Dead Girls Dancing Page 12

  Katie reached across and laid both of her hands on top of his. Behind her she heard Detective Inspector Mulliken murmuring, ‘Mother of Divine Christ!’

  ‘Come on, Bernie, you’re grand,’ said Katie. ‘Just let it all out.’

  Bernie Dennehy snuffled, and snorted, and took one hand away to wipe his eyes and his nose with his sleeve.

  ‘It was me and Maggie like. I suppose I was putting on a bit of weight, do you know. And I was having some difficulty downstairs, if you know what I mean. We were hardly ever getting together any more and when we did she just lay there staring at the ceiling like she was praying to Saint Agnes for it to be over.’

  He shook his head at the desperate memory of it. ‘She said I was so fecking heavy that it was like being under a bus, more than a fecking bus driver. And of course when she said things like that I’d immediately lose the boodawn and that would be the end of it. A few times like that and I could never get it up at all.’

  Katie said nothing, but kept holding his hand. After a while he snuffled again and said, ‘I took to the drink, which of course made me even fatter, and one afternoon I drove the bus into the back of a parked car on MacCurtain Street, and I was sacked.’

  Bernie Dennehy was sobbing so painfully now that he was barely coherent and in between sentences he had to stop and gasp for air.

  ‘So what did you do for money, after you were sacked?’ Katie asked him.

  ‘The JB – the fecking jobseeker’s benefit. I didn’t tell Maggie that I’d been given the push because she would only have fecking gloated. I went off every day like I was going to work, but I spent all day in the pub mostly, making a drink last as long as I could, or sitting on a bench in the Peace Park if it wasn’t hooring with rain, or in the Macau club playing the slots when I’d picked up my benefit, to see if I could double it. But I’d been making forty-seven thousand a year on the buses, and now I was only getting a hundred and eighty-eight euros the week. I was broke as a joke, I can tell you. I was fecking desperate.’

  ‘So where does Niall come into this?’

  Bernie Dennehy stared down at the table. He inhaled deeply, four or five times, and with his free right hand he crossed himself. When he started speaking again, his voice was much more controlled and level, almost as if he were reading. Katie guessed that he had rehearsed this in his mind, over and over again – if not in preparation for giving a statement to the Garda, then for admitting it to Maggie, his wife, or for confessing it to a priest. For all of his bluster and aggressiveness, she guessed that he was fully aware of the enormity of what he had done.

  ‘I was talking to Niall in the pub one evening about six or seven months ago. He knew that I was in the shite with money. But I’d had a few scoops and I told him about the problem with Maggie, too. You know, the downstairs problem. He knew Maggie better than I told you, because him and her had been doing a line for a while before her and me got together. They’d never been too serious – just on and off like – but I knew that he still fancied her something rotten.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Katie.

  Bernie Dennehy continued to talk to the table top. ‘I asked him if he had the chance, would he be interested in keeping Maggie sweet in the bedroom department, do you know what I mean? He said he’d be delighted. He still fancied her so much that he’d eat chips out of her knickers.’

  ‘You thought that if she was sexually satisfied, you and Maggie would get along better together?’

  ‘Well, yeah, I suppose that might have stopped us having so many ructions,’ said Bernie Dennehy, still without raising his head.

  ‘But that wasn’t the only reason you asked him, am I right?’

  ‘No. Yes. No. The main reason I asked him was for money. I told him that if I let him have a rattle with her whenever he felt like it, I’d make out that I didn’t know what was going on between them, so long as he paid me two hundred yoyos the week.’

  ‘Let me get this clear. Niall Gleeson agreed to pay you two hundred euros a week so that he could have sex with your Maggie as often as he wanted?’

  ‘To be honest with you, I think he would have paid me more, if I’d pushed him. I never wanted to know what business he was in, and I never asked, but he always had plenty of grade on him. And two hundred a week, that’s a whole lot cheaper than one of them knocking shops on John Street, they’re charging a hundred and twenty yoyos just for one blowjob.’

