The dispatcher came through to the staff room where Darragh and Brianna were sitting with four other paramedics. Brianna was prodding aggressively at her smartphone while Darragh was slowly masticating a corned-beef sandwich and reading the sports pages in the Examiner as intently as if he were translating it out of the Ancient Hebrew.
‘Darragh – Brianna – this is one for you. From what the caller said, it sounds like the patient’s concussed and she could have broken her left humerus.’
Brianna looked up from her phone and said, ‘Holy Mary, Denis, it’s not five minutes since we got back from taking that auld wan to the Mercy and I’ve just made myself a fresh cup of tea. Can’t Micky and Nola take this one?’
‘The boss says that you’re to go. Mine not to reason why, mine but to do whatever the feck I’m told.’
‘All right, then. Come on, Darragh. Jesus – if we were donkeys they wouldn’t work us as hard as this.’
They clattered downstairs, climbed into their ambulance and headed up the South Link Road with their blue lights flashing.
‘I don’t know what’s got into Ardan these past couple of days,’ said Brianna. ‘Every time he sees me he does a U-turn and walks off the other way like he doesn’t even want to share the time of day.’
‘Fair play, Bree, the poor fellow has a rake of problems on his plate still, what with all that reorganization. And he was never Mister Gallery at the best of times, was he?’
Darragh didn’t say that Brianna herself had been considerably less than easy to get along with lately. He had learned that if he was critical of her in any way at all, she would snap at him like an angry poodle.
They drove along Merchants Quay and then turned down St Patrick’s Street to Brown Thomas. A Garda squad car was already parked outside and Brianna could see that uniformed gardaí were standing in front of the doors. As soon as they drew into the kerb, she picked up her resuscitation bag, jumped down from the ambulance and hurried inside.
A young blonde woman in a long tan-coloured coat was lying on her back at the foot of the ground-floor escalator. Her eyes were closed and there was a large crimson bruise on her right cheek. Her left arm was twisted underneath her at an awkward angle and her thick brown nylon tights appeared to have been shredded by the teeth on the edge of the escalator steps. The escalator had been brought to a stop. It was surrounded by cosmetics counters, so there was a strong smell of Chanel in the air.
A small crowd of four or five onlookers shuffled back out of the way as Brianna came through, with Darragh close behind her pulling a trolley. A plump middle-aged man with a comb-over was kneeling beside the young blonde woman, feeling her pulse on her neck.
‘Thank the Lord,’ he said, as Brianna knelt down beside him. ‘I’m the store’s first-aider, but this is a sight more than I can handle. I think she might have busted her arm, like.’
Brianna gave him a quick, humourless smile and took out her pulse oximeter. The young woman’s heart was beating slowly, but not dangerously so, and although her breathing was quick and shallow, she didn’t seem to be at any risk of myocardial infarction.
When Brianna leaned over her, though, she smelled strongly of alcohol. Brianna looked at Darragh and made a waggling gesture with her hand to simulate drinking. He shook his head sadly. So many of the accident victims they attended were drunk.
Between them, they gently lifted the young woman off the floor and on to the trolley, taking care to support her left arm, which was dangling loose.
‘Here’s her bag,’ said one of the shop assistants. ‘It has her purse and her phone in it and everything.’
‘Did you see her fall?’ asked Darragh.
‘No, I didn’t. We just heard a kind of a scream and a thump and there she was. There wasn’t anybody else on the escalator when she fell – not that I could see, anyway.’
‘All right, grand. We’ll be taking her to the emergency room at CUH if anybody comes asking for her.’
Brianna and Darragh wheeled the young woman out to their ambulance. A woman garda came up to them before they closed the doors and asked how she was.
‘Hard to tell,’ said Brianna. ‘She’s clearly been drinking and she had a fierce bad fall down the escalator. She’s in shock at the moment and it looks like her arm could be broken. Look, I have her bag. It has her phone in it so we’ll be able to put a name to her and ring her next of kin or her friends at least.’
