Kyna felt Katie’s breast through her nightgown and lightly rubbed her nipple with her thumb so that it stiffened, but that was all. They kissed, touching and teasing the tips of each other’s tongues, and then Katie said, ‘Goodnight, sweetheart. Aisling sona – happy dreams.’
*
They were woken at eleven minutes past five by the phone ringing. Katie turned herself over and picked it up and said, ‘What?’ Then, ‘Jesus, what time is it?’
It was still dark and it was still raining outside, even harder. Kyna lifted her head from the pillow but said nothing. Whoever was calling, she knew that Katie wouldn’t want them to hear her voice in the background.
‘DS Begley, ma’am. Sorry to ring you so early.’
‘That’s okay, Sean. I was having a nightmare anyway. What’s the story?’
‘There’s been a shooting up at Gurra, right outside the Dorgan house. Bernie Dennehy and Davy Dorgan have both been wounded. Dennehy’s injuries look like they could be life-threatening, but Dorgan’s only been hit superficially in the leg with shotgun pellets. They’ve both been carted off to the Wilton Hilton.’
Katie switched on her bedside lamp. ‘Oh, Christ Almighty. This Davy Dorgan’s turning out to be some kind of a jinx. Is that where you are now? Gurra?’
‘I am, yes. Mount Nebo Avenue, with Ó Doibhilin and Buckley, and about twenty uniforms. The technicians should be here soon, too.’
‘So do you have any idea what happened?’
‘We’ve talked to Dorgan’s uncle, Christy Dorgan. He’s the only one who claims to have seen it all, but I wouldn’t like to say how reliable he is. He’s a close relative, after all, and not only that, he’s been pulled in himself a few times for this and that – mainly for cheating old folks by climbing up on their roofs and banging around and pretending that he’s fixing their tiles for them, two hundred yoyos a time.’
‘So what did he have to say for himself?’
‘Well, according to him, Dennehy came around to the house with a shotgun, shouting and cursing, and when Davy Dorgan opened the front door he shot him, but he only hit him in the leg. He dropped his shotgun and pulled out a pistol but Dorgan snatched it away from him and so he picked up his shotgun again. That’s when Dorgan fired back at him and hit him once in the shoulder and once in the mouth. His face is in a fierce mess, I can tell you. Imagine a dish of lamb’s liver with broken teeth scattered in it.’
‘Jesus. I see. So Dorgan’s going to be pleading self-defence.’
‘You have it exactly. Those were his uncle Christy’s very words.’
‘What about the media?’ Katie asked him.
‘Only that fat young fellow from the Echo so far. But I expect they’ll all be showing up before too long. Meanwhile we’re going house to house, interviewing all the neighbours. So far, though, none of them saw nothing. In other words, they’re all scared to say anything just in case it’s different from what Christy Dorgan’s been telling us.’
‘Thanks, Sean. Give me an hour and I’ll be there at the station. Don’t say anything to any of the media. I mean nothing. We have some extra complications with Davy Dorgan, to say the least. I’ll tell you about them when I get in. I’m assuming we’ve posted an officer to keep an eye on him while he’s in the hospital?’
‘Four, in fact, all armed, from the RSU. Two for him, and two for Bernie Dennehy. We don’t want any more Dorgans nipping in to casualty and finishing the job, do we?’
‘Good man yourself,’ said Katie. ‘And if and when either of them get discharged from the hospital, make sure we keep a tail on them both, okay?’
‘Already sorted, ma’am. I’ll see you after so.’
Katie climbed out of bed. ‘It seems like Bernie Dennehy and your good friend Davy Dorgan have been having a bit of a gunfight,’ she said. She went across to her wardrobe to pick out what clothes she was going to wear, and as she did so she told Kyna about the shooting on Mount Nebo Avenue.
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Kyna and climbed out of bed, too. She crossed her arms and tugged off her nightie and when Katie saw her naked she had the briefest pang of regret that they had done nothing last night but kiss and then fall asleep.
‘Here,’ she said and tossed Kyna a pair of clean white briefs out of her knicker drawer. Then she went into the kitchen to put on the kettle for coffee. She felt as if a silent storm was blowing through her mind, tossing up dust and dead leaves. How could she be so much in love with Conor and yet find Kyna so attractive?
