Death at Whitewater Church Read online

  “God yes, your break-in,” I said. “I hope you were insured.”

  She nodded, casting her eyes around the room. “All new stuff. I’m just glad Danny’s not being blamed anymore. Although I hear Bourke’s been released on bail. I hope to God Alan doesn’t get hold of him.” She looked towards the door with a slightly panicked expression, as if the thought of her husband returning unsettled her.

  She switched her gaze back to me. “Where was I?”

  “Conor going out on his own?”

  “Oh aye. He seemed to be working all hours, trying to get new work. At first I was pleased – as I said, I thought that he was doing it for us. And then I started to wonder if maybe he was doing it to try to spend time away from me.” Her eyes filled with tears. “He stopped talking to me, too. He was never the most open fella in the world, but he closed up completely.” She cleared her throat. “He wanted to pitch for work on that new development at Whitewater Church – the big heritage centre they were planning up there.”

  I looked up in surprise. “Oh yes? And did he?”

  She said a little uncomfortably, “To be honest, I tried to put a stop to it.”

  “Why was that?”

  “I saw him with the wife of the man who was doing it and I didn’t like it.”

  “Alison Kelly?”

  “Yes, her. Conor came into the bank one day and she was there. It was just after we got engaged. I could see them talking in the doorway. There was something about her – I could tell immediately that she fancied him. Women can tell within seconds if another woman is a friend or an enemy, and they’re rarely wrong. And that bitch Alison Kelly was no friend of mine, I can tell you that much.”

  I remembered Lisa’s reaction to Alison the night of Danny’s wake. Now it made sense. But if what Lisa said was true, why had Alison claimed that she hadn’t seen Conor since she was a child? Could Conor have been the man outside the Station Inn on Sunday night?

  Lisa drained her glass. “I asked Conor about it, and he said I was imagining things, that she was a useful contact, and that she could persuade her husband to give him the job. But there was more to it than that, I’m sure of it. And if you’d seen the look on Conor’s face when Alison Kelly’s husband walked over to the two of them that day in the bank, you’d have thought the same.”

  I leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

  “The color drained from Conor’s face as if he had seen a ghost. It was weird. And then it kind of hardened. I’m telling you, the look that Conor gave Ray Kelly that day was not the look of someone wanting a job. It frightened me. He looked as if he wanted to kill him.” Lisa rubbed her eyes. “I think that was the beginning of the end for us. I had been so happy before, but after that I just knew …” Her voice trailed off.

  “You knew what?” I asked.

  “I knew I wasn’t his priority anymore.”

  Lisa stared at the wall, her eyes glazing over, tears running down her face. She had obviously been drinking before I met her in the Oak, but it was as if this latest drink had pushed her over the edge. It didn’t stop her pouring herself another, but when she offered the bottle to me, I put my hand over my glass. My mind was racing. What was going on between Alison Kelly and Conor Devitt? And why had both Kellys lied about how well they knew Conor? Ray had claimed he had never met him.

  “Did Conor go ahead and pitch for work at Whitewater Church, do you know? Even though you tried to put a stop to it?” I asked.

  Lisa grabbed a tissue from a silver-plated box by the sink and mopped her face.

  “I think so. He said he was going up there to have a look and see the plans before the wedding. I don’t know if he ever got there though.”

  “Is that why you thought the bones might be his?”

  “I didn’t know,” she repeated stubbornly.

  “When exactly was he planning to go up there?”

  “The night before, or even the morning of our wedding, maybe. I didn’t see him at all, the day of the wedding. We weren’t due to get married until three o’clock, and he didn’t stay with me the night before. He was at his mother’s.”

  “Did you say this at the time?” My tone was sharper than I intended.

  She looked at me blankly. “What?”

  “Did you tell the guards that Conor was planning on going up to the church?”

  She shrugged. “I told someone. It mightn’t have been the guards. But Danny checked up there when he couldn’t find him before the wedding and there was no sign of him.”

  I took a second to digest this.

  “Had Conor arranged to meet someone at the church, do you know?”

  “I don’t think so. He said he just wanted to have a look. I didn’t think there was anything strange about it. He was always very attached to that place for some reason. And the planning notice was up on the gate.” She gave me an odd look. “Anyway, why are we talking about this? He’s back, isn’t he? What does it matter now?”

  I didn’t know why exactly, but it did matter, I was sure of it.

  “Imagine – I actually thought that it might be him up there when they found those bones. I thought it might be him, after all, that he might have fallen or something. I even began to feel guilty, for judging him wrongly.” Lisa laughed bitterly as she waved her empty glass about. “But I was right all along, wasn’t I? Nothing happened to him. He just ran away, didn’t he? The day of our fucking wedding.”

  “He didn’t run away with Alison Kelly though, did he?” I said. “She’s still here, with her husband.”

  “Whatever, she’s a bitch anyway.”

  Lisa leaned across the worktop to pour herself another glass of wine, then discovered that the bottle was empty. She clambered off the stool, swaying.

  “I’ll go and get another bottle. I’m sure there’s a bottle of white out here somewhere.”

