Free The White Gallows by Rob Kitchin Page B

determined to succeed. He didn’t need gold bars or treasure.’
    ‘How about enemies? Can you think of anybody—’ McEvoy was interrupted by the horse braying at his mobile phone’s ringtone. He held up a hand in apology and backed away from the stall. ‘McEvoy.’
    ‘It’s John Joyce. The gossip in the area is that the Lithuanian found dead in Trim worked on Koch’s farm.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I said—’
    ‘I heard what you said. Have you spoken to Jim Whelan?’
    ‘Yeah, he’s on his way up.’
    ‘And did Koch employ any Lithuanians?’
    ‘Occasionally the farm manager took a couple on for seasonal work, though he says there are none working for him right now. A few work in the factory in Athboy and some others over in Kells.’
    ‘Okay, I’ll be back shortly.’ McEvoy ended the call and headed back to where Koch was pulling the saddle from the stable door. ‘Look, thanks for your time, I’ve got to head off. I’m very sorry about your father’s death. I’ll be in contact over the next few days as we work on the case.’
    Koch nodded his head but said nothing.
    ‘I’m afraid I have to ask this, but where were you on Saturday night?’
    ‘At the races at Navan.’
    ‘And after that?’
    ‘I have a holiday cottage near Oldcastle, close to Loughcrew.’
    ‘Can anyone confirm that?’
    ‘No. Like my father I’m a widower. My wife died six years ago of breast cancer; same as my mother. The children all left home years ago. I live by myself.’
    McEvoy nodded his head. He wanted to share his grief for Maggie, but kept his feelings to himself. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said lamely. ‘Just one other thing; you said your father came to Ireland to join his brother. Why was he here?’
    ‘He was a Luftwaffe pilot. He got shot up over Belfast and crashed into Carlingford Lough. He spent most of the war interned in the Curragh and working on local farms. When the war ended he was shipped off to an internment camp in Britain . When he was released he headed back to Ireland to marry a local girl; my aunt. My father followed shortly afterwards, escaping the ruins of Europe .’
    McEvoy turned at the sound of a new horse arriving, a grey stallion snorting air through its nostrils, ridden by a man in his late thirties who bore an uncanny resemblance to Albert and Charles Koch. He wasn’t wearing a helmet and his face was flushed from the ride, his hair sticking up at odd angles.
    He swung off the horse before it had come to a halt. ‘This boy can really fly,’ he announced, patting the horse on the neck, ignoring McEvoy. ‘ Marion must be delighted. A couple of months training and he’ll be winning races.’
    ‘My son, Francis,’ Koch said to McEvoy. ‘Francie, this is Detective Superintendent McEvoy. He’s investigating the death of your grandfather.’
    ‘I thought he died of natural causes,’ Francis Koch said. ‘My father said you thought… but Marion seemed so convinced…’ he trailed off.
    ‘Your grandfather died as the result of a blow to the head.’
    ‘So the doctor got it wrong?’
    ‘I’m afraid so.’
    ‘Stupid old fecker. He never should have—’
    ‘Francis!’ Charles Koch interrupted. ‘He was your grandfather’s physician for over forty years. He had no reason to—’
    ‘How can you miss a blow to the head?’ Francis interrupted. He eased the saddle from the horse’s steaming back and carried it to a stable door. ‘Somebody killed him and if it had been left to the old fool they’d have gotten away with it.’
    ‘That’s enough,’ Koch senior said firmly. ‘I don’t want to discuss this any further.’
    ‘I’m afraid I have to ask you this,’ McEvoy continued, noting Charles Koch’s tone but ignoring his request, ‘but where were you late on Saturday night?’
    ‘I was at Navan races with my father.’
    ‘And after that?’
    ‘I went to the Darley Lodge in Athboy. I’d had a successful day. Three winners; one of them at 20/1.’ Koch junior turned his