MOLLOY WAS STANDING outside the office. Maeve took off as soon as she saw him, assuming we had business to discuss.
“I was just calling in to see how you are,” he said. “Heard you were back at work this morning.” He looked uncomfortable, as if I’d caught him lurking somewhere he shouldn’t. It was only the second time I had seen him look like that; the first being at my office three days before.
“No keeping secrets from you, is there?” I said tetchily.
He smiled. “Small town. You should be used to it by now. You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“I wanted to talk to you. We’re trying to track down that silver car …”
I cut across him. “I got Marguerite’s death certificate.”
“Oh, did you now?” He raised one eyebrow.
“With the post-mortem report.”
“Ah.”
“I suppose you knew she was pregnant?”
“Well, yes. We had the results the day she was found.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t. It was confidential. Anyway, I don’t remember you being overly helpful yourself.”
Molloy’s annoyance made him look more like his old self; reversion to our old battleground had removed his discomfort. Part of me was relieved. I wasn’t comfortable with Molloy’s care for me at the moment. It made me want to rely on him again – and that was dangerous.
But I had heard that word confidential one too many times today.
“I had no choice. You know that,” I said. “But how could you have just dismissed her death as suicide if you knew she was pregnant?”
“Ben, she was forty-two and single. It was hardly likely to be a happy event.”
“You think she killed herself out of despair over an unwanted pregnancy? That’s a bit simplistic, isn’t it?”
He sighed. “We found a letter she had written to her daughter. That’s how we managed to get in touch with her so quickly. The letter was clearly a goodbye. It read like a suicide note.”
“Well, maybe it was a goodbye. But that doesn’t mean it was a suicide note. Her daughter didn’t seem to be interested in being in contact with her. Isn’t it possible she was giving up trying to have a relationship with her daughter if she had another baby on the way?”
Molloy paused. “What do you know about her relationship with her daughter?”
I could have kicked myself. The only reason I knew that Marguerite had been trying to get in touch with her daughter was from the letters Phyllis had given me, the letters I had no right to have.
I looked away. “I have an uneasy feeling about it, you know I have. About the whole thing.”
Molloy looked troubled. “You don’t think you’re uneasy about it because of …? Maybe it’s bringing back some things?” He looked at me, his eyes full of concern, and suddenly I found it difficult to speak.
“No,” I said, “it’s not about my sister.”
He looked at the pavement for a second before speaking again. “Ben. Marguerite Etienne was forty-two, pregnant, and very much alone from what we could make out. No one came forward with information following the appeal. Not one single person. The only people who spoke to us were the people we approached. And very few of them knew her. She wrote a last letter to her daughter who seems to have barely known her either, and she died a couple of hours later.”
“How do you know that?”
Molloy marked the times off on his fingers. “She was at your office till twenty past six and she died between seven and midnight the same night, according to the pathologist. The letter was dated the sixteenth of September. The same night.”
“But the will …”
“The will also points to suicide. She puts her affairs in order, writes what is effectively a suicide note, and walks into the sea.”
“But I keep telling you! She hadn’t put her affairs in order.” “I know, Ben, but she must have thought she had,” he said patiently. “Everything else points to suicide.”
I bit my tongue.
“And then there’s her history.” He shook his head. “You seem to think we’ve done nothing, just taken the easy way out. But we’ve spoken to the French and Norwegian police at length about the cult of which she was a member. People come out of that organization pretty damaged. It seems very likely that Marguerite was fragile, mentally. If you read the post-mortem report, you would have seen that she had benzodiazepines in her system when she died.”
“Yes. Clonazepam. Used for the treatment of epilepsy.”
He looked at me curiously. “So you’ve done your homework. Well, if you’ve read up on it, you’ll also have seen that it is regularly used recreationally. It’s a commonly abused benzodiazepine. We’ve checked with all of the local doctors and none of them wrote a prescription for clonazepam for Marguerite.”
“She could have gone to a doctor somewhere else.”
“True, but if she was taking it without a prescription, then who knows what kind of dosage she was taking. One of the possible side effects of clonazepam is suicidal ideation.”
“So, that’s it then?”
“What do you want me to do? There’s absolutely no reason to reopen the investigation.” Molloy spread his palms out in a gesture of helplessness.