Maybe it was stress, she thought. She had the Toirneach Damhsa fire to deal with, as well as Davy Dorgan and Guzz Eye McManus and twenty or thirty ongoing cases of theft and prostitution and drug-dealing and assault, and on top of that she had Frank Magorian putting pressure on her to come up with immediate results.
As the kettle boiled, Conor came into the kitchen wearing only his pale blue boxer shorts.
‘You’re off to work already?’ he asked her, looking up at the kitchen clock. He put his arms around her waist and kissed her.
‘Something’s come up,’ she said, stroking the dark hair on his chest.
‘Pity it’s not me,’ he grinned.
She kissed him back and said, ‘It won’t always be like this, Con.’
‘You mean people are going to stop committing crimes and let us have some time together?’
‘Yes,’ she said. Then, ‘No, of course not. But one day I won’t care any more.’
Conor gently lifted her chin and looked into her sea-green eyes.
‘And when will that be?’ he asked her. ‘When we’re both old and grey?’
26
They were crossing over the Glashaboy River on their way into the city when Katie’s iPhone rang. Above them the low grey clouds were gradually beginning to grow lighter, but over to the south-west they could see charcoal-coloured clouds which meant that more heavy rain was impending.
‘Yes, Sean?’ said Katie. It was Detective Sergeant Begley again. ‘I’ll be with you in less than ten minutes so.’
‘I’ve just heard from Ó Doibhilin at the hospital, ma’am. Bernie Dennehy passed away about half an hour ago. The doctors said that some bullet fragments had penetrated his brain, along with twenty or thirty bits of his molars. He never regained consciousness, so we’ve had no statement out of him.’
‘What about Dorgan?’
‘Dorgan’s had the pellets taken out of him and they should be discharging him by lunchtime. I’ve interviewed him under caution, but his story is the same as his uncle’s. No surprise there like. Both guns have gone to the lab for fingerprinting and DNA and ballistics, and we may have some results from them later in the day with any luck.’
‘Thanks, Sean.’
She turned to Kyna and said, ‘This is getting more and more bamboozling by the minute. Why do you think Bernie Dennehy wanted to shoot Davy Dorgan? I can understand why he might have wanted to do away with Niall Gleeson, although he swore blind that it wasn’t him. But why Dorgan?’
Kyna pulled a face. ‘Who knows? From what Liam was saying it seems like half of Cork would be dancing in the streets if Dorgan was disposed of.’
‘Well, we’ll have to go and see Dennehy’s wife and tell her the tragic news. Maybe she’ll have some idea what his motive was. I’ll send Michael Ó Doibhilin around. He’s always brilliant with grieving widows. He may sound like he has a tocht in his throat, but he always asks the sharpest questions.’
As they turned into the station car park at Anglesea Street, Kyna said, ‘I’ll go home and change now, if that’s okay. I think I ought to show up at the Templegate this evening as per normal. I don’t want Liam thinking that I’ve gone off him, because I may be able to get him to tell me more about this hit that Dorgan’s setting up.’
‘Kyna – you don’t have to get intimate with him again. I mean it.’
‘I swear to you, ma’am – hell will have to freeze over,’ said Kyna.
They sat in the car and looked at each other for a moment
. They didn’t have to say anything. Katie squeezed Kyna’s hand and then they both climbed out.
*
Detective Sergeant Begley was waiting for Katie in her office. While she sat at her desk and sipped a hot cappuccino he showed her the video that had been taken at the scene of the shooting outside the Dorgan house. This included footage of Davy Dorgan’s pellet-spattered leg and Bernie Dennehy’s blown-apart face.
‘Urrghh – thank God I haven’t had my breakfast yet,’ said Katie. ‘Is Dorgan still in hospital?’
‘No – he’s back home now, but we’ve taken his passport and we’re keeping him under discreet surveillance,’ said Detective Sergeant Begley. ‘He won’t be going anywhere at all without us knowing about it.’
‘Well, just listen to this,’ said Katie, and quickly briefed him about the information on Davy Dorgan that Kyna had given her.
