No Easy Answer Page 2

  ‘Okay,’ Allen said and went back to tapping the keyboard.

  West left him to it and headed back to his office.

  2

  Darragh Checkley, true to his word, contacted West later that afternoon and the following morning, his tone becoming more irate as the hours passed without an arrest being made.

  The post-mortem on Doris Whitaker’s body was scheduled for Friday at 10am. West didn’t expect to learn anything new but he went along as a matter of routine. It wasn’t a great time to battle traffic to Blanchardstown but he pulled into the car park of Connolly Hospital at ten minutes to the hour, paid the extortionate car parking charge and made his way around to the mortuary that was situated in an old flat-roofed building to the rear of the new, extended, modern hospital complex.

  He’d come straight from his home in Greystones. With only a few minutes to spare he rang the station and had a word with Andrews. ‘I’ll be in later,’ he explained. ‘I’m switching off my mobile so if the delightful Mr Checkley should ring, he’s all yours.’

  ‘Thanks for that. Just what I want to make my Friday complete.’

  ‘Yes, well it’s your turn to try to remain polite in the face of his rudeness. Anything new in for us?’

  ‘A missing person. An elderly woman, Muriel Hennessy. She was last seen by her daughter on Sunday. Her son called to see her late yesterday afternoon. When she wasn’t there, he waited an hour then went out to look for her. He spoke to a few neighbours but nobody could remember when they’d seen her last.’

  West frowned. It had been wet and cold the last few nights. If an elderly woman had been caught outdoors, hypothermia might have set in. He remembered well the feeling of confusion that had come with it when he and Edel had been trapped in the cave on Clare Island. Hypothermia was a dangerous enemy.

  ‘He rang it in at 9pm,’ Andrews went on. ‘Uniforms started a search straight away. Some of the neighbours joined in, too, but so far, no luck.’

  ‘She might have fallen somewhere, got confused and lost her way. Call on the neighbours again and try to pinpoint when she was seen last. You know the drill, Peter. Ask Blunt to get us some extra help too, the more we have looking, the sooner we’ll find her.’

  The call had delayed him longer than he’d expected and it was two minutes past ten before he took a seat in the viewing area of the mortuary. The state pathologist, Dr Niall Kennedy, had already started but looked up to acknowledge West’s arrival with a lift of a bloodstained gloved hand. ‘I’ve finished my initial examination, Mike,’ he said. ‘There’s extensive bruising to the victim’s right side with a simple fracture of the right femur all of which are consistent with being hit by a car. There are more injuries to her left side where she hit the pavement – fractured humerus, clavicle, three ribs and, what I think will prove to be the fatal blow, a depressed fracture of her cranium.

  ‘I’ve looked at the crime-scene photographs. I gather from the reports that the body was moved by the woman who found her but there is blood visible on the kerb, the angle of which matches the depression in her skull. I’d say she was thrown into the air by the car, and her head hit the kerb when she landed.’ Kennedy continued to work as he spoke, removing organs, examining, weighing.

  The blood and gore didn’t bother West although the sound of the saw as Doris Whitaker’s head was cut open did set his teeth on edge.

  ‘In general, she was a remarkably healthy ninety-year-old,’ Kennedy said finally. ‘Some signs of cardiac disease but nothing that would have killed her any time soon. She might even have recovered from her injuries but for the head trauma.’ He took off his gloves and fired them into the clinical waste bag. ‘That was the kill blow and death would have been instantaneous.’

  West raised a hand in thanks and left. Poor Doris, a nasty way to end her life but at least it had been quick. He’d tell Darragh Checkley the next time he spoke to him. Maybe knowing that would make it easier for him.

  It was midday by the time West walked into the station. The main office was empty apart from Andrews who was hunched over some reports. He looked up as West opened the door, stretched, and linked his hands behind his head. ‘How’d it go?’

  ‘Poor Doris was pretty bashed up,’ West said, perching on the side of the desk. ‘Looks like her head hit the kerb when she was thrown and she sustained a fatal injury. Death, according to the pathologist, was instantaneous.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’re not thinking that will give that Darragh Checkley any comfort. He’s been on the phone already, wasn’t at all happy that you weren’t here to speak to him.’