  Inspector Mulliken said, ‘You were pimping your wife to your friend so that you could pay off the household bills, is that it? So, without her being wide to it, she was prostituting herself to keep herself in food and clothing and whatever else you couldn’t afford to buy her?’

  Bernie Dennehy suddenly reared his head up. ‘Listen! The fecking TV licence alone, that’s a hundred and sixty fecking yoyos! That would have swallowed up most of my whole week’s dole money! And Maggie was happy out, I can tell you that for nothing. As soon as Niall started coming around, she was singing and smiling and she even cooked my favourite tripe and drisheen.’

  ‘And Niall?’ asked Katie.

  ‘Niall – well, what do you think? Niall was as happy as a dog with four mickies.’

  ‘And you? How did you really feel that another man was having regular sex with your wife?’

  ‘What choice did I have? I couldn’t satisfy her myself, but I didn’t want to lose her. I love her.’

  Katie sat and watched Bernie Dennehy for a while without saying anything, trying to read the look in his eyes and his facial twitches. What he had told her was tragic enough, but she had a strong feeling that there was more to this story than he had admitted.

  ‘What do you think Maggie would have done if she had found out that Niall was paying you to take her to bed?’

  ‘She’s never found out.’

  ‘You’re sure about that? On the basis of the statement that you’ve given to me today, I’m going to have to question her, too.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, you’re not going to tell her, are you? I thought I was letting you know about that in confidence like! For feck’s sake! That would mean us marriage down the fecking jacks for good and all!’

  ‘Bernie, if she has found out, that could have been a prime motive for her punishing Niall, or for arranging for somebody else to punish him. It’s possible, you have to admit. It could be that she’s minded to punish you, too, so I’d be keeping sketch if I were you, when you’re at home, and keep counting the kitchen knives.’

  ‘Oh, stop! You’re not saying that Maggie could have shot Niall? Maggie wouldn’t swat a wazzie even if it stung her. And she’d never lift a finger against me, I can swear to that.’

  ‘I’m only saying that it’s a line of enquiry and I’ll have to look into it. Unless you want to confess to me that it really was you who shot him.’

  Bernie Dennehy sat in silence for a long time. At last Katie stood up and said, ‘That’s all for the time being, Bernie. Like I said, you’re not under arrest and you’re free to leave. We’ll be wanting to question you again when we’ve made more progress with this case, and we will be bringing your wife in for questioning, too, at some stage. Meanwhile, I have to caution you not to leave Cork and not to discuss what we’ve said here today with anybody, not even with Maggie. In fact, especially not with Maggie.’

  Bernie Dennehy didn’t answer but looked up at the clock on the wall, which read 2:31. Katie turned and looked up at it, too. She wondered if he were thinking that the 245 bus would be turning out of Parnell Place now on its way to Fermoy, but he wouldn’t be driving it, as he hadn’t been driving it for over a year, and never would again.

  13

  As Katie was hurrying back along the corridor to collect her coat and her purse, Chief Superintendent MacCostagáin called out to her from his open office door.

  ‘Katie! Frank Magorian just rang me! He’ll be here about a quarter to four!’

  Katie stopped and went back. ‘That’s grand. I’m only going to the Wilton Hilton to see that little girl who
was rescued from the fire. Mind you, I’m starving. I’ll probably drop in to Jackie Lennox’s chipper on the way back. You wouldn’t want me to fetch you a takeaway, would you?’

  ‘Holy Jesus, I wish! I haven’t had a Lennox’s since God was a boy. But I have a Masonic dinner tonight at Tuckey Street.’

  ‘Rather you than me, sir. I’ll see you after.’

  ‘Stall it a second, though, Katie – I wouldn’t say no to you fetching me back a few chips... you know, just to keep the wolf from the door.’

  ‘Not a bother, sir. Would you be wanting salt and vinegar on them? Or au naturel?’