‘Serious?’ said Detective Sergeant Begley. ‘He’s planning to assassinate Ian Bowthorpe? Lord lantern of Jesus, he must be out of his mind. How’s he going to manage that? The security guards at the Opera House that evening will almost outnumber the dancers!’
‘I don’t know for sure,’ Katie told him. ‘He may have been codding. From what Ni Nuallán says about him, he’s either a very cute hoor or else he’s a raving psychopath. Or maybe he’s a combination of both. That Liam sounds like some kind of a browl, too. It could all be fantasy, but I’m going to ask DI Mulliken to check with the PSNI anyway, and the PSNI can check with the SRR.’
They were still talking when Detective O’Donovan came in, the shoulders of his grey jacket spotted with raindrops.
‘Christ on a bike, it’s rotten out there. And it’s going to get worse before it gets better.’
‘How’s it coming on?’ Katie asked him. ‘What time have you fixed to interview Steven Joyce?’
‘Ten o’clock. His studio’s halfway up John Redmond Street, so it isn’t far. But I haven’t been making too much progress otherwise.’
‘With that tri-ethly-what’s-it’s-name, you mean?’
‘That’s right. My friend Barry Brady up at the barracks says there’s been none missing from the armoury, and neither of those plastics companies in Bishopstown or Little Island have lost any either. Both of them said they keep a fierce tight check on it because it’s so flammable. They’ve both had accidental fires with it. Three years ago at Cork Plastic Mouldings nearly half the whole factory burned down.’
‘All right, Patrick. Keep trying. I’ll be holding a briefing this afternoon to bring us all up to date and maybe we can come up with some new notions about where it might have come from. I really think that’s going to be the key to finding out who started that fire.’
After Detective Sergeant Begley and Detective O’Donovan had left, Katie finished her coffee and then went along the corridor to see Detective Inspector Mulliken. On her way there, though, she heard feet hurrying up behind her and when she turned around she saw Detective Scanlan running to catch her up.
‘I just went into your office to talk to you but you weren’t there,’ Detective Scanlan panted. ‘You’ll never guess – I’ve found out where Adeen’s wristband came from. More than that, I think I’ve found out what her real name is and who bought her doll for her.’
‘You have?’ said Katie. ‘That’s the best news I’ve had all morning. Look – I’m on my way to see DI Mulliken. Come with me... this could be pure useful to him, too.’
As they walked the rest of the way along the corridor Detective Scanlan held up a sheet of paper that she had printed out from her computer. It was headed Little Angels and it carried six colour photographs of babies, two of them with their eyes closed, apparently sleeping, others smiling, one of them sucking a dummy.
‘Reborn babies,’ said Detective Scanlan. ‘They’re a huge business all over the world, but especially in Northern Ireland for some reason. These ones are made by an artist in Dungannon, Mary Fitzsimmons. I mean, they’re horribly lifelike, aren’t they?’
They reached Detective Inspector Mulliken’s office and Katie knocked at his open door. Detective Inspector Mulliken was sitting at his desk, holding up a shaving mirror and trying to comb his thinning hair over.
‘You’ve caught me in the act,’ he said mournfully, dropping his comb and mirror into a drawer. ‘Maybe I should admit defeat and go to the Baldy Barber and have it all shaved off.’
‘Oh, come on, Tony, they do some grand men’s wigs these days,’ Katie told him. ‘Try the Cork Hair Clinic on Oliver Plunkett Street. You could come in tomorrow looking like Gabriel Byrne. But anyway, I have something much more important for you to be worrying about. Go on, Padragain – finish what you were telling me.’
Detective Scanlan held up the pictures of the Little Angels so that Detective Inspector Mulliken could see it.
‘So?’ he said. ‘What exactly do these babies have to do with the grass and the goose on the side of a mountain?’
‘They’re not real babies, sir. They’re all dolls.’
‘Serious?’ said Detective Inspector Mulliken, leaning forward to peer at them more closely.
‘Serious. They’re made out of silicone mainly, and the dummy only stays in your one’s mouth there because it’s magnetic. Reborn babies, they call them.’
‘So who buys them?’