  “No, please, not for me. I have to go.”

  “Go on. It won’t kill you.”

  “It might. I’m driving.”

  Her eyes widened as if something had just dawned on her. “We have six bedrooms. You can stay the night.”

  “No, thank you, honestly. I have to go.”

  I stood up, collected my bag and keys, and pointed myself in the direction of the door.

  Before I reached the hallway, the doorbell sounded, a loud church-like peal that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Beverly Hills mansion.

  “Are you expecting someone?” I asked.

  Lisa shook her head. A look of fear flickered across her face, and her eyes darted towards the door. She leaned precariously against the banisters.

  “Do you want me to get it?”

  She nodded.

  I opened the door. Standing on the step was an unsmiling, unshaven Conor Devitt. He didn’t look too thrilled to see me. I heard Lisa emit a small sound behind me, like a tiny whimper of pain.

  “Is this where Lisa McCauley lives?” Conor asked.

  “Yes.”

  Lisa didn’t move.

  His mouth was fixed in a tight line. “Is she here?”

  I hesitated. I didn’t want to turn around and draw attention to her. But suddenly, she was beside me.

  “Hello, Conor.” All sobered up, no trace of a slur. It’s incredible what a shock can do.

  His face was expressionless. “Lisa,” he said.

  “Long time no see.” Sober and sarcastic.

  He ignored the tone. “Can I talk to you?”

  She opened the door wide and pointed. “Go into the kitchen, it’s over there.” As he walked past us, she whispered to me, “Will you stay?”

  “Are you sure you want me to?”

  “As my solicitor? You can do that, can’t you?” she hissed anxiously.

  “I suppose.”

  She walked into the kitchen, and I followed her.

  Conor was standing in the middle of the room. He glanced in my direction as I walked in behind Lisa, but showed absolutely no curiosity as to why I was there.

  �
�What do you want to say to me, Conor?” Lisa squared up to him, her composure completely restored. I wondered how long it would last.

  “I thought I owed you an apology,” he said.

  Her face crumpled. “Oh well, that’s all right then. That makes it all grand, doesn’t it? That makes up for the past six and a half years.”

  Conor didn’t react. His face remained set in the same expression he had been wearing on the doorstep.

  “And I wanted to let you know that I’ll sign over the house to you,” he continued. “It’s yours.”

  Lisa sank onto one of the stools. I stood behind her, feeling like an intruder, voyeuristic.

  “Is that really all you have to say to me after all this time?”

  “I presumed you would want that. You can sell it, or do whatever you like with it.”

  Tears were flowing down her cheeks. “Seriously? That’s it?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what else I can do.” There was no trace of discomfort in his face.

  “You always do the right thing, Conor, don’t you?” she said. “Always what’s expected of you. Except with me, of course.”

  “I’m trying to, Lisa. You’re married now. I’m happy for you.”

  As if on cue, I heard a key turn in the front door. Lisa’s face froze. She started to rub frantically at her eyes, which only served to make her eye makeup look even more panda-like.

  Her husband strode into the kitchen. “Who owns the Mini parked in the driveway?”

  “Alan.” Conor nodded at him, hands still in his pockets.

  Alan paused for a second and then walked towards him, right hand outstretched. Conor shook it.

  “Welcome back, sir.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We must get a pint.”

  “Aye, sure.”

  “I’ll give you a shout.”

  There was a pause. The two men looked at each other. Then Conor turned and walked out of the room. Seconds later, I heard the front door close with a gentle click, followed by a loud clatter as Lisa’s stool fell against the island and she put out her hands to steady herself. Alan moved to place his arm around her. He looked pointedly at me.

  “Thanks for getting her home safely. I think I can take it from here.”

  Chapter 32

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING I went straight to the filing cabinet and took out the conveyancing file for Whitewater Church, flipping through it until I found the planning file Leah had attached. Something had been bothering me all night. The sheet on top was a copy of a “change of use” planning permission, permitting the change of use of the property from religious to cultural and recreational. That permission had been applied for before the church was even sold to Ray and Alison Kelly. The new buyers would have to change the use again, this time to residential, if that was what they were still planning. I expected they would want to make the contract subject to that permission issuing.

  At the back of the file was a bulky envelope that I hadn’t yet opened. I did so now and pulled out a sheaf of papers. It was a copy of the planning permission file for the construction work the Kellys had wanted to carry out to the church. I knew from what Kelly had told me that this permission had been refused. I had a quick flick through. Unusually, the Council had been very careful to give us every detail, including copies of any objections that had been lodged at the preliminary stage. There was only one. I pulled it out and opened it up. The name on the top was Conor Devitt. I sank back in my chair. Why the hell would Conor Devitt have objected to planning permission for a development he wanted to get work on?

  I checked the date of the final refusal. It was December 15, 2006. The development had been a non-runner for a good six months by the time of Conor and Lisa’s wedding …

  The phone rang. It was Molloy. My stomach did a weird little flip.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “Good. Thanks for the other night.” I lowered my voice. “Thanks for staying.”