‘We’ll be following you to the hospital anyway,’ said the woman garda. ‘As soon as she’s conscious we’ll be wanting to ask her what happened. You know, just in case somebody gave her a push, like, do you know what I mean?’
Darragh closed the rear door and climbed up into the driving seat and they set off for the hospital, with the Garda squad car close behind.
Brianna checked the young woman’s vital signs again and found that her heart rate was slightly quicker and her blood pressure had risen slightly. Although her eyes were closed and she still appeared to be concussed, Brianna could find nothing seriously wrong with her, although delayed shock could still play some malevolent tricks. It was possible that she had suffered a spinal injury as well as a broken arm, in which case she might be suffering from neurogenic shock, which could prove fatal.
‘How is she?’ called Darragh.
‘Not too good,’ Brianna called back. ‘I’m giving her oxygen and keeping her warm but her vitals are giving me cause for concern, I can tell you. I reckon she must have had a skinful.’
She reached behind her, but instead of unhooking the oxygen mask, she picked up an ambulance dressing No.3 and tore off its plastic wrapper. It was their thickest gauze dressing, and it was designed to be used after serious car crashes and other major accidents, to stem the blood that came pumping out of catastrophic cuts and lacerations and torn-off limbs.
Brianna leaned sideways and ducked her head down so that she could see where they were. They were just passing Mardyke Street, which would give her at least ten minutes, especially since the traffic along Western Road was nose to tail in both directions. Without any hesitation, she pressed the dressing over the young woman’s face, completely covering her nose and mouth, and then she stuck the adhesive tapes at the side of the dressing around the back of her head, as tight as she could, so that it formed a mask.
To make sure that the young woman couldn’t breathe at all, she held her left hand over the dressing and pressed it down hard.
Nearly two minutes went by. They had only reached Orchard Road, even though Darragh was weaving in and out of the traffic with his siren wailing and his headlights flashing, and blaspheming almost continuously.
‘In the name of the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost and the Pope’s eternal jockstrap, will you ever get out of the fecking way, you gobdaw!’
Darragh was still swearing when the young blonde woman suddenly jolted and snatched Brianna’s wrist, wrenching her hand away from the dressing that was covering her face. Then she hit Brianna with her knuckles on the bridge of her nose, a punch like a piston that sent Brianna tumbling backwards on to the ambulance floor.
She ripped the adhesive tape from the back of her head and tossed the dressing away, and then she unbuckled the safety belt around her waist and sat up.
Brianna was trying to climb to her feet, but the punch had stunned her, and at that moment the ambulance swayed from side to side as Darragh overtook a bus, and she fell down on to the floor again.
‘What the hell is going on back there?’ Darragh shouted.
‘Slow down and stop!’ the young blonde woman ordered him.
‘What? Who’s that?’
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Ni Nuallán from Anglesea Street Garda Station and I’m arresting your partner for attempted murder.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. I’m not injured at all. Your partner here tried to suffocate me and she’s under arrest. You can turn off that siren, pull over to the side of the road and stop.’
‘What? I can’t unde
rstand you. She’s what?’
Kyna made her way to the front of the ambulance. Darragh looked up at her and almost rear-ended a van right in front of him.
‘Pull over, Darragh. I’ve arrested your partner and there’s a squad car right behind us.’
Darragh switched off the siren and slowly steered the ambulance into the front entrance of Áras Sláinte, the health service building by the side of Wilton Road.
Kyna went back, took hold of Brianna’s arm, and dragged her up from the floor. Brianna raised both hands to shield her face and said, ‘Don’t hit me again, please. Once was enough.’
The back door of the ambulance was opened up and two uniformed gardaí were standing outside. A second squad car was arriving behind the first, with its blue lights flashing.
Brianna stepped down, and the woman garda handcuffed her and led her away to sit in the back seat of her squad car. Darragh came around to the back of the ambulance looking shell-shocked.
‘You’ll have to come in too, Darragh, for questioning,’ Kyna told him.
‘What about my ambulance? I can’t leave it here. Some knacker might make off with it, and it’s full of drugs.’