  ‘It had crossed my mind but not with any real expectation. He’s a difficult man.’ West grinned at Andrews’ expression. ‘Yes, I can imagine you had more colourful words to describe him.’

  ‘Just a few.’

  ‘I’ll give him a ring, try and sweeten him. I don’t suppose we’ve got anywhere with finding the perp, have we?’

  Andrews shook his head. ‘No joy with any of the CCTV footage in Foxrock. Allen checked all garages within a five-mile radius to see if any cars had been booked in for repairs for damage consistent with a collision.’ He shrugged. ‘She was only a little bit of a thing; chances are any damage to the vehicle was minimal and didn’t need repair. There has been no response to our appeal for the driver to come forward either but we’ll run it again. You never know, we might get lucky.’

  Luck. West often wondered if the general public realised how much they depended on it. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Baxter and Edwards are co-ordinating the search for the missing woman, Muriel Hennessy. No sign yet but it’s a big area, lots of back lanes, outhouses, and the like. It’s going to take time. We have plenty of bodies helping. The daughter’s friends arrived to help plus Tom managed to get us some extra uniforms from Dun Laoghaire and Blackrock.’

  Tom Blunt, their desk sergeant, had an uncanny knack for conjuring up staff from other stations when needed. In a case like this one where the more eyes on the ground, the better, it was useful. ‘They owe me,’ was all Blunt would ever say when he asked how he managed it. Since the monosyllabic Blunt commanded huge respect, not only in Foxrock Station, but further afield, nobody ever took the liberty of asking what for.

  ‘Good,’ West said. ‘Hopefully, we should locate the poor soul before nightfall.’

  ‘I checked the forecast. It’s going to be cold and wet so I hope so. Mrs Hennessy is eighty-five. It isn’t a good age to be wandering around outside. Plus,’ Andrews added, ‘we’ve no idea how long she’s been missing.’

  West left him to his reports and headed to his office. He’d cleared his in-tray of outstanding paperwork the previous day so the pile that had grown during the course of the morning made him frown. He flicked through it as he waited for his computer to power up. Mostly it was rubbish that went directly into the bin leaving him with only a few reports to read that he scanned with little enthusiasm.

  The same reports came through online and he shook his head at the stupidity of the duplication which he knew was done simply for Sergeant Clark’s benefit. Clark, in charge of the robbery division, had been known to state categorically that he’d never received an email if it suited him. West had no time for the lazy, boorish detective.

  He’d not much regard for the boorish Darragh Checkley either, but he picked up the phone to ring him anyway in the interest of maintaining a relationship with the man. The phone was answered almost immediately.

  ‘I was at your cousin’s post-mortem this morning. Dr Kennedy, the state pathologist, said her death would have been instantaneous. I wanted to let you know that she wouldn’t have suffered.’

  West didn’t expect thanks so wasn’t disappointed at Checkley’s sharp reply. ‘That’s all well and good but I gather you are no nearer to catching the bastard who ran her down.’

  It seemed easier to stick to the standard reply. With someone like Checkley, you were never going to win. ‘The case is ongoing, Mr Checkley, and we’re followi
ng up several lines of enquiry.’

  A gruff laugh came down the line. ‘Sure you are. Right, I’ll ring back tomorrow and we’ll see how far along those lines you’ve managed to get.’

  The phone went dead and West hung it up with a grunt of irritation just as Andrews came through the door. ‘Checkley?’ he said, with a grin.

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘Well, you’ll be glad to get out of here then.’

  West raised an eyebrow. ‘Something interesting?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Andrew wagged his head side to side. ‘A call came in from the recycling centre. They think they’ve found something suspicious. I didn’t want to pull gardaí from the search for the Hennessy woman so I thought we could go. Get some fresh air.’

  ‘Good idea.’ West jumped to his feet. ‘We could get lunch somewhere while we’re at it.’

