striking, taking years off her appearance. Somehow it made McEvoy feel his age.

‘Any sign of Jim Whelan?’ he asked as he approached.

‘Not yet. He’s on his way,’ Joyce replied, staring down at McEvoy’s stained trousers, immediately spotting the source of the foul smell.

‘How about identifying this Lithuanian?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Any news on Hannah? Is she going to be okay?’

‘She’s in surgery at the minute,’ Stringer replied, backing away and scrunching up her nose. ‘She’s definitely going to lose the one leg from the knee down. They’re trying to save the other. It sounds like she was lucky. If she hadn’t dived through the door…’ she trailed off.

‘Charlie Clarke isn’t going to know what hit him,’ McEvoy predicted, unaware of the stench emanating from his suit and shoe. ‘If he thought this was going to scare us off, he’s made a bad mistake.’

‘Bishop’s on the warpath,’ Joyce said. ‘He’s called in armed response; the works. O’Reilly’s all over the radio,’ he said, referring to the Minister for Justice

‘About feckin’ time. Things have got out of control. Trying to kill Hannah’s the last straw.’

‘Have you been to Koch’s farm?’ Joyce asked, changing the subject.

‘No. Should I have been?’

‘No, no. It’s just… it’s just that you smell like you’ve… y’know.’

‘It’s that bad is it?’ McEvoy said concerned, looking down. ‘For God’s sake!’

‘It’s a bit ripe,’ Stringer joked, waving her hand in front of her nose.

‘Well, I haven’t got a spare pair, so people will just have to put up with it.’

‘You could try washing them out,’ Stringer suggested. ‘There’re changing rooms out the back. If you wring them out they should dry quite quickly.’

‘I’ll do it after. Do you have anything to report?’

‘Nothing much beyond yesterday afternoon. The farm manager has confirmed that the rope is one of his. It was taken from a shed. We’ve arranged for Roza, the housekeeper, to look round the house with George and Chloe; see if anything’s missing. She’s up there now.’

‘Good idea, though I’ve been warned about Roza. James Kinneally has her down as a gold-digger. He reckons that she gave Koch extra special care in the hope of a payoff when he dies.’

‘You think Roza is a suspect?’ Joyce said doubtfully.

‘I think everyone is a suspect until proven otherwise.’ McEvoy turned, sensing a presence behind him. ‘The silent one has arrived,’ he said to Jim Whelan.

‘Horse shit,’ Whelan replied.

‘That’s no way to describe Kelly’s perfume,’ McEvoy said, instantly regretting it.

‘I, er…’ Stringer stammered.

‘Chanel 5,’ Whelan said.

Stringer nodded her head, amazed that Whelan recognised it.

‘I take it that’s better than horseshit?’ McEvoy asked.

‘No contest,’ Whelan replied.

‘Fair enough. Did you bring a photo of the victim?’

Whelan nodded his head.

Stringer’s mobile phone rang and she stepped to one side.

‘Show it to Koch’s farm manager, around Ostara’s factories, and the town,’ McEvoy instructed. ‘If he’s from around here, someone will recognise him.’

Whelan nodded again.

‘Call me the minute you get a positive ID. I’ll get Tom McManus, the local sergeant, to give you a hand. Any joy tracking down the couple asking questions?’ McEvoy asked Joyce, waving his hand at the whiteboard.

‘Not yet. We’re ringing round the local hotels and B&Bs.’

‘Sir,’ Stringer interrupted, her finger placed over the mouthpiece on the phone.

‘Yes.’

‘It’s George Carter. The housekeeper says that the only thing that seems to be missing is a handgun that Koch had hidden in the back of his wardrobe.’

‘A handgun?’ McEvoy repeated.

_{* * *}

He carefully opened the small door at the back of the wardrobe, admiring the craftsmanship of the clever design. ‘And he definitely kept a gun in here?’ he asked without looking over his shoulder.

‘Yes. A small gun,’ Roza replied. ‘Very old.’

‘How did you know about it?’ McEvoy pulled back out of the confined space.

Roza Ptaszek was standing a couple of feet away, wearing a dark blue cardigan over a light blue summer dress with black leggings underneath that stopped just short of her thin ankles. She was a good foot shorter than McEvoy. Her face had regained some of its colour, though her eyes were still bloodshot, her stance wary. ‘I found it while cleaning,’ she said defensively.

‘He never told you about it?’

‘No, why should he? It was for, how do you say, protection. He was an important man.’

‘And it was there before he was killed?’

‘I don’t know. I found it and I left it there. I didn’t check on it.’

McEvoy nodded. If Koch had heard a burglar downstairs he’d probably taken the gun with him while he investigated. After he’d been attacked the thief had probably taken it as a precaution or souvenir.

‘And there’s nothing else missing?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Do you have any idea what they might have been searching for?’

‘Money?’ Roza shrugged. ‘Dr Koch was very wealthy. Perhaps someone thought that he might have money here?’

‘And did he?’

‘No, no. He kept his money in the bank.’

‘And were you after his money?’ McEvoy asked.

‘Me?’ Roza asked, confused.

‘Were you hoping that Dr Koch would make you wealthy?’

‘Why would he do that?’