“Of course there isn’t,” I said as I turned on my heel and went into the office.
Oh, it wasn’t Molloy’s fault, I knew that. The guards’ conclusion was perfectly reasonable, considering the information they had. It wasn’t his fault that no one had come forward in response to the appeal either. I was taking my frustration out on him for more than one reason, I was aware of that, too.
But there were people who knew Marguerite better than they were admitting; Brendan Quinn and Aidan Doherty for a start. She was pregnant, for God’s sake; it hadn’t been the Immaculate Conception. Quinn had made some admissions, but what was his car doing at the beach the night she died if he hadn’t seen her for six weeks?
I couldn’t blame the guards for closing the investigation, but Molloy’s theory about Marguerite’s despair was wrong. I truly doubted that she would have committed suicide over a pregnancy. She wasn’t some frightened fifteen year old; she was a mother already. It was far more likely that she wanted to keep the child, and that someone else didn’t want her to.
I picked up the post-mortem report again. I had been so shocked when I discovered that Marguerite was pregnant when she died that everything else had taken second place. But something else had jarred when I read through it the first time, something at the back of my memory like an itch I couldn’t reach to scratch. Molloy had reminded me of it when he mentioned clonazepam, the drug found in her system. There was an inconsistency there somewhere: I just had to remember what it was.
Finally it came back to me. It was something that Phyllis had said – She wouldn’t even take an aspirin. She didn’t take any medication. Surely the fact that Marguerite was being careful about medication implied that she had known she was pregnant? And if she was being careful, did that not also imply that she wanted the baby, that she was going to keep it?
I did a more detailed search for clonazepam on the net. I discovered that it was a benzodiazepine with anxiolytic, anticonvulsant, muscle relaxant, amnestic, sedative and hypnotic qualities. Molloy was right – possible side effects were suicidal ideation along with sedation, apathy, fatigue, dizziness, difficulty with co-ordination, slow reactions, poor concentration – all things Phyllis had mentioned. I moved on to have a look at some chat sites. Comments online by people who had taken the drug said that it tasted minty, like menthol. And significantly – it was dangerous to take in pregnancy. So why would Marguerite have willingly taken clonazepam if she knew she was pregnant?
I thought about calling Molloy and telling him what I’d remembered. But was it enough to change anything? After the conversation we’d just had, I wasn’t convinced. I needed more.
I glanced out the window of the office; Quinn’s car was still there. He would have to come back for it sooner or later, but I couldn’t stand guard at the window all afternoon to catch him. I rang his mobile and left a message for him to call me as soon as possible. Before I hung up, Leah buzzed from downstairs.
“Hugh O’Connor’s father is here to see you. He wants to have a word with you about Hugh.”
“Is Hugh with him?”
“Nope.”
“Hmm. Okay then. Send him up.”
A tall thin man in an ill-fitting suit walked into my office. He smiled in recognition when he saw me. “So, we’ve met before. I hadn’t made the connection.”
The man standing in front of me was Aidan Doherty. I hoped my expression didn’t give anything away – the night before, I had been dialing his number.
He offered his hand. “It was at the hospital, wasn’t it?” He had a kind smile that brightened his eyes. I could see that at one time he had been handsome, but he seemed worn.
“Yes, that’s right. You have a good memory. I guess it’s a requirement of the job,” I said, offering him a seat. I hesitated. “Leah said you were Hugh’s father?”
He nodded. “I know – the name. It’s a bit confusing. Hugh decided to take his mother’s maiden name. He adored his grandfather.”
“Oh yes … the famous grandfather.” I sat down. “What can I do for you, Mr. Doherty?”
“I’m here about Hugh. I know he’s got himself into a spot of bother.”
“Hugh’s over eighteen, Mr. Doherty, so I can’t discuss his business with you without his consent, I’m afraid.”
“Aidan, please. I know that. But he is aware that I’m here. You can ring him, if you like.”
He scrolled through his list of contacts and handed me his mobile with his son’s number highlighted. I realized that what I was holding was probably the very phone Marguerite had been dialling and texting so obsessively. Hugh answered on the third ring.
“Hugh, it’s Ben O’Keeffe here. I have your father with me. He wants to talk to me about your case. Is that okay with you?”