  The recycling centre wasn’t far from the station. As Andrews drove, he kept up a running commentary of the weird, wonderful and downright bizarre things he’d been called to over the course of his career.

  West wasn’t listening. His mind was on the following day when he was taking Edel to buy an engagement ring. ‘Debeerds.’ He hadn’t realised he’d spoken aloud until Andrews turned to look at him.

  ‘That’s what I said! Downright weird!’

  ‘Right.’ West didn’t think there was any point in enlightening him. He tried to put the following day from his mind and concentrate on what Andrews was saying.

  A few minutes later, they pulled into the recycling centre. Whatever the staff had found that warranted calling out the gardaí obviously wasn’t considered serious enough to shut down the business. Cars and vans continued to arrive; each parking space quickly taken by the next vehicle. Boots yawned open to disgorge the unwanted, the broken and the rubbish. Up the metal steps the customers went, laden down, then a quick toss and it was gone.

  Andrew pulled up outside the site office and both men got out. A thin man wearing neon-bright overalls stood in the doorway and lifted a hand in greeting as the two men approached. ‘I was hoping you’d be here soon.’

  ‘Mr Todd?’

  ‘Yea, that’s me. Clem Todd.’

  West introduced himself and Andrews. ‘You reported something suspicious in one of your containers?’

  Todd waved to the far end of the site. ‘It’s the household domestic waste container. It’s due to be emptied later today so it’s quite full. A customer came running down the steps shouting that he’d seen a leg sticking out of a bag. A leg is a bit suspicious, isn’t it?’ When that didn’t get the reaction he wanted, he jerked his thumb into the office behind. ‘He’s sitting inside.’

  The office door was open, West could see a man sitting cross-legged, eyes wide in excitement or shock. ‘We’ll speak to him in a moment. I assume you’ve closed off access to that container?’

  ‘As soon as your man there said what he’d seen we shut it off with a chain.’ Todd folded his arms across his chest. ‘We have a second container for domestic waste but this is a big site. Only having the one is slowing things down and our customers are a bit pissed off. As soon as you can let us get back to using it, I’d appreciate it.’

  West didn’t have the heart to tell the man that if there really was a leg in the container, it would be shut for a long time. ‘Okay. We’ll go have a look.’

  ‘I bet it’s a doll or a mannequin,’ Andrews said as they crossed between parked cars to the container in question.

  Todd had been true to his word. A chain had been hung across the stairway that gave access to the container, a battered sign hanging from it proclaiming that it was not in use. West unhooked the end of the chain and he and Andrews set foot on the first step. ‘Right,’ West said, hooking the chain back in place. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got.’

  The stairway rattled ominously as they climbed. On the broad top step, the container edge was about chest high. Anyone bringing a bag of household waste would have to heft it up to throw it in.

  ‘There,’ Andrew said, pointing to a black plastic bag almost in the centre of the mass of rubbish and out of their reach.

  West looked to where he pointed. ‘Yes, I see it. It’s not a mannequin or a doll though.’ If it were it would have been a garish pink, pseudo-healthy shade. Not the mottled, greyish foot that extended at an angle from the bag. ‘There must be 500 bags here, maybe more, along with other unbagged rubbish. This isn’t going to be easy.’

  ‘Forensics are going to love us. Maybe we should throw another bag on top, tell Todd it was a mistake, and run away.’

  ‘I could see the headline now,’ West said as he turned to take the steps down. ‘Cops cop out on container corpse.’

  Andrews snorted. ‘I can better that. How about, Gardaí don’t have a leg to stand on!’

  ‘In lieu of those scary headlines, perhaps we’d better investigate.’ West put the chain back over the steps and together they crossed to the site office.

  The man who’d made the grim discovery stood as they entered. ‘I was right, wasn’t I?’

  ‘We’ll get our forensic people out and they’ll make that determination,’ West said, giving nothing away. ‘Can you tell me exactly what happened?’

  The man rubbed his hands together. ‘Nothing much to tell. We’re moving house and wanted to get rid of a pile of stuff. I’d put loads of things in the recycling containers and was getting rid of the final two bags of rubbish. I took them up the steps and had to put one down to heave the other up to throw it on top. The container is quite full.’ He looked accusingly at the site manager as he said this.

