“What, a serial sex killer? After twenty years? And how do you know about this hair clip anyway?”

“You told us to familiarize ourselves with cold cases, sir,” said Cassie virtuously. It was true, he had—I think he heard it in a seminar, or maybe on CSI—but he told us a lot of things, and anyway none of us ever had time. In the Woods 71

“And the guy could have been out of the country, or in prison, or he only kills when he’s under a lot of stress—”

“We’re all under a lot of stress,” said O’Kelly. “Serial killer. That’s all we need. What’s next?”

“Fourth is the one that could get dodgy, sir,” said Cassie. “Jonathan Devlin, the father, runs the Move the Motorway campaign in Knocknaree. Apparently that’s pissed off a few people. He says he’s had three anonymous phone calls in the last couple of months, threatening his family if he doesn’t back off. We’re going to have to find out who has a serious stake in that motorway going through Knocknaree.”

“Which means fucking about with property developers and county councils,” said O’Kelly. “Jesus.”

“We’ll need as many floaters as we can get, sir,” I said, “and I think we’ll need someone else from Murder.”

“Too bloody right, you will. Take Costello. Leave him a note; he’s always in early.”

“Actually, sir,” I said, “I’d like to have O’Neill.” I have nothing against Costello, but I definitely did not want him on this one. Apart from the fact that he was basically dreary and this case was depressing enough without him, he was the dogged type who would go through the old case file with a fine-tooth comb and start trying to trace Adam Ryan.

“I’m not putting three rookies on a high-profile case. You two are only on this because you spend your breaks surfing for porn, or whatever you were doing, instead of getting some fresh air like everyone else.”

“O’Neill’s hardly a rookie, sir. He’s been in Murder for seven years.”

“And we all know why,” said O’Kelly, nastily. Sam made the squad at twenty-seven; his uncle is a mid-level politician, Redmond O’Neill, who is usually junior Minister for Justice or the Environment or something. Sam deals with it well: whether by nature or by strategy, he is placid, reliable, everyone’s favorite backup, and this deflects most of the potential for snide commentary. He still gets the odd bitchy remark, but these are usually reflexive, like O’Kelly’s had been, rather than actively malicious.

“That’s exactly why we need him, sir,” I said. “If we’re going to poke our noses into county council business and all the rest of it without making too many waves, we need someone who’s got contacts in that circle.”

O’Kelly glanced at the clock, moved to smooth his comb-over and then thought better of it. It was twenty to eight. Cassie recrossed her legs, settled 72

Tana French

more comfortably on the table. “I guess there could be pros and cons,” she said. “Maybe we should discuss—”