by Don Cameron
‘Very good, Pat, let’s have a look now.’
Conroy and Brady wheeled the television and video player from the corner of the room and turned it on. ‘Close the blinds, Dave,’ said Brady as the team stared at the blank screen.
A small red light flickered as the tape started and the tiled ticket office was on screen. A counter on the bottom left ticked over as a digital clock on the other corner showed the time in hours, minutes and seconds. It showed 9:05:24 p.m. ‘That’s when the manager went home, sir. He started the CCTV just before he left. It’s what he always does.’
O’Neill nodded without looking away. ‘Good, so can you now speed up and get to the attack? There’s nothing for us here.’
‘If the attack happened at about midnight then our guy might have been lying in wait for her, and we might get a look at him a few minutes beforehand,’ said Brady.
O’Neill and Connolly looked at him. ‘Very good, Pat, you might be on to something,’ said O’Neill. ‘Right, stop the video five minutes before the attack and let’s see if we get lucky.’ The thought that they might see the Penman suddenly lifted the heavy atmosphere and they waited silently as Brady fast-forwarded the tape. It hissed and clicked as the images flicked wildly past, as if in a hurry to catch the killer.
Click.
Brady pressed the handset and the time showed 11:58:24 p.m. The tiled ticket office was empty – but only for a few seconds. From the top right-hand corner of the screen a man entered and stopped, looking around. Was he checking the time of the last train home or was he the Penman? He looked up at the corner of the office, took a few steps forwards and stretched his hand up. Seconds later the ticket office went into darkness.
‘He’s broken the light,’ said Conroy. ‘Smart fucker.’
‘Can you brighten the picture?’ O’Neill said, cursing the bastard and his own bad luck. A great chance had presented itself and just as quickly it had been taken away. It was cruel, but he couldn’t do anything about that now.
Brady tried to improve the picture but it was of little use. ‘Maybe the bloke in Trinity College can help. I’ll take it into him when we’re finished.’
‘Okay, Pat. Let it roll.’
As the time ticked past 12:03:36 a.m. a ghostly image appeared from the bottom left corner. ‘That must be Caroline Dolan,’ said Connolly.
In a heartbeat the team could make out moving figures and a small light static against a wall. The attack lasted barely twenty seconds and ended when a stream of light lit up the ticket office.
‘Pause it,’ shouted O’Neill.
A figure, crouched and ready for action, turned his head. The team could see his long hair and what looked like white trainers. It was barely a profile but it was the first time that they had seen the Penman. They all looked long and hard at the quivering image.
‘Fucker,’ said Conroy again.
‘Yes, but not an invisible one. Not any more,’ added Christine Connolly.
Brady hit play and the tape continued, as the figure appeared to move to the platform. ‘That was how he escaped,’ he said, thinking out loud, and the others nodded their agreement.
‘So there is probably no evidence there now, but Christine and Pat can check it out while I visit the hospital,’ said O’Neill.
‘Have we any help with the door-to-door work?’ asked Conroy with little enthusiasm.
O’Neill shook his head. ‘You can get a couple of officers downstairs, but with the Burke case taking up all the spare staff, I’m afraid we’re down to the bare bones.’
Brady shrugged at the expected answer. ‘By the way, is there any news on how that case is going? Lots being said on the radio.’
This time O’Neill shrugged. ‘From what the boss told me, they’ve absolutely no idea, and no leads. There’s some speculation about property deals gone sour and one or other of Burke’s partners taking revenge. Seems a bit far-fetched, but they’ve got nothing else to go on. I know Tony Lewis, and if there’s anyone who you would want to lead the investigation then he’s the man. He’s a fine investigator.’
‘A bit like our case, sir, no clues,’ said Christine Connolly and left it at that.
Nobody said a word, but the silence in the room was deafening.
It was an uncomfortable few seconds before she spoke again. ‘And what was the light on the ground?’