‘Don’t you worry about your ambulance. One of these officers will drive it back to the station for you.’
‘You’re not hurt at all,’ said Darragh, in bewilderment. ‘Did you really not fall down that escalator? Your face is all bruised, like, and your tights are all torn.’
Kyna took a tissue out of her coat pocket and wiped it against the crimson bruise on her cheek. Then she held it up so that Darragh could see that it was make-up.
‘And see this?’ she said, pointing to the top button of the cardigan she was wearing under her coat. ‘It’s a video camera. Everything that your partner tried to do to me, it’s all here.’
‘I’m dreaming, aren’t I?’ said Darragh. ‘I can’t believe any of this. I must be dreaming.’
A garda took his arm and led him back to the second squad car, still shaking his head. He was just being helped into it when Katie arrived, in her own Ford Focus. As soon as she climbed out of it she came walking quickly towards Kyna, almost running, but when she saw that she was unharmed and talking to one of the gardaí, she slowed down.
‘I’m fine, ma’am,’ said Kyna, as Katie approached. ‘She tried to spifflicate me with a big thick bandage, would you believe, but the Wing Chun put a stop to that. It’s all recorded on the SD card.’
‘Mother of God, what a day this has been,’ said Katie. ‘And it’s not over yet.’
They walked back to Katie’s car together. Katie was so relieved that Kyna was unhurt that she didn’t know what to say. All she could do was lay her hand on her knee before she started up the engine, and turn to her, and smile, sparkly eyed.
46
‘What if he doesn’t show?’ asked Detective Caffrey.
‘If he doesn’t show I’ll treat you to a pint of Murphy’s,’ said Detective Sergeant Begley.
They were sitting at the bar in The Long Valley on Winthrop Street. Through the pub’s front window they could see the doorway of P. Cashell’s shop directly opposite where Elenuta had been sleeping rough, but it was five past nine and there was still no sign of Danut making an appearance.
The bar was dimly lit and crowded and noisy, and a trio called the Mischief Makers were playing a jig called ‘Tenpenny Bit’ on the flute and fiddle and bodhrán.
Although the music and the laughter were so loud, the barmaid heard Detective Sergeant Begley say ‘Murphy’s’ and suggestively lifted up an empty glass, but Detective Sergeant Begley shook his head. They had told her that they couldn’t order their drinks yet, because they were waiting on a friend. But ten more minutes went past and there was still no sign of Danut.
‘I reckon he’s caught on that we’ve hauled in all of his beggars,’ said Detective Caffrey. ‘In which case he’ll be out the gap and back to Romania if he has any brains. Him and that Lupul both, if he’s still alive and kicking, and good riddance.’
At a quarter past nine, Detective Sergeant Begley reached into his pocket for his wallet. He took out a twenty-euro note and was about to call the barmaid over when Detective Caffrey tapped his arm and said, ‘Come here to me, sarge – look! That’s your man, I’ll bet you!’
A bald-headed man in a black anorak was walking quickly from the direction of St Patrick’s Street, his hands deep in his pockets and his collar tugged up against the rain. He stopped in front of P. Cashell’s doorway for a few seconds, looking around. Then he carried on walking towards Oliver Plunkett Street.
‘So, what can I get you lads?’ asked the barmaid. But both detectives had already slid off their stools and were heading for the door. As they came out on to the pavement, they saw Danut crossing the road towards the General Post Office. He didn’t go far, though. He stopped right in front of the wide green post office doors, and turned around so that he was facing them. Immediately they changed direction and carried on walking down the opposite side of the street so he wouldn’t realize that they were following him.
Only thirty metres further down the street, though, stood two eircom telephone boxes. The two detectives managed to cram themselves inside one of them, even though they were both wearing padded waterproof jackets and ballistic vests. Detective Sergeant Begley lifted the receiver and pretended to be making a phone call, so that they could wait and watch through the rain-speckled glass to see what Danut did next. They saw him take out his mobile phone and have a brief conversation, and then he stayed where he was, chafing his hands together to keep warm.
