The White Gallows (46 page)

‘That’s not her choice to make, is it? We’re investigating a double homicide. That gives us the right to talk to whoever we want – including your mother.’

‘I thought Francie has been charged with the murder of my grandfather?’ D’Arcy said, his face creasing in confusion, still not giving way.

‘He has, now get out of the way,’ McEvoy snapped, pushing open the door and stepping into the large hallway.

‘But… you think my mother killed Peter O’Coffey?’ D’Arcy said incredulously, trailing after McEvoy. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Where is your mother?’ McEvoy demanded, his temper starting to fray. ‘Do we need to charge round the place like bulls in a china shop or are you going to go and find her?’

‘I’m here, Superintendent,’ Marion D’Arcy said, descending the stairs. She was wearing a green waterproof coat over a dark brown polo-neck jumper, tight cream jodhpurs, and knee-length riding boots. She looked tired and drawn; her hair was un-styled, her face free of make-up. ‘I’m just about to take one of the horses out for a canter.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ McEvoy said firmly, ‘we need you to come to Athboy garda station to answer some questions.’

‘About what?’

‘About the night your father died and the death of Peter O’Coffey.’

‘This is a joke, right?’ Marion asked as she reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘We’ve been through all this already. Several times. I was here the night my father died and I didn’t kill Peter O’Coffey. End of story.’

‘We have new evidence. I need you to come to Athboy garda station so we can interview you formally,’ McEvoy insisted.

‘Superintendent, I really think—’ Mark D’Arcy started.

‘I’m talking to your mother,’ McEvoy interrupted, ‘not you. As far as I’m aware this has nothing to do with you.’

‘I… it’s… it’s got everything to do with me,’ D’Arcy stuttered. ‘You’re harassing this family. If you…’

‘Mark!’ Marion D’Arcy snapped, silencing her son. She turned her attention back to McEvoy. ‘If you want to continue this ridiculous charade I’ll answer any questions you want, but it’ll be done here and with my lawyer present.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ McEvoy said as evenly as he could, trying to suppress his bubbling anger. ‘If you don’t want to come voluntarily I have a garda car waiting outside.’

‘Are you threatening to arrest me?’ Marion mocked a laugh. ‘With what? Being related to the two victims? I hope to God you know what you’re doing, Superintendent, because despite the slander in the papers this family still has powerful friends. And we will sue for damages.’

‘I know exactly what I’m doing,’ McEvoy persisted, aware that he had little concrete evidence on which to arrest Marion D’Arcy except the sighting of her car by two people known to hold a grudge against her. ‘So, are you coming voluntarily or am I going to have to arrest you?’

‘On what charges?’

‘Failing to cooperate in a garda investigation, seeking to pervert the course of justice, conspiracy to murder, they’ll do to be going on with.’

‘That’s a joke, right?’ Marion snapped angrily.

‘No, it’s not a joke, Mrs D’Arcy,’ McEvoy said firmly. ‘I’m deadly serious.’

‘Well, you’re going to have to arrest me.’

‘Mother!’ Mark D’Arcy warned. ‘I really think you should—’

She cut him off with a glare.

‘Fine,’ McEvoy said. ‘Tom, go and get those two outside while I charge Mrs D’Arcy.’

‘Mark, call John Rice and tell him to get to Athboy garda station as soon as possible,’ Marion D’Arcy instructed. ‘And get onto your Uncle Frank, he’ll know what to do. You’re making a big mistake, Superintendent. I had nothing to do with either death.’

_{* * *}

He was pacing the corridor, anxious to make a start. Now that his anger had dissipated he was starting to worry that he’d been too hasty.

Marion D’Arcy had left her house with her head held high and had seemingly welcomed the flashing cameras of the media as they passed through her gates, staring from the back window of the garda car defiantly. Since arriving in Athboy she’d sat imperially in an interview room waiting for John Rice to arrive. Her confidence was unsettling.

His mobile phone rang. ‘McEvoy.’

‘You better know what the hell you’re doing, Colm,’ Bishop snapped. ‘I’ve just had the Minister for Justice on the phone, warming my ear. He didn’t take kindly to having to deal with, and I quote, “this shit”, on a Saturday. I take it that you have forensics or witnesses that link Marion D’Arcy to both murders?’

‘I… er,’ McEvoy stuttered, ‘not exactly. We have some circumstantial evidence.’

‘You
are
messing with me, Colm, aren’t you? You do know who we’re dealing with here, don’t you? Someone who can get the ear of the Minister within fifteen minutes of being arrested! The family might be under the media spotlight for supposed past crimes, but they still wield a lot of power.’

‘She’s… she’s involved in all of this,’ McEvoy said weakly. ‘I know she is.’

‘You
know
she is! Why couldn’t you have waited until you had some solid evidence? Are you a complete idiot?’

‘I…’

‘Now you’ve got her there, you’d better question her. But unless she confesses and signs a sworn statement, you’re to let her go and then you stay well away from her. Do you hear me? You don’t go near her again until you have incontrovertible evidence that she was involved in either killing. And stay away from the rest of her family as well. I don’t believe you sometimes. Jesus.’

‘I’ll…’

‘I’ve got to go. We still haven’t found those bastards who tried to blow-up Hannah Fallon. Try and use a bit of cop-on, will you?’ Bishop ended the call.

