Dead Girls Dancing

by Graham Masterton

  Still Cissy said nothing.

  ‘Cissy, sweetheart, it’s fierce important that I find out how they died. Somebody killed them and then set fire to the dance studio so that all of those poor dancers were burned to death. We can’t let them go unpunished. They might do it again to somebody else. They might do something much worse.’

  Cissy turned her head away and stared at the television. SpongeBob had broken the spatula that he was using to grill burgers and was trying to give it CPR.

  ‘Was there somebody else in the attic when you were there, Cissy? Did they see you, or maybe they didn’t? If I showed you some pictures of different men, do you think you could at least nod if you saw one of them up in the attic?’

  Katie took out photographs of Danny Coffey, Steven Joyce, Douglas Cleary and Tadhg Brennan. She held them up in front of Cissy one after the other, but she didn’t respond to any of them. Either she had seen none of them in the attic, or else she was too frightened to say which one of them she recognized.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure that none of them were up there?’ Katie repeated.

  Cissy turned away from the television to look at her, but her expression was unreadable and she still didn’t speak.

  Katie stood up and said, ‘All right. I’ll have to leave you now. I have a very sad funeral to go to. I’m not cross with you, Cissy. I know that you’re too scared at the moment to describe what happened that day. I only hope that you can find a way to tell me... I mean, you could write it down, or maybe ring me, now that you have your mobile phone. Would either of those be easier?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Cissy, so quietly that Katie could scarcely hear her over a cartoon explosion on the television.

  Katie leaned over and gave her a hug. ‘You’ll be all right, darling, you wait and see. Just don’t you forget to ring me.’

  *

  Detective Dooley’s state funeral took place at noon, with a procession along Patrick’s Street and Grand Parade by over three thousand uniformed gardaí from all over the country. The sun shone and the Garda band played the Caoineadh funeral march. The pavements all the way to the Holy Trinity Church on Father Mathew Quay were crowded with thousands of mourners, all watching in silence, bareheaded.

  Neither the Dáil nor the Seanad were sitting today, out of respect, and the Oireachtas had cancelled all committee meetings.

  Behind the hearse walked Garda Commissioner Nóirín O’Sullivan, accompanied by the Tánaiste, Frances Fitzgerald, the minister for justice, Joseph McNulty, and Assistant Commissioner Frank Magorian.

  Katie was marching in her full blue dress uniform beside Chief Superintendent Denis MacCostagáin and Superintendent Michael Pearse, with her team of detectives marching behind her. The only member of her team missing was Kyna. Katie had told her not to join the parade because it would be televised from beginning to end and she didn’t want to take the risk that Davy Dorgan might recognize her and realize that she was a Garda officer.

  She felt that this funeral was completely unreal. It was such a bright day, with white clouds tumbling across the sky like burst pillows, and she found it impossible to imagine that the hearse they were following was carrying the badly burned body of young Robert Dooley.

  His coffin was draped in the orange, white and green tricolour flag, with his Garda cap on top of it. It was carried into the church on the shoulders of his brothers and his fellow detectives.

  Katie sat near the front of the church for the service, but for all of those thousands gathered outside large video screens had been erected so that they could follow the prayers and hymns. A solemn address was given by Father Hurley, who had been Detective Dooley’s parish priest at St Finbarr’s, and by Commissioner O’Sullivan.

  ‘Too many hearts have been broken and lives shattered,’ said Father Hurley. ‘I say on this day from the depths of my heart, there is no place for violence in our society. Violence is wrong, always wrong.’

  Commissioner O’Sullivan said, ‘Let us not forget that Robert Dooley was not only a garda, he was a son and a brother, and a young man with a fine and fulfilling life ahead of him, so cruelly snatched away.’

  Afterwards, Katie went outside and stood alone by the river for a few minutes, thinking about Detective Dooley. She almost expected him to appear beside her, grinning his mischievous grin and telling her that this state funeral had all been one of his elaborate practical jokes. What did you think about that, then, ma’am? Everybody was doing the keen dog, weren’t they? – even grumpy old MacCostagáin!

  Detective Sergeant Begley came over and said, ‘Everything all right, ma’am?’