‘That was the light from Caroline’s mobile phone, which the Forensics Unit is now examining,’ answered Brady.
O’Neill suddenly realised that Brady was wearing a new suit and shirt with a colourful silk tie. That was different, and his shoes were polished and shining. Was he trying to impress Christine Connolly? he thought. He liked him for even trying.
‘So you mean that we might be able to hear the attack?’ she said. She shivered at the idea.
It was sick but there it was, out in the open.
‘Jesus, that’s really sick,’ said Conroy, wincing.
‘Not as sick as what that fucker did,’ said O’Neill, ‘but … if we can get something useful from it, then it may help us catch the bastard.’
*
When the meeting was over and tasks assigned, O’Neill went to the restaurant and then made his way along the coast road to St Vincent’s Hospital. Had they just got a break or was it a teaser that would come to nothing? He didn’t know and hoped a crack would appear that would give him a glimpse, a clear one, of his enemy. He knew from previous cases that small things led to bigger things, and he said a silent prayer as he pulled into the car park.
‘Good Morning, Inspector,’ said Sister Shaw as he approached the desk. In the cold light of day she looked even more prim and proper, and ready to deal with anything.
‘Hello, Sister Shaw. Have you any news for me?’
She tapped her keyboard and looked at the computer screen. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Caroline is out of danger, but you will have to speak with Doctor Magee first. Nobody is to see her without seeing him first.’ This was not open for discussion.
‘That’s great news, excellent. And may I have a word with the doctor, if he’s available? I’d appreciate it.’
Sister Shaw picked up the phone and dialled. She looked at him and he knew she was checking him out. ‘You look tired, Inspector. Not sleeping well?’
‘Well, when you’ve been chasing a crazed killer for the past couple of weeks, it’s not easy to get a good night’s sleep. Too much going on up here,’ he said, tapping his head. ‘It’s …’.
‘… a dirty job, but someone has to do it. I understand,’ she replied. If anyone knew it was dirty then she did. ‘Oh, Doctor Magee, I have Inspector O’Neill here and he would like to speak with you about Caroline Dolan.’ She listened for a few seconds. ‘Okay, I’ll tell him,’ she said, and put the phone down. She looked over the desk. ‘He’s on his way down, Inspector. Take a seat.’
Magee stepped from the lift and, following Shaw’s eyes, went over to O’Neill. ‘Inspector, good to see you.’
They shook hands.
‘And you too,’ said O’Neill. ‘I was wondering how Caroline Dolan is and if, maybe, I could have a word with her?’
Magee nodded his head but said nothing. He slipped his hands into his pockets and O’Neill reckoned that the young man had been up all night. He had that midnight shadow around the cheeks and his hair was tousled. Maybe he had just woken up, he thought, understanding the medic’s demanding job. Either way, he looked as though he needed a rest and he could certainly empathise with him on that score.
‘If Caroline had not been so fit, we might have lost her. She’s a strong young woman and that most certainly helped her to stay alive.’
‘That’s great news, really great.’
Magee turned and O’Neill followed him. ‘She was stabbed with a pencil, but thankfully it missed her vital organs and
hasn’t caused too much damage. She was also kicked and has been badly bruised, but she has no broken bones.’
O’Neill felt relieved. It was the first time since the case began that he felt marginally hopeful and wondered if the tide was turning. Hopefully it was coming in.
They stopped outside a door where Caroline’s name was noted in large black letters on a white card.
Magee turned to O’Neill. ‘I want to see how she is, Inspector, so do not say anything unless I say so. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Doctor. I’m just delighted that she is alive.’
Magee pushed the door open and O’Neill saw a young girl lost behind a bank of cables, lights and machines that clicked and showed numbers rising and falling as she breathed. A plastic tube exited her nose and was soon lost under the blanket that touched her chin. Her breathing was easy and the blanket moved slowly up and down while he stood at the end of the bed looking at her.