I could hear a laugh on the other end of the phone. “Aye. Let him away on. Whatever makes him happy.”
“Are you sure?”
“Aye. It’s no bother to me. It’ll make no difference.”
“Okay, Hugh. I’ll let you know when the statements come in.” I handed Aidan back his phone. “Well, you were right, he has no problem with it. What do you want to know?”
“I just wondered if there was anything I could do.”
“What do you mean?”
He looked anxious. “Well, would it help if I spoke to the guards myself? Hugh’s been having something of a rough time over the past couple of years. Family difficulties. He has a bit of a temper sometimes, too. But then things haven’t always been easy for him. His mother and I …” He trailed off.
I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.
“You can try – but I doubt it would help. It’s a serious enough charge. And it’s already on Pulse,” I said, referring to the garda records system.
“I’m too late, then?”
“I suspect so.”
Aidan sighed. “He only told me about it last night. His mother bailed him out. She didn’t tell me either, unfortunately.” He added apologetically, “I’m just concerned for him. His mother is very protective of him.”
“You said you and his mother …?”
Aidan glanced at the floor for a second, then seemed to come to a decision. “As a matter of fact, would you mind if I asked your advice about something – for myself? There should be no conflict with Hugh.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“And it would be completely confidential?”
There seemed to be a lot of concern about confidentiality today. “Of course.”
He clasped his hands in his lap and took a deep breath. “Look, I know it sounds a bit far-fetched, but I’m being blackmailed.”
“I see. Do you want to tell me about it?”
“Well, I don’t really want to go into any details. But the bottom line is, I had an affair. I’m not proud of it and it’s over now, but the information has made its way into the wrong hands. And it’s being used against me.” He ran his fingers through his hair.
“How?”
“The individuals I’m dealing with seem to think that my political career will suffer if the story comes out. I’m not sure that’s the case, frankly, but I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t want my family to be hurt.”
It was all I could do to stop myself from asking him who he had been having the affair with.
“Have you spoken to the guards?” I asked.
“I haven’t, no.” He looked fearful. “Not yet.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Doherty, that is what you should be talking to the guards about. Not Hugh. Blackmail is a serious criminal offence. I’m sure they could be discreet.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said in that way people do when you know it’s the last thing they would consider. It was clear I hadn’t given him the advice he wanted, and immediately, I wished I could take it back, but it was too late. Within minutes he had thanked me and left.
I watched him from the window as he crossed the street, shoulders hunched as if he were carrying a great weight. Was he the father of Marguerite’s child? A baby would certainly have hurt his family and probably his career too. How far would he have been willing to go, to stop that happening?
I was beginning to see why Marguerite might not have been so popular with the women of Inishowen. Two lovers, both married, within the space of a year. Was Simon a third?
I went downstairs to quiz Leah.
“What’s the story with the family name? That was pretty confusing at the start.”
“Doherty and O’Connor? Sorry, I should have told you. Hugh took his mother’s name.”
“So I gathered. Isn’t that a bit unusual?”
“My sister says he’s obsessed with his grandfather. Wants to be just like him. Follow in his footsteps. Remember what he said to you about running for election?”
“Oh yes. What about his father though? Aidan Doherty is a pretty successful politician too, isn’t he?”
Leah smiled. “Not in the same league. Doesn’t have the same killer instinct. Doherty’s credentials all come from his marriage.”
“To Hugh’s mother?”
“Clodagh.”
I put two and two together. “Oh God, Clodagh O’Connor! That’s Hugh’s mother?”
“Yep. Tough woman.”
“So I gather. I just met her at lunchtime.”
“Actually, I’m surprised Doherty didn’t take the wife’s name himself,” Leah said wryly. “I’d say if he hadn’t married her, he’d still be shoeing horses. But that wasn’t going to be enough for Clodagh O’Connor, coming from a big political dynasty like that.”
“That’s what he did?”
She nodded. “Blacksmith. There was a bit more to him than the horses though; he started making jewelry. Nice stuff, actually. Iron cuffs, pendants, that sort of thing. They say he only went into politics under pressure from the wife.”
A flashback of Marguerite fidgeting with a bracelet came into my head. Had Aidan given it to her? I wondered what had happened to it. She hadn’t been wearing it when she died – I was sure I would have noticed it if I had seen it on her body.