Page 12 of Hidden Daughters

‘We’ll share a room,’ she said. ‘Less washing and cleaning for you.’

Grace pierced her with a look. ‘Fine then.’

One–nil to Lottie.

10

RAGMULLIN

If Robert Hayes was hoping to portray himself as a Michelin-starred chef, his house let him down badly. It was a mid-terrace, 1950s or maybe earlier, just down the road from Ragmullin army barracks.

Kirby shook his head and looked at Martina. ‘Some mess, isn’t it?’

He noted the front gate hanging off its rusted hinges, paint peeling with more rust beneath. The iron bars in the fence were corroded, bent and twisted, some even missing. He walked up the short cracked-concrete path to find the bottom panel of the PVC door patched up with cardboard. Might have been kicked in. Recent, he thought.

Robert opened the door and led them straight into what looked like a cramped living room. There was no hallway. With the three of them standing in the space, it seemed even smaller.

‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ he said, picking up two empty wine bottles from the floor beside a chair. ‘Sorry about the mess. I didn’t get a chance to do my recycling yet.’

‘Do you actually recycle or dump them in the river?’ Kirby asked, as if it was an innocent question, though his interest was piqued because of the bottles he’d seen caught in the reeds.

‘Ah, you’re clever. I see what you’re after doing there.’ Robert walked to the galley kitchen that led off the living room. From where he stood, inside the front door, Kirby could see into the tiny area. Something caught his eye, and he made a mental note to find an opportunity to explore it further.

Robert continued, ‘You’re trying to tie me to the body found this morning.’

‘She had a name,’ Martina said. ‘Edie Butler.’

Kirby threw her a look, then concentrated on Hayes. ‘As we explained earlier, we want to talk to you about Edie.’

‘It’s shocking. Will ye sit down?’ Robert pointed to the two hard-backed dining chairs at the table under the window while he settled himself in the only armchair. It sported faded floral polyester, worn away at the arms, and was situated beside a stove that appeared well past its best too. Ashes lined the floor in front of it.

He looked weary without his chef’s regalia. He’d untied his hair and it hung loose around his shoulders. The open collar of his checked shirt revealed a scrawny wrinkled neck. His trousers were stiff dark-indigo denim, cheap, and on his feet he wore fake Ugg slippers. Kirby thought Amy had a pair just like them. He recoiled at this comparison.

The room emitted an unusual smell. Not from cooking, nothing stale really, but Kirby couldn’t put his finger on it. Possibly incense of some sort, though he couldn’t see anything like that, no candles or diffusers. He’d ask Martina later.

‘How long had you known Edie Butler?’ he asked.

‘Known her? Or how long did I go out with her?’ Robert’s brown eyes had a glint, and the corner of his mouth turned up as if to say,I know something you don’t.

Kirby sat back on the uncomfortable chair, his buttocks flopping over the edge. ‘Now isn’t the time for playing silly buggers. A woman is dead, a woman you knew, so I’d appreciateit if you could answer the questions in a straightforward manner.’

‘If you asked your questions in such a manner, then I might be able to answer them.’

‘Go on then. When did you first meet Edie Butler?’

‘Might have been sometime around the early to mid eighties.’

‘That’s a long time ago,’ Kirby exclaimed.

‘You do the maths, I can’t be bothered.’

‘Yeah, and you don’t seem particularly bothered about her death.’

‘I was fond of Edie, but she was her own worst enemy. A lovely woman, who drank. A lot. She was probably on one of her binges and fell into the river. Are you sure it’s not a suicide?’

‘Certain.’ Kirby knew he was pre-empting the pathologist’s findings, but Hayes was making his skin crawl just a little bit too much for comfort.

‘May God have mercy on her soul.’ Robert blessed himself.

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