  ‘And then?’ Andrews nudged him.

  ‘There was a mound of bags, when I threw my second bag in, it hit it and made it sort of tumble down… well, not tumble really, more fell apart.’ He held his hands up. ‘It all happened so quickly. Anyway, I was turning away when I noticed something sticking out of one of the bags.’ He looked from Andrews to West and gulped. ‘I love zombie movies and TV series, that’s how I knew what it was.’

  ‘A zombie.’ Todd gave an uncertain laugh.

  ‘No–’ the man glared at him, ‘–a dead body.’

  ‘Okay, thank you,’ West said. ‘If you’d leave us your name and address, we won’t need to keep you any further but, at your convenience, you need to come to the station and write a statement.’ West saw doubt in the man’s eyes. ‘Or we could arrange for a garda to call to your house.’

  The man shrugged. ‘No, that’s fine I can call into the station.’ He left his details and strode away, his shoulders hunched around his ears telling the world he was not a happy man.

  West turned to the manager. ‘We’re going to have to keep that container shut down for a while, I’m afraid.’ He saw resignation in the man’s weather-worn face. ‘We also need an area for the forensic team to use. All the bags in that container will need to be removed and opened.’

  Todd ran a hand over his face. ‘You’re talking about nearly 500 bags!’

  West looked back to the container and nodded. ‘Yes, that’s what I estimated.’

  3

  An hour later, the garda technical team arrived. Todd, proving himself to be a competent site manager, quickly rearranged the parking to free up a large area close to the container in question and directed the team’s vehicles into the space with a wave of his hand.

  West walked out to meet them, pleased to see Detective Sergeant Maddison in charge.

  ‘Afternoon, David,’ he said.

  Maddison’s weathered face was topped with a grey buzz cut that never seemed to grow. He ran his hand over it and looked towards the container with a sigh. ‘Body dump?’

  There was no time for small talk when faced with clearing a full container of rubbish. ‘I’m afraid that’s what it looks like. There’s a foot and part of a leg poking out of a burst refuse bag at the top. The man who alerted the staff was throwing his own bag in. He says he disturbed a mound of bags which toppled, so it may be that the bag was there for a few hours
.’

  ‘Or days. Bags get moved around by the weight of others.’ Maddison glanced back to the container. ‘Did the manager say when it was emptied last?’

  ‘Wednesday.’

  ‘Okay. We’ll start with the bag with the body part and see what it contains. Best-case scenario, the bag contains one complete body.’ He didn’t say anything more, leaving to join his team and start what was going to be a difficult job.

  He didn’t have to say more, anyway. West knew what the worst-case scenario would be. One body part that would send them searching for the remainder of the corpse, or multiple body parts from more than one victim that would start warning bells clanging loudly.

  ‘Todd’s going to have the CCTV footage sent to us,’ Andrews said, joining him. ‘It shows vehicles entering and leaving, and the area in front of the office, but unfortunately doesn’t show the access stair to the container.’

  ‘I was hoping we’d get a shot of someone hauling an unusually heavy bag up the steps.’

  ‘That’s you being sarcastic,’ Andrews said with a grin.

  They stepped back as more of the team headed for the container. ‘Maddison is going to remove the obvious body-part bag first, so we should know pretty quickly what we’re dealing with.’

  There was nothing to do but wait. They knew better than to hang around and get in the way of the technical team so they walked back to the car and sat inside.

  Andrews yawned. ‘You going to ring the inspector?’

  West was debating that very idea. ‘No, we may as well wait till we have the full story.’

  ‘A serial killer on our patch disposing of bits of bodies wherever they fancy.’ Andrews’ voice was almost cheerful.

  ‘You’ve been watching too much TV again. It’ll turn out to be something less exciting… skulduggery from whatever company oversees the disposal of body parts from a hospital or something.’ It was a far preferable outcome than Andrews’ prediction. They could do with a simple case to investigate for a change.