  The band was playing the funeral march Brón. Katie nodded and followed Detective Sergeant Begley back to join the rest of her bereaved colleagues.

  *

  It was nearly 5 p.m. by the time she returned to her office. There had been a reception for the government ministers and senior officers at County Hall and Katie had been able to talk to Commissioner O’Sullivan about the progress she was making with the Toirneach Damhsa fire investigation. Because of Detective Dooley’s death, the story had been prominent in the national newspapers.

  ‘Frank Magorian seems to be very confident that you’ll have it all wrapped up in the next few days,’ Commissioner O’Sullivan had told her. ‘I must say that he was pure complimentary about you, Detective Superintendent. It’s good to hear that you’re working so well together.’

  Katie had thought of several stinging ways she could have answered that, but had decided that the wisest response was silence and a smile. Commissioner O’Sullivan had enough problems of her own.

  Detective Inspector Mulliken came up to her office before she had even had the chance to change out of her uniform. He was still in uniform, too.

  ‘We’ve just received an update from the Ghost Team, ma’am. The three AIRA fellows stayed all day at Tomas O’Bruadair’s house, but they left about fifteen minutes ago, still in the same car. Now they’re on their way south again, but they’re going via Kilkenny and Callan rather than the M7. The detective sergeant in charge said that they’ve been trying to pick up phone signals from them, but no luck so far.’

  ‘Where’s Dorgan at the moment?’

  ‘Still with the rest of his family on Mount Nebo Avenue. The only phone messages we’ve intercepted from that property have been one or two from his Uncle Christy ordering some spare tyres from O’Reilly’s, and about five thousand from his niece Tasha gossiping with her school friends about somebody called Zayn, whoever that is.’

  ‘Let’s make sure we keep a fierce close eye on Dorgan,’ said Katie. ‘I’d love to lift him, but we don’t have sufficient evidence against him yet. We’ve only the tip-off that Ni Nuallán got out of that Liam character and if we brought him to court to give evidence he’d only deny it. He’d be too scared not to.’

  ‘No, don’t worry, we won’t be letting Dorgan out of our sight. And the NSU is keeping us in constant touch so we’ll be able to join them in tracking these AIRA fellows as soon as they arrive in Cork. We have a full description of the vehicle. It’s a Volvo V70 Cross Country T SE, safari yellow, with dummy Dublin plates.’

  As Detective Inspector Mulliken left, Moirin came in. A manila folder of correspondence was tucked under her arm, leaving her hands free to carry a cappuccino and a beef and vegetable hand pie.

  ‘Mother of God, you must be psychic,’ said Katie. ‘They had a buffet at the County Hall but I was too busy talking to all the bigwigs to eat anything.’

  ‘It’s not a bother,’ said Moirin. ‘I bought one for myself, too, and if you hadn’t been hungry I could have easy eaten the both of them.’

  While she ate her flaky-textured pie and drank her coffee, Katie caught up with her emails and her letters. She had three texts from Conor which made her smile. Cant stop thinking about last night!!, Youre fantastic!!! and Love you DS Maguire!!!! Each text was accompanied by an emoji of a different breed of dog.

  Before she left the station she went al
ong to see Chief Superintendent MacCostagáin. He was still wearing his uniform and in the light of his desk lamp he was hunched forward as if he were worn out. She had never seen his face look so lined and so old and his hair so grey.

  ‘Are you out the gap now, Kathleen?’ he asked her. His mouth sounded dry and he had to clear his throat.

  ‘In a minute, sir, after I’ve had a word with Michael Pearse. Has Tony Mulliken been keeping you up to speed on this Ian Bowthorpe business?’

  Chief Superintendent MacCostagáin nodded and then shook his head. ‘They must be mad as a box of frogs, these Authentic IRA fellows. Do they genuinely think they’re going to be able to get within a mile of the British defence secretary so they can take a pot-shot at him?’

  ‘Well, the NSU Ghost Team could stop them and pick them up now,’ said Katie. ‘But if we let them join together with Davy Dorgan and all the rest of his crew, we should be able to jump on all of them for conspiracy, and Dorgan in particular for incitement.’

