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Back The Last Drop of Blood
Chapters (60)
  1. Cover
  2. INTRODUCINGKATIE MAGUIRE
  3. ALSO BY GRAHAM MASTERTON
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright
  6. Epigraph
  7. Contents
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. About the Author
  60. An Invitation from the Publisher

Garda Phelan’s phone rang. He walked away to answer it, one finger in his ear to drown out the roaring noise of the fire engine.

‘Okay, yes, I have you,’ he said. Then, ‘You’re not codding me, are you? Jesus. Okay. Well, we can’t say for sure if it’s him, the state he’s in. Totally, yes. Clonakilty black pudding isn’t in it. No, not yet. But okay, that’s grand altogether. Thanks a million, Josh.’

He came back to join Garda O’Connor and Station Officer Hogan.

‘It’s a Jaguar XJ6 all right, V12, first registered in 1992 to Mr Sean Buttivant. Ownership was transferred in 1998 to Mr Garrett Quinn, and the car hasn’t been re-registered since then to anybody else.’

‘Not the Garrett Quinn?’ said Garda O’Connor. She looked back at the blackened corpse sitting behind the Jaguar’s steering wheel with an expression of both horror and disbelief.

‘That’s your man. The Honourable Mr Justice Garrett Quinn, of the Central Criminal Court, may he rest in peace. Always supposing that’s him, of course.’

‘Well – he has the wig, like,’ said Station Officer Hogan, just before the lump of foam finally slid off the top of the corpse’s head and into his lap.

2

Katie and Kyna were passing Rathcormac on the main M8 road back to Cork city when drops of rain started to measle their windscreen.

‘At least it held off for the burial,’ said Kyna.

Katie didn’t answer. She was still feeling that she had dreamed the funeral they had attended at Caherelly Graveyard in Limerick. She had loved Conor so much that it had been impossible for her to think it had really been him inside the pale oak coffin that had been lowered into the ground right in front of her feet. Him – or what had been left of him after he had blown himself up.

Over a hundred mourners had come to the service, including Conor’s former wife, Clodagh, although Clodagh had been dressed in grey rather than black, with a white lily in her lapel, as if to show she wasn’t altogether sorry that he was dead.

Most of the mourners had been relatives or friends from the ISPCA or people whose stray or stolen dogs Conor had found during his career as a dog detective. Katie had thought it was sadly appropriate that he was being buried not far from the grave of Dolores O’Riordan, the singer from the Cranberries. Her ‘Dreams’ had been one of Conor’s favourite songs: The person falling here is me.