Chapters (32)
- Prologue
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Acknowledgements
‘Costello,’ she said, once she relaxed again, ‘Costello was only horrified. The face on him; like I was mooning the nuns. Almost every interview, he’d stop the questioning and pull me outside to give me shite about what did I think I was doing, did I want to kill my career before I even got started.’
I kept my mouth full. No comment.
‘O’Kelly, our gaffer, he was as bad. Called me into his office twice, for a bollocking: who did I think these kids were, did I think I was dealing with the same scum I grew up with, why wasn’t I spending my time looking into homeless guys and mental patients, did I know how many phone calls the commissioner was getting from pissed-off daddies, he was gonna buy me a dictionary so I could look up “tact” . . .’
I do tact. I said, mild, ‘They’re a different generation. They’re old-school.’
‘Fuck that. They’re Murder. They’re trying to get a killer. That’s the only thing that matters. Or that’s what I thought back then.’
Bitter sediment, running along the bottom of her voice.
‘By that time I’d no hassle telling Costello to shove it. O’Kelly, even. The whole case was going to fuck, with my name on it. I’d’ve done anything. But by that time it was too late. Wherever my shot was, in there, I’d missed it.’
I made some kind of noise, Been there. Concentrated on my sandwich.
Some cases are like that: dirty bastards. We all get them. But get one straight out of the gate, and that’s what people see when they look at you: bad luck walking.
Anyone got too close to Typhoid Conway, he’d get that taint all over him. People would stay away from him, too; the Murder lads would.
Just a few days.
‘So,’ Conway said. Swigged her coffee, balanced it on the wall. ‘Boils down to I’ve got a file full of complaints from rich guys, I don’t have Costello to back me up any more, and best of all, a year on I still don’t have a solve. O’Kelly gets this much of an excuse’ – finger and thumb, a hair apart – ‘he’s gonna kick my arse off this case, give it to O’Gorman or one of that shower of tossers. The only reason he hasn’t done it already is he hates reassigning: says the media or the defence can spin that as the initial investigation fucked up. But they’re on at him, O’Gorman and McCann, dropping the little hints about a fresh pair of eyes.’
That was why Houlihan. Not to protect the kids. To protect Conway.