Magee looked at her chart and then checked the readouts from the machines on a small screen. He nodded happily. Then he leaned close and spoke softly. ‘Caroline, this is Doctor Magee. How are you feeling now? Any better?’
She let out a moan, but not one that he took as being painful. It was like what you’d expect from someone who has just woken up from a deep sleep.
‘Good, that’s good, Caroline.’ He looked at O’Neill. ‘I have someone here who would like to ask you a few questions about what happened. It’s Inspector O’Neill, Okay?’
Another soft moan was her reply. Murphy again checked the small screen and waved O’Neill forward.
‘Caroline, can you tell me anything about what happened to you last night? It would be a great help.’
Her head moved on the pillow.
She moved again but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t even moan.
Magee waved for O’Neill to stop. ‘Thank you, Caroline. You go back to sleep and we’ll talk later.’
Outside the two men walked to the lift. ‘Sorry about that, Inspector, but she is obviously too tired right now. Come back tomorrow.’
‘I will do, Doctor. And thanks for your efforts in keeping her alive. You did a great job.’
Magee smiled, his eyelids even heavier now. ‘Thank you, and I hope you find the man responsible. He must be a very sick individual indeed.’
‘He’s all that and more, no doubt about it.’
Magee nodded and they shook hands. He turned and headed back along the corridor when O’Neill called out. ‘Doctor, what happened to Caroline’s clothes when she was brought in? Were they thrown out, or are they …’.
Murphy rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. O’Neill noted that his eyes seemed brighter. ‘A good question, Inspector. That’s a very good question indeed. Let’s ask Sister Shaw, she’s the fountain of all knowledge around here.’
‘I can certainly believe that.’
The two men walked purposefully to the reception desk.
Thirty minutes later Caroline Dolan’s clothes were located in a storeroom in the basement. They were in a black plastic bag and somebody had thankfully tied a label showing the time they had been removed from the operating theatre. ‘They could have some of the attacker’s DNA on them,’ O’Neill said, holding the bag by the thick knot.
‘There’s a lot of her blood on them, Inspector, it’s not going to be easy to get anything,’ offered Magee.
That was obvious, but O’Neill wasn’t put off. ‘I know, but our Forensics boys love a challenge.’
‘Best of luck.’
‘Thanks, and I’ll call in tomorrow.’
An hour later, O’Neill was sitting in Gary O’Connell’s office, the plastic bag on a chair beside him.
‘It’s all yours, Gary. The doctor will send on Caroline’s DNA profile so that you can eliminate hers from your testing.’
‘Okay, Danny.’
‘And the mobile phone, anything there?’
‘O’Connell checked his computer screen and tapped it with his finger. ‘It was sent to our electronics boys in The Park and they’re working on it now. They have to contact the service provider, but as it’s part of a possible murder inquiry, all doors are open. They should have something by tomorrow.’
‘That’s fine. And do let me know as soon as …’.
‘Don’t worry, Danny, you’re sadly at the top of my list.’
O’Neill grinned. ‘Thanks. It’s nice to know that someone’s thinking about me.’
O’Connell shook his head. ‘Get out of here. Hey, maybe the Assistant State Pathologist might be thinking of you too. What a lucky boy you are.’
‘Okay, enough of this, I’m off,’ he said, and left the grinning Head of Forensics to his bloody work.
Outside, the day was warming up and he drove back to the police station without the radio on. He didn’t need any more bad news. He thought of Caroline’s clothes and hoped that the attacker had mistakenly left a mark. He had to be positive, and right now, for some unknown reason, he was more positive than he had been in weeks, even if it was only in a small way.
As he pulled into the traffic he remembered Christine Connolly’s words earlier and frowned in concentration. It was surprising, almost unbelievable when he thought about it, that neither case had shown any progress. Considering the resources thrown at both cases it was surprising, if not unbelievable, that nothing had turned up. He decided to call Tony Lewis and have a word. It couldn’t do any harm, and anyway, he hadn’t seen him for at least two, or three years. Time flies when you’re chasing shadows.
