Chapter 27
It was an easy enough job to locate the man who’d supplied the balloon arch. Dermot Macken’s card had been in Caroline Healy’s wallet, and he had a colourful presence on Facebook.
After he’d dropped Lottie back at the office, Kirby got Martina to accompany him and they made their way through town to Forestry Industrial Park, a relatively new area located off the ring road.
The units were brightly painted and as yet undefiled by graffiti.
That would come, Kirby thought, and probably sooner rather than later.
When he parked the car, he noted that the sign for Arch Balloons was faded.
He reckoned it had been brought from an old location to this new spot.
‘Could have shelled out for a new sign.’
‘Wouldn’t say there’s a lot of money in balloons,’ Martina said.
‘Plenty of air, though.’
He pushed in the door and found himself slap-bang against a makeshift chipboard counter. An old-style doorbell was sellotaped to the counter, so he pressed it. The ding-dong echoed somewhere from the space beyond.
‘A kids’ paradise,’ Martina said, glancing around.
The claustrophobic area where they stood was festooned with balloons of all sizes, and helium balloons dangled from the lowish ceiling.
A man ducked under a latex archway and inched towards them. He brought an air of doom with him that belied the playful set-up where they stood.
‘Dermot Macken?’ Kirby said.
‘That’s me. What can I do you for?’ The man pulled a coffee-stained hardback diary from a shelf under the counter and slammed it down on the counter. Opening it, he rifled through its sticky pages.
‘We just want to ask you a few questions,’ Kirby said, keeping a close eye on Macken.
He was anywhere from forty to forty-five, could even be older.
Pockmarked skin highlighted protruding ears and thin fair hair.
When he looked up, his emerald eyes were wide but they contracted suspiciously as he registered Martina’s uniform.
‘Something wrong?’ He closed the diary with a slap and undid the top button of his plaid shirt, as if he’d experienced an unwelcome hot flush.
‘Nothing’s wrong as far as we know.’ Kirby smiled in an effort to calm the man and showed his ID. ‘Did you supply a balloon arch to Caroline Healy?’
Macken opened the diary again. Some of the pages were stuck together, and he ran a grubby finger down the edge to split them.
‘Be careful or you’ll get a paper cut,’ Martina said.
He looked up at her, his face softening, transforming him instantly into a likeable character.
‘Least of my trouble with two guards staring at me as if I was the Yorkshire Ripper or something.’ He waited for Martina to get in on his dark humour, but she remained silent, stony-faced.
‘Is this about the murders? I heard about them but I didn’t catch the names.
Was it somewhere I delivered balloons?’ He looked down at the book again.
‘You mentioned… God, it’s not the Healys? Holy shit. It is, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, unfortunately,’ Kirby said.
‘May they rest in peace.’ Macken hurriedly blessed himself, though it looked half-hearted to Kirby.
‘When did you deliver the arch?’
‘Early Sunday afternoon. God, I can’t believe this. Murder-suicide. That’s what the news said. A tragedy.’ His hand shook as he held the page he’d unstuck.
‘Can you be more precise on the time?’
‘I’d say it was around two. Do they have one of those doorbell things? You can check that.’
Kirby knew the Healys’ doorbell camera had been inactive at the time, and there was no CCTV. ‘Walk me through your time there.’
‘She ordered on Friday. Last-minute thing. A surprise for her little girl. I told her I needed a week’s lead-in time, but she offered an extra fifty, so I agreed.
It was a rush job. When I got there on Sunday, I parked my van.
Rang the doorbell. The little girl answered the door.
I think she was a bit stunned, to tell you the truth.
Then Caroline – she told me to call her Caroline, by the way – brought me around to the back garden.
There was a bouncy castle all set up, and she showed me where to put the arch. ’
‘Anything strike you as odd or unusual?’
‘I’d never met them before, so I couldn’t say. But the atmosphere chilled a bit when the husband arrived home. He had thunder in his eyes when he saw me talking to Caroline. I got out of there real fast.’
‘Mr Healy was angry?’
‘Seemed that way, but as I said, I didn’t know them. Who’s to say he didn’t look like that all the time?’
‘Okay. Thanks, Dermot. We’ll need to get a swab of your DNA.’
‘I wasn’t in the house, though.’
‘Have you a problem with providing a sample?’
‘No, no. It’s fine.’
‘Right. If you think of anything else, call me.’ Kirby handed over a card with his number.
‘The kid…’ Macken said.
‘What about her?’
‘She was looking out the top window and I think she was crying.’ He rubbed his jaw and shook his head. ‘It struck me because isn’t a child supposed to be happy for their birthday party?’
Balloon Man, the kids called him, and originally he didn’t like the moniker.
In his mind it conjured an image of the Michelin Man.
He supposed he had once looked a bit like that in his drinking days, but he’d taken control of his life.
Joined a gym, and with a strict diet and doses of protein drinks, he had toned up and slimmed down. He was a different man now.
Concentrating on his work, he completed the fourth arch of the day, but even though it was an hour since the detective and guard had left, he couldn’t shake off the uneasiness that caused his fingers to twitch.
His work unit was small, but he didn’t need much room.
He made the big arches out the back, where he had a canopy under which to work when it rained.
And it was torrential out once again. Yellow rain warnings had been issued.
Not good for outdoor parties. Lucky then that his work this week was for indoor events.
He washed his hands in the small ceramic sink, which was yellowing where the tap dripped. He dried his hands with a paper towel. A halo of disquiet enveloped his brain and tinnitus chimed in his ears.
Had he left anything at the Healy house to draw the guards back to him?
That was his worry. Their visit had to be procedural, due to the fact that he’d been there on Sunday.
His sole link was the balloon arch. Then he recalled smoking while he talked to Caroline.
He’d stubbed it out on the lawn when the irate husband arrived home.
Damn. They’d find the butt of the cigarette and extract his DNA from it.
So what? His DNA would be on the arch anyhow, despite the fact that he was always careful and habitually wore gloves.
Plus the detective had asked for a sample.
He was glad forensics were not as scientific years ago.
He was confident that they could not connect him to anything, as they had none of his DNA on file. Not from back then.