‘Collectors, of course, but a fair number are bought by women who have never been able to have babies, or they’ve lost one. For consolation, I’d say. Maybe they’ve had a hysterectomy, or they’ve never had a partner, or maybe they’ve miscarried, or the baby was stillborn, or died when it was only a few weeks old.’
Katie made no comment, but it was impossible for her not to think about her own little Seamus, lying still and cold in his cot in the Nursery. He had looked just like one of these reborn babies, with his eyes closed and his lips pouting, and she gave an involuntary shiver.
‘Anyway, you can order these dolls with any clothing or accessories that take your fancy,’ Detective Scanlan went on. ‘You can have bonnets and coats and teddy bears, even baby buggies and cribs. In this case, though, I was only looking for a green woven wristband because that’s what Adeen’s wearing and she told DS Maguire that it came off of her doll.
‘Out of all the reborn dolls on offer from different artists, Mary Fitzsimmons was the only one to offer a woven wristband – there, you can see one on this doll here – and it’s identical to Adeen’s, except that it’s pink. In the past year she’s had only the one order for a green one, last October the twelfth.’
She turned over the paper and checked what she had written on the back. ‘It was ordered online by Mrs Jean McCabe, of Victoria Road, in Larne, County Antrim, who paid for it, but it was to be delivered to Miss Cissy Jepson of Old Glenarm Road, which is just around the corner from Victoria Road, with a card to wish her a happy eighth birthday.’
‘Jepson,’ said Katie, narrowing her eyes. ‘That name rings kind of a bell somehow.’
‘Oh yes?’ asked Detective Inspector Mulliken. ‘What manner of a bell?’
‘I don’t know... I’m not sure yet,’ Katie told him. ‘But listen, Padragain, why don’t you contact this Mrs McCabe and send her a picture of Adeen? See if she recognizes her. And while you’re at it, send her a picture of Davy Dorgan, too. I expect DS Begley will have taken a picture of him at the hospital when he questioned him. If not, you can take a screenshot from the video that we took after the shooting this morning up at Mount Nebo Avenue. Just don’t show her his wounded leg.
‘I’ll be out for a couple of hours,’ she added. ‘If you get a firm identification on either or both of them, tell DI Mulliken here as soon as you can. And well done yourself for tracking down that wristband. Good work.’
‘I will of course, ma’am,’ said Detective Scanlan. ‘And thank you.’
When she had gone, Katie told Detective Inspector Mulliken about Davy Dorgan’s intention to murder the British defence secretary, Ian Bowthorpe. He listened with his mouth open in disbelief.
‘At the Opera House? Your man must be half a bubble off true. Mind you, that’ll be the only time Bowthorpe’s going to be seen in public. The rest of the time he’ll either be at Haulbowline, in the navy base, or else he’ll be speeding around in a bulletproof car with motorcycle outriders. Still... I’d say that he’s dreaming, this Dorgan. Either that, or it’s nothing more than big words to impress this so-called Authentic IRA of his.’
‘I have to agree with you mostly,’ said Katie. ‘The trouble is, we still have to take him seriously, even if we think he’s cracked as the crows. Can you ring your friend Superintendent Mitchell in Belfast and see if he can contact the SRR? If there’s any buzz going around about Davy Dorgan setting up an attempt on Bowthorpe’s life, they’re the most likely ones to have picked it up.’
‘I’ll do that, sure. But I have to tell you that they’re not finding it so easy these days to keep tabs on the dissidents, not like they used to. The younger ones especially, they’ve wised up to all the technamalogical tricks like. A lot of it they get taught in school, of course. But now they can tell if somebody’s hacking their computer, or listening in to their mobile phone calls, or if a tracker’s been stuck to their car. The Invisible Republican Army, that’s what they’ve taken to calling themselves.’
‘See what you can come up with, anyway,’ said Katie. ‘I have the feeling that at last we’re beginning to pull our boots up out of the bog. Maybe Frank Magorian was righter than he knew and we will have this investigation all wrapped up by Sunday Mass.’
27
Katie parked at a bus stop because John Redmond Street was so crowded on both sides with residents’ cars. As she and Detective O’Donovan climbed out of her Focus they could hear fiddle and accordion music and the machine-gun rattling of hard step-dancing shoes, even down here in the street.
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