  *

  It was still raining as Katie drove down to the hospital, but only softly, so that ghosts of drizzle would drift across the road in front of her, like the memories of people who had been run over. Usually she played music in the car to take her mind off work, and she had just bought a new CD by Lisa Hannigan because it was so whispery and romantic. This afternoon, though, she felt like silence, so that she could think about Bernie Dennehy and how he had sold his wife Maggie. How did people’s marriages become so shipwrecked, and why did they always choose the most damaging possible way to get themselves off the rocks?

  She thought about her own marriage to Paul, and wondered how much her determination to pursue her career in An Garda Síochána had eroded his morale as a husband, and how it had killed him in the end. It had been the same story with John. To begin with she had really adored John, but his involvement with her had destroyed him, too.

  In his last days, when John had been suffering so much from having lost his legs, she had turned her back on him. His neediness and his ravaged appearance had been too much for her to take. After his death, though, her guilt about her coldness towards him had grown more and more difficult to bear. She hadn’t loved him any more, but she kept asking herself if she should have pretended – or would that have made his suffering even worse?

  Sometimes she felt that the motto of An Garda Síochána should be changed from ‘Working With Communities To Protect And Serve’ to ‘Take It From Us – The Truth Is Intolerably Cruel’.

  She parked and hurried through the misty rain into the hospital. The uniformed garda who was sitting outside Adeen’s room stood up when she appeared, put down his newspaper and said, ‘Ma’am?’

  ‘Everything quiet?’ she asked him.

  ‘Pretty much like. The big doctor’s just been in to see her, and some flowers were delivered.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘Oh, I had some fellow come by about an hour ago. He asked me if this was where the girl was who was saved from the fire.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘I said I was on general security duty and didn’t have a notion. He was carrying a clipboard, but he didn’t have an ID badge nor one of them stethingscopes round his neck, so I couldn’t be sure if he was a staff member or a doctor or not. He might have been a reporter for all I know, which was why I didn’t tell him nothing.’

  ‘Did he say anything else?’

  ‘Just “oh, okay, not a bother” and then he went off.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  The garda frowned. ‘He had a thick pair of speckys and one of them buckety tweed hats, do you know? Tallish, but ordinary-looking, maybe mid-thirties. Dark brown suit. He had a touch of an Ulster accent, though, I’d say. Not too strong, but definitely Belfast or Ballymena. My mam’s mam came from Newtownabbey so I could hear it clear like.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Katie, with a smile. ‘I like a man with well-tuned ears.’

  She entered Adeen’s room. The blind was still drawn down and the lights were on, although it was so gloomy outside that the lights would have been on anyway. A Taiwanese nurse was sitting in the corner, filling in some charts, but she put them aside as Katie came in.

  Adeen herself was sitting up in bed. She was no longer wearing an oxygen mask and her hair was braided into loose Princess Leia loops. She was still waxy pale, and her left eye was still bloodshot, but she was playing a game on a tablet and she looked much more alert than she had when Katie had first seen her. There was a half-finished glass of milky tea on her bedside table, as well as a packet of Kimberley biscuits and two get-well cards – one from Cork Fire Brigade and the other from the Reverend Brian O’Rourke, the rector of St Anne’s Church, Shandon, because the dance studio was inside his parish.

  Katie drew up a chair and sat close to the side of Adeen’s bed.

  ‘Hallo, Adeen. You remember me from yesterday? I’m Katie. I’ve just come to see how you’re getting along.’

  Adeen glanced at Katie quickly but then went back to her game.

  ‘You look as if you’re feeling a whole lot better now,’ said Katie. ‘What’s that game you’re playing?’

  Adeen didn’t answer, but tilted the tablet sideways. Katie could see three drums on the screen with cartoon versions of Justin Bieber dancing on top of them. Adeen was furiously hitting the drums with drumsticks and occasionally one of the Justin Biebers would turn into a beaver.

  Katie watched her play for a while, but then she shook her head and said, ‘Sorry – that has me totally puggalized, I have to admit. Still, whatever it is you’re doing there, it looks like you’re winning.’