  “That’s all right,” he said gruffly. I hoped we weren’t going to revert to professional politeness. I didn’t want that.

  He cleared his throat. “I wanted to let you know that you were right.”

  “About what?”

  “Conor Devitt came back into the country on Tuesday.”

  “Last Tuesday?”

  “Yes. The day before Danny was killed.”

  “Jesus, he lied. Why would he do that?”

  “No idea. But we’re sure as hell going to find out.”

  I hung up the phone deep in thought and jumped when Leah buzzed.

  “Mary Devitt’s here with Claire. Can you see them for ten minutes?”

  Looking at the two women sitting opposite me, I saw a likeness between mother and daughter for the first time. It was the furrowing of the brow, the lines under the eyes, the mouth; I hadn’t noticed it before. But there was a delicacy about Mary Devitt’s features that she had not passed on to her daughter. Conor had inherited the fine bone structure and brown eyes of his mother, while Claire was lighter in coloring, with more sturdy features and pale eyes. Danny had been a combination of the two. The dark coloring with the larger features.

  The two women looked closer in age than they should. The past couple of weeks had aged Claire, and by the looks of things, Conor’s reappearance had done nothing to relieve that. She sat with her hands clasped tightly together in her lap. Her mother seemed considerably more at ease. Claire spoke, quickly, giving the appearance of wanting to take charge.

  “My mother wanted to speak to you.”

  I looked at Mary Devitt.

  “She wanted to talk to you about Danny’s estate.”

  I was surprised. Maybe I shouldn’t have been.

  “I wondered if there was something I should be doing?” Mary asked, her tone almost apologetic.

  “Did he leave a will?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so. What do you think, Claire?”

  Claire’s eyes darted about the room.

  “Claire?”

  The daughter shook her head. “No. No, I’m sure he didn’t.”

  “That’s something we need to be sure of before we do anything else,” I said. “You should probably check the other local solicitors’ offices. I could do that for you, if you like?”

  Mary nodded. “Yes, that would be very helpful.”

  “And then, if we’re sure there’s no will, we’ll need to draw up a list of his assets and debts.”

  “I can do that,” Mary replied. “It will only be his house and the money he gave me for the sale of the land, I expect. I never touched that money.”

  Claire looked up with interest. She started to pull on a lock of her hair.

  I took an attendance sheet from the drawer of my desk and started to take some notes.

  “The procedure is firstly an Inland Revenue affidavit, which is a schedule of assets, and then an application to the Probate Office,” I explained. “If there is no will, his assets will be divided between his next of kin. Since he had no spouse or children, that would be you, Mrs. Devitt, as his mother.”

  Suddenly Claire stood up. Without a word she turned and stalked out of the room and down the stairs, leaving the door to the office wide open.

  Mary sighed. “I’m sorry about that. She seems incapable of staying in one place for longer than five minutes at the moment. She’s always been a bit fragile, but ever since the bones were found in the church, she’s been suffering from some kind of panic attacks. I want her to see someone about it, but she refuses to do so. I put my life in the hands of the gods letting her drive me in.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, thank you. Conor is dealing with it, or so he says. He’s told me to stay out of it, whatever is going on. Although she seems upset with him, too, at the moment. Anyway, I’m afraid the money is more important to Claire and Conor than it is to me, Miss O’Keeffe. Is there a way I can gift it to them?”

  I stood up and closed the doo
r before explaining the tax implications and procedure involved. She said she would talk to her children and get back to me.

  “I’m sorry I lied to you the other day,” she said. “I know you were trying your best to help me.”

  “Well, you didn’t exactly lie to me.”

  She smiled. “I was a little economical with the truth. I didn’t tell you that Conor was back.”

  “I assume you wanted to keep his return private for a few days. That’s understandable.”

  “No,” she said. “That wasn’t it. We were anxious that people know as soon as possible. He went to the garda station himself the day after he arrived.”

  So Mary Devitt didn’t know her son had been back in the country since the Tuesday before, I thought.

  “I wanted to have a chance to talk to you alone, you see, and that wouldn’t have been possible if you’d come into the house.”

  “No, I can see that.” I looked her in the eyes. “Do you mind if I ask you a question? It was something you said at Danny’s funeral and you said it again on the beach.”

  “Go on.”

  “You said it was far more likely that Danny was trying to be kind, to do the right thing, and that even though he got things wrong sometimes, he would have been trying to do what was right. It sounded to me as if you knew something you weren’t saying. Maybe I’m reading too much into it?”

  “I suppose it’s not going to make much difference now – not to my poor Danny, anyway,” she said in a low voice. “Now that we know that the poor young lad in the crypt wasn’t murdered.”

  I waited.

  She looked down at her hands. “I saw Danny coming from the church very early on Christmas morning.”

  “Last Christmas?”

  “Yes. Since Jack died I always go for a walk first thing on Christmas morning. It’s just something I do.”

  “Go on.”

  “Danny was coming out the church gate. It was barely light and he didn’t see me, but I got the impression he had spent the night there. I didn’t say anything to him about it at the time, but then when the bones were found …”