32
A game of cricket was in progress when Pat Brady walked past the pavilion. Small groups of students sat on the grass and cheered on their friends as a gentle warm breeze rustled the leaves above. Around him was the constant chatter of students relaxing and tourists taking in the sights of Dublin’s oldest university. The words of the song ‘Summer in Dublin’ came into his head and he sang it to himself, enjoying the temporary escape from the tension of the police station.
The Audio and Visual Arts office had a view of Nassau Street and he looked at the bustling crowds all the way up Dawson Street to St Stephen’s Green. It was a novel view and one that he wouldn’t mind swapping for the one he had each day in Dun Laoghaire. The view from the Detectives’ Room was nothing like this, with the old clock tower on the main street the only relief. Maybe it was deliberate, he thought, to keep staff at their desks. Was it a control thing? Probably not, but either way, right now, the view was just fine.
He turned when he heard someone say his name.
‘Detective Brady, I’m Niall Bailey, Head of Visual Studies. Good to see you.’
They shook hands and Brady was surprised at how young the man looked. Bailey wore blue corduroy trousers, a white shirt and his dark hair fell well below his collar. A pair of desert boots completed the casual look. His face was tanned and his blue eyes bright and alert.
Brady smiled. ‘Sorry, but I expected someone older to be in charge. My mistake,’ he offered, and held his hands up.
Bailey laughed. ‘Don’t worry; you’re not the first person to be surprised. The department is fairly new and the university wanted someone young, well, youngish, to run it, and I was recruited from Berkeley, across the bay from San Francisco.’
‘That explains the tan.’
He nodded. ‘I’d been over there for ten years and was keen to come home. I jumped at the opportunity when it came. Now I’m just back from a month’s work over there, so this is the result. I get invited back there every year for a series of lectures and to do some research, so I’m not complaining. It’s also good PR for the university, so everyone’s a winner.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
Bailey led the way to his office where he offered Brady some coffee.
‘White with one,’ Brady said
, putting the videocassette on the desk. He tapped it with a finger. ‘This is what I would like you to have a look at.’
Bailey noted the tape and sat down opposite. ‘Can you tell me something about it, and what you need?’ Bailey asked, taking a sip of coffee.
Brady explained about the attack in Booterstown station and what they could see on the tape. He said that he had read the article about Bailey’s recent work and that was why he was sitting here.
‘Good to see that you have a scientific interest, Detective; it’s commendable. If you are happy to leave the tape with me overnight, I should have an answer by tomorrow.’ He put his cup down and picked up the tape. ‘I wonder what little gem of information I can extract from you, eh?’ he said, a row of pearly white teeth showing.
‘Anything would be better than what we have. So, yes, you may keep it. But I’ll have to ask you to sign for it, as it is the DART’s property and it’s evidence in an ongoing police investigation.’
‘No problem,’ said Bailey. ‘Glad to help. I just hope that we can entice whatever little snippet of information that’s inside.’ He put the tape down. ‘One of my colleagues in America did something like this before, so I’ve already put a call into him.’ He winked at Brady. ‘Fingers crossed?’
‘Yeah, fingers crossed it is then.’
*
By the time the officers returned to the police station after hours of house-to-house calls, they were none the wiser. They confirmed that Caroline Dolan lived on Pinehaven, off Cross Avenue, not more than a few minutes walk from where Barbara Ryan had lived. And not more than a six or seven minute walk to Angie Murphy’s front door. All the victims lived within a stone’s throw of each of each other, but still no lines intersected. It was just more frustration and nothing useful was added to the murder board.
Caroline Dolan worked in advertising and was a keen middle distance runner. She had represented Dublin in various national championships and her strong body and constitution had helped her to survive the attack. ‘Mens sana in corpore sano – a healthy mind in a healthy body,’ said Christine Connolly as she taped a picture of Caroline Dolan to the board.