  ‘You think it’s worth the risk?’

  ‘It’s Dorgan I want. His late father was an out-and-out murdering terrorist in Larne, and he’s even worse.’

  Chief Superintendent MacCostagáin lifted his hand in acknowledgement. ‘Carry on, then, Kathleen.’

  Katie hesitated because she sensed that he wanted to say something else. ‘Is that all, sir?’ she asked him.

  He looked up at her mournfully. ‘It hurts, you know, doesn’t it, when we lose one of our own? It doesn’t matter what age they are, but Dooley was so young. What a send-off we gave him, though, didn’t we? What a grand send-off! There’s nobody puts on a state funeral like us! But I wish we never had to do it at all.’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Katie. ‘Me too.’

  She left him there, sitting at his desk, staring into space.

  *

  When she opened her front door her phone was ringing. She had to push her way past Barney, who was welcoming her home by running madly backwards and forwards up and down the corridor, and by the time she reached the phone in the living room the caller had rung off.

  She rang back, wrestling off her coat at the same time. It was Corinne Daley, from Tusla.

  ‘Oh hallo there! Detective Superintendent Maguire? So sorry to trouble you at home. I tried to ring you at the station but they told me you’d already left and I didn’t want to ring you while you were driving.’

  ‘No, it’s not a bother. How’s young Cissy going on? Does she like her new family?’

  ‘That’s why I’m calling you. I thought she was with you, at Anglesea Street.’

  ‘What? What made you think that? Haven’t you collected her yet? Don’t tell me she’s still at CUH.’

  ‘No, she’s not. I went to pick her up about eleven this morning. I was about a half an hour late because I’d had some trouble with one of our other children, little devil he is. When I got to the hospital, though, she’d gone, and so had your garda from outside her door. The receptionist on the front desk told me that two of your detectives had come to take her away because you needed to ask her some more questions.’

  Katie felt cold. ‘I sent no detectives to fetch her, Corinne. As far as I was concerned, it was Tusla who was going to be taking care of her.’

  ‘Are you sure about that? The receptionist said that the detectives had shown her their ID and everything. And Adeen – I mean Cissy – she seemed to be quite happy to go with them. And of course your PA called me and said that you’d be fetching her around to our office here in Blackpool around teatime.’

  ‘Oh, God. My PA never rang you, Corinne.’

  ‘That’s what I was starting to wonder when Cissy never showed up. You have me really worried now. Who do you think has her?’

  Katie said, ‘Corinne – this isn’t your fault. There’s only one person who would have gone to those lengths to take her and I believe I know who that is. I’ll get in touch with the garda who was outside her room, and the hospital, too. They have CCTV inside and outside, twenty-four hours a day, and security guards on regular patrol around the corridors.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, DS Maguire. I really honestly truly believed you were holding her today to try and find out more about her background like – you know, to make it easier for her foster parents to understand her needs. That’s what your PA said. Or the woman who was making out that she was your PA, anyway.’

  ‘Thanks, Corinne,’ said Katie. ‘I’ll ring you back as soon as I have some news.’

  Immediately she had put down the phone Katie called Detective Sergeant Begley. She knew he was on a late shift this evening and that he also had a close liaison with the acting chief security officer at the hospital.

  ‘You think it was probably Davy Dorgan who took her?’ asked Detective Sergeant Begley. ‘Well, it couldn’t have been himself personally, because he hasn’t left the house today. But I’ll check with the guard who was on duty outside the little girl’s room and I’ll see what the CCTV footage comes up with. If they took her off in a car, these fellows, that should have been recorded on CCTV, too, unless they parked it outside the hospital perimeter.’

  ‘Let’s see if we can identify who might have taken her first,’ said Katie. ‘There’s something else, too – I gave her an iPhone to keep in touch with me. Hold on and I’ll give you the number. So long as she hasn’t switched it off or taken out the battery or thrown it away already, we might be able to track her with that. If we can’t, then get back to me and I’ll ask Superintendent Pearse to set up a full-scale search right away. I don’t want to waste even a minute, Michael. Young Cissy knows things that she shouldn’t know, and because of that she could be in danger of her life.’