  She sat there a little longer without saying anything. She didn’t want Adeen to feel that she was pressing her. Eventually, though, she laid her hand on the bed and said, ‘You know something, sweetheart – it would be a fierce help to us if you could tell us your real name, and where you live. Nobody’s come asking after you, and considering your age that’s very unusual. We’ve put out an appeal in the newspapers, and on the television, but we haven’t even had a school friend ringing us up to say that they recognize you.’

  She waited for Adeen to respond, but Adeen kept on playing the drums and hitting the Justin Biebers.

  ‘Just your first name?’ Katie coaxed her. Adeen pursed her lips and drummed and still wouldn’t speak.

  Katie stood up and went over to the nurse.

  ‘How is she physically?’ she asked.

  ‘She’s making very good progress, considering,’ said the nurse. ‘They scanned her lungs again this morning and there’s no serious damage from the smoke. Her bloods are good, too. She has some second-degree burns on her buttocks and lower back but I changed the dressings about an hour ago and they are healing very quickly. No sign of infection or any other complications.’

  She paused and gave Adeen a little wave. ‘If we knew where she lived, we could discharge her tomorrow or the day after. At the moment we’re still waiting for Tusla to tell us if they can find anybody to take her in.’

  Katie looked around the room. ‘The officer outside told me that some flowers were delivered for her, but I don’t see any.’

  ‘No. It was a huge bunch of pink roses, with a get-well message. But when Adeen saw the card that went with it, she was pure distressed. She didn’t say anything, but she kept flapping her arms and squeaking until we took them away.’

  ‘Where are they now?’ Katie asked her.

  ‘I shouldn’t think that they’d been binned. Maybe they were taken down to reception. You could ask the duty nurse on the desk.’

  Katie went back and stood next to Adeen’s bedside. Adeen glanced up at her again but kept on playing her game. She was still wearing the green wristband with the gold plastic clasp, and Katie was reminded to ask Kyna if she had managed to find out where it had come from.

  ‘I have to go now, darling,’ she said. ‘You can always ask one of the nurses if you want to see me again, though, at any time. And please try to think about telling me your name, and where your home is. All I want to do is take care of you, and make sure that nothing like that fire ever happens to you again.’

  Adeen stopped jiggling the tablet for a moment and looked up at Katie with her soulful eyes – one clear, one bloodshot. She opened her mouth as if she were just about to say something, but then she closed it again and turned her attention b
ack to the drums and the dancing Justin Biebers, although she didn’t carry on playing. She simply sat there, as if she felt that nothing was worth saying, and that nothing was worth doing, and that she had given up all hope.

  Katie was about to leave when suddenly Adeen sat up straight and reached out for the glass of tea on her bedside table. As she did so, though, she let out a high-pitched squeal, and her hand jerked, and she knocked the glass on to the floor.

  ‘Ah – me scald!’ she panted. She dropped back on to the bed, her eyes squeezed tight shut and her teeth gritted.

  Katie pulled the chair away from the bedside and picked up the glass and the nurse hurried around the bed, tearing off two sheets from a roll of paper towels.

  Adeen started to weep, letting out a thin mewling sound. Katie laid a hand on her shoulder and said, ‘Don’t worry, darling, it was an accident, that’s all. I’m much worse than you – I’m always knocking my coffee cups over and flooding the place. I’m sure they can fetch you some more.’

  ‘Of course,’ said the nurse, down on her knees and dabbing at the carpet. ‘If there’s one thing we’re never short of here, it’s tea. Two things this hospital runs on – blood and tea, but mostly tea.’

  Katie waited until Adeen had stopped crying. She pulled out a Kleenex and wiped her eyes for her and then she said, ‘I’ll come and see you again tomorrow. Don’t be sad. Everything’s going to be all right for you now, I promise.’

  Adeen’s mouth puckered and it was obvious that she was holding back another sob. But she nodded to show Katie that she understood.

  ‘God bless,’ said Katie, and left.

  *

  Before she went downstairs, Katie went along to the duty nurse, who was sitting at her desk chatting to one of the junior doctors.

  ‘Sorry to bother you,’ she said. ‘But do you happen to know what happened to the roses that were taken out of Adeen’s room this afternoon?’