Cover

Also available by Conor Brady

Also available by Conor Brady

The Eloquence of the Dead

A June of Ordinary Murders

Dedication

For my beloved Ann,

I shall face the stars and greet you there.

Introduction and Acknowledgements

As with its two predecessor volumes, chronicling the life and times of Detective Sergeant Joe Swallow (now promoted to detective inspector), the backdrop to A Hunt in Winter is drawn from social and political conditions in 1880s Dublin. And as with A June of Ordinary Murders (2012) and The Eloquence of the Dead (2013), the narrative blends fact with fiction, while real life characters of the era mingle with others of my own creation. It is hardly necessary to state that A Hunt in Winter is a novel, not a history book.

I would like to acknowledge the many readers who have furnished me with additional information on some of the locations, institutions and individuals that feature here as they did in the earlier books. The store of local history of late-nineteenth-century Dublin appears to grow incrementally, as does that of Irish policing history.

As with the first two Joe Swallow books, I would like to acknowledge the support and professionalism of the team at New Island Books, in particular Dan Bolger and Justin Corfield, in bringing A Hunt in Winter to fruition. In an interval in my life during which circumstances made it difficult to write creatively, Dan was patient and indulgent. Justin was, as ever, a scrupulous, exacting and supportive editor.

I would also like to acknowledge the support and enthusiasm of my literary agent, Maria White, who has succeeded in bringing the Swallow books to a wider readership abroad.

—Conor Brady

Dublin, September 2016

Dublin

Friday November 2nd, 1888

Prologue

The girl clutched her shawl tightly around her shoulders against the night chill. But once she had crossed the Portobello Bridge to the Rathmines Road the walkway was firm and reassuring. The smooth surface helped to ease the discomfort in her leg. The rate-payers of the new affluent suburbs to the south of the city could afford good roads, which contrasted with the broken, uneven pavements within the old City Corporation area.

The ground here is hollow and low. When the wind is still and the night is moist, the mist that rises from the Grand Canal lingers and thickens. Tonight it had quite overwhelmed the gas lamps’ feeble efforts at illumination. But she knew her route well. She could see the faint glow from the Portobello Cavalry Barracks that lay beyond Blackberry Lane, where she lived. To her left she could faintly make out the darkened bulk of the Roman Catholic Church of St Mary Immaculate.