  ‘I have you, ma’am. Buckley and Markey are both here with me. We’ll get on to this real quick. Will you be at home?’

  ‘For the time being, yes. But I’ll come back in if I’m needed.’

  Katie hung up her coat and then went back into the living room, with Barney following her. She would have given anything for a very large vodka – partly because she was so stressed and partly to bury once and for all the West Cork whiskey hangover that had returned to haunt her from the night before. With Cissy missing, though, and those three Authentic IRA men coming ever closer to Cork, she knew that she would have to be satisfied with a can of Diet Coke.

  She undressed and put on a nightshirt and a dressing gown, but she stayed in the living room watching the late-night movie, Peggy Sue Got Married. Barney settled down beside her with his chin on her knee, raising his eyes to look at her every now and then, as if he were making sure that she wasn’t too worried.

  At 1.37 a.m. her phone rang again. It was Kyna, and she sounded worried.

  ‘I’ve taken a look through the CCTV from the hospital, ma’am. Those two who went to pick up Cissy – they were both Davy Dorgan’s minions. One of them was Liam, and the other one was Murtagh. God alone knows how they were taken for detectives from Tusla, although Murtagh speaks quite posh, believe it or not.’

  ‘That’s the same Liam you—’

  ‘Yes. Him. And it made me feel sick to my stomach just to see him, I can tell you. But I can see from the CCTV that the both of them had smartened themselves up a bit, you know, and they were showing ID cards.’

  ‘You know as well as I do that you can buy fake Garda ID cards online. What about Cissy’s iPhone? Have you been able to locate her with that?’

  ‘No, not so far. Like you say, it might be switched off, or Dorgan might have found it and smashed it.’

  ‘Maybe the NSU might be able to track it. They have those cell-site simulators, don’t they, those Stingrays? What’s the situation with those Authentic IRA?’

  ‘We were sent another update about ten minutes ago. They’ve stopped again, this time at a house in Knockpogue Avenue, just opposite the Fairfield Tavern. The house belongs to another AIRA man, Joe Keenan.’

  ‘Oh, Keenan. Yes, I remember him. One of Bobby Quilty’s shamfeens. He specialized in breaking all your fin
gers if you irked Bobby Quilty, I seem to remember. Joe “Knucklecracker” Keenan.’

  ‘What’s the plan, then, ma’am?’ asked Kyna. She sounded so serious that it was hard for Katie to believe that she was talking to the same young woman with whom she and Conor had been making love last night.

  ‘Is Sean Begley still there with you?’

  ‘He is, yes. He’s right beside me now.’

  ‘The first place you need to look for Cissy is the Dorgan house. If she’s there, you can arrest Davy Dorgan for kidnap, even though Cissy’s his sister. If she isn’t, tell him that we know now that she’s his sister and that he needs to tell us where he’s had her taken to. If he denies any knowledge, lift him anyway for obstructing our investigation.’

  ‘If she’s not there, she could be at Liam’s, in St Anne’s Road. Or Murtagh’s, wherever he lives. I think it’s up Wellington Road somewhere.’

  ‘Kyna, just find her. It’s desperate.’

  34

  Katie quickly dressed in tight black jeans and a bottle-green polo-neck sweater. She checked that her revolver was loaded and fastened her holster on to her belt, then she shucked on her black waterproof jacket with the pointy hood.

  Before she left she filled Barney’s water bowl and shut him in the kitchen. In the morning she could ring Jenny Tierney and ask her to take him out for a walk and take care of him until she returned home.

  ‘It’s not that I don’t love you, Barns,’ she told him, tugging at his ears. ‘But I have a frightened little girl to rescue and some very horrible scumbags to catch. I promise you I’ll take you out to Marlogue Woods on Sunday afternoon to make up for shutting you up so much, and you can tear through the trees and up and down the beach to your heart’s content.’

  At this time of the morning traffic on the N8 into the city amounted to no more than five or six overnight delivery trucks, so Katie could drive for most of the way at over 90 kph and she reached the Lower Glanmire Road in less than fifteen minutes. As she was driving along Horgan’s Quay, with the river glittering black beside her, her iPhone rang.