McEvoy tipped his head back and stared at the magnolia-painted ceiling. Whatever confidence he’d had this morning had now vanished entirely. The chances of Marion D’Arcy confessing were slim to none. And the chances of linking her directly to either murder had the same odds. He’d probably just made an enormous mistake. He closed his eyes, his exhaustion washing over him.

His mobile phone rang again. He tipped his head forward and looked at the screen before answering.

‘John?’

‘The media have gone bananas,’ John Joyce said. ‘They want to know why you’ve arrested Marion D’Arcy.’

McEvoy felt his heart sinking. ‘Tell them that we’ve simply brought her in for questioning – she’s helping us with our enquiries. No charges have been made,’ he replied, thinking of the following day’s newspaper headlines.

‘I thought you’d arrested her?’ Joyce said confused.

‘We’re still making our minds up,’ McEvoy hedged.

‘So you’ve not arrested her then?’

‘Listen, John,’ McEvoy said, regaining some composure, ‘we did arrest her, okay; it was the only way to get her to come in, but we haven’t yet questioned her. Just hold off on telling the media anything until we’ve questioned her and either let her go or formally charged her with an offence. We need to be careful about how all of this is reported.’

‘You want me to say nothing?’ Joyce said incredulously, aware of the pressure the media were putting on the press liaison team.

‘For an hour or so. Until then, she’s helping us with our enquiries.’ McEvoy ended the call. Things seemed to be going from bad to worse. What should have been a moment of triumph had somehow turned into a rear-guard action.

_{* * *}

Marion D’Arcy was whispering to John Rice when McEvoy entered the room with Tom McManus. She stopped what she was saying and stared at him with contempt.

‘Right, we’ll make a start, shall we?’ McEvoy said as confidently as he could, sitting down.

McManus fiddled with the digital recorder and McEvoy listed the date, time and people present.

‘I demand to know why you have arrested my client, Superintendent?’ John Rice said before McEvoy could ask his first question.

‘Because she wouldn’t answer our questions, she’s lied to us, she’s tried to alter the course of an investigation, and I believe she might have conspired in the murder of Peter O’Coffey.’

‘You believe?’

‘Yes, I believe,’ McEvoy said, starting to regain some confidence. ‘That’s why we’re here; so she can answer our questions.’

‘So this is a fishing expedition?’ Rice said sarcastically.

‘No, this is a murder investigation,’ McEvoy said firmly, ‘and I need to ask Mrs D’Arcy some questions.’

‘I’ve instructed my client to say nothing until you’ve provided conclusive evidence to substantiate your claims. Unless you can do so we will be exercising our prerogative to leave.’

McEvoy sighed audibly. ‘Okay, let’s play it your way,’ he conceded, moving his gaze to Marion D’Arcy. ‘I’ll tell you how I see it and you can tell me whether I’m right. If I’m not satisfied with your answers, I’ll keep asking questions. If you don’t want to answer them, fine; we’ll let the DPP decide whether charges are to be pressed.’

Neither D’Arcy or Rice replied.

‘This is what I think happened. You drove to The White Gallows in the early hours of Sunday morning. You parked just inside the gateway then you made your way to the house. Given that Roza was staying with her boyfriend, your plan was to take advantage of her absence to search the place. My guess is you were after the latest copy of your father’s will. When you let yourself in, you found your father lying either unconscious or dead in the library. Instead of panicking or calling for an ambulance, you carried your father upstairs and placed him back in his bed. Then you went back downstairs and tidied up, picking up the vase fragments and taking the gun. You probably even searched for whatever it was that you were looking for. How am I doing so far?’

‘You’re crazy,’ Marion D’Arcy said dismissively.

John Rice placed a hand on her arm silencing her.

‘You then left the house, went back to your car and drove home. The next morning you planned to return to the farm before Roza got back from Athboy, only she got there first and called the guards. You organised Dr Astell to attend to your father and persuaded him to declare that your father had passed away in his sleep. Given that Dr Astell was a major beneficiary of your father’s will there might well have been some kind of prior agreement. Your father probably wanted to ensure he had a nice, quiet death; unlike the thousands he killed during the war. He didn’t want anyone looking at his life too carefully in case people discovered the truth about his past. You knew that two members of Yellow Star had been sneaking about the place asking questions and you wanted to try and keep things as quiet as possible. I’m still on track?’

Marion D’Arcy was staring at him with contempt, but stayed silent.

‘Three witnesses saw you arrive at your father’s farm. Peter O’Coffey was making his way home after killing your father and hanging the noose as a diversion. As you know, Peter had serious financial problems and was on the verge of losing his grandfather’s farm. Only he wasn’t listed as a beneficiary in your father’s will like Francis. At first he tried to blackmail Francie, his co-killer, but he’d no ready cash to give him. Angry and desperate he decided to try the person he’d seen arriving at the farm as he was leaving. After all, they had something to hide. They’d been at the house and they’d tried to pass the murder off as a natural death. Rather than accede to Peter’s wishes you instead decided to kill him with your father’s gun, seeking to make it look like suicide. At the very least it would look like Francie had killed him. You met him at the border between the two farms, made him write out a short note, and then blew his brains out.’

McEvoy sat back in his chair. It all fitted together. He’d regained his composure.