‘A hundred to one he’s rung for a crony to pick him up, just like we reckoned,’ said Detective Caffrey. ‘Either that or a taxi.’
‘Well, I can’t see him standing there all night, freezing his arse off, can you? I’ll tell the ERU lads to warm up their jets.’
Their own silver Toyota was parked less than twenty metres down the street, in the loading bay of Penneys department store, but they weren’t going to be tracking Danut by themselves, without backup. Katie had also called in four armed officers from the Emergency Response Unit, and since eight-thirty that evening they had been stationed at strategic locations close by. They were in two unmarked cars – one on Grand Parade at the far end of Oliver Plunkett Street, and the second outside the Imperial Hotel on South Mall, in case Danut’s car took a left off Oliver Plunkett Street down Morgan Street or Marlboro Street.
Detective Sergeant Begley spoke on his radio to the ERU officers in both of those cars. ‘It’s your man all right. He’s outside the General Post Office and it looks like he’s rung for a lift. As soon as a vehicle shows up to collect him, we’ll let you know. But remember what DS Maguire was saying. It’s critical we find out where these suspects have moved themselves to, so give him plenty of space. If it looks like he has any suspicion at all that you’re following him, turn off, and another one of us can take over. We can’t afford to lose him or let him take us off on some wild goose chase.’
‘Roger, detective, we have you,’ said one of the ERU officers. His flat tone of voice suggested that he didn’t care to be lectured about basic pursuit techniques.
The rain was pelting down now. Detective Sergeant Begley and Detective Caffrey left the phone box, hurried down the street to their car and scrambled in. They sat watching Danut in their rear-view mirrors for over five minutes, but then they saw headlights coming down Oliver Plunkett Street. A black Audi saloon stopped outside the post office and its passenger door was thrown open. Danut scurried across and climbed inside.
‘Black Audi saloon, Limerick number plate,’ said Detective Sergeant Begley, into his radio. ‘Odds on it’s the same car they used when they abducted that Vasile fellow.’
As soon as the Audi had driven past them, Detective Caffrey pulled out of the loading bay and followed it. It turned left down Morgan Street to South Mall, and then turned left again. Detective Sergeant Begley alerted the two ERU officers in the car that was stationed outsid
e the Imperial Hotel, and when they turned into South Mall, they saw the headlights of the officers’ unmarked Volvo come up close behind them and flash them. The officers in the second ERU car reported that they had left their parking place on Grand Parade and were speeding along South Mall to catch up.
The black Audi saloon drove north, crossing the River Lee on the Michael Collins Bridge. The three unmarked Garda cars took it in turns to follow it. As they drove along St Patrick’s Quay, the Volvo even drew up alongside it. When it reached Harley Street, though, it turned left, and then right, and then left again up York Street.
‘Where the hell is he heading?’ said Detective Caffrey. ‘He can’t be going back to that house on Sidney Park, surely? That’s all been sealed off.’
But the Audi turned up the long steep slope of Richmond Hill, a narrow road with terraced houses on either side, and then up Goldsmith’s Avenue, which was even narrower and even steeper, high above the city centre. Eventually it turned into two rows of single-storey red-brick cottages called Sutton’s Buildings.
As they reached the corner, Detective Sergeant Begley said, ‘Kill the lights, Ronan. Don’t follow him yet. See how far he goes. This goes nowhere, this boreen, except back in a circle to where we started.’
They stopped, and waited, with the rain drumming on the roof of their car and their windscreen wipers squeaking. The Audi drove less than fifty metres up Sutton’s Buildings and then parked outside one of the cottages. They saw Danut and the Audi’s driver climb out and go inside. After only a few seconds, lights were switched on behind the sagging purple curtains that were hanging in the front room.
‘Right, we have him now,’ said Detective Sergeant Begley, into his radio. ‘Michael – if you carry straight on up Rathmore Park you can come back down Sutton’s Buildings from the other direction and block it off. But keep your distance for now. And no lights.’
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