“The DNA sample taken from the skin that was caught under Donal Keane’s fingernails matched with that of Paul Austen. An extensive search of his home yesterday unearthed photos and video recordings of the murders of John Barry and Richard Clarke. The recordings captured Austen carrying out the vicious acts of barbarous decapitation. Thus, it is beyond doubt that he was the man responsible.
“It takes a team to catch a serial killer, or in this case serial killers. I want to thank you all for your efforts and I want to congratulate you all for bringing the case to a conclusion, but perhaps not a completely satisfactory one. I especially want to thank Detective Olivia Callaghan and Detective John Woods who have worked alongside me on many cases in the past, and hopefully they will continue to do so in the future. I especially want to pay credit to a very fine detective who travelled here from Ireland to help us, that is, of course, Ray Logue. Without him, to be honest, we might never have got to the bottom of this case. It was the knowledge he brought with him regarding the first two murders in Ireland in 1979 that opened up the investigation. So, thank you, Ray, I think he is down there somewhere. I can’t quite see him.”
Callaghan turned around to smile at Logue who had been standing behind her and noticed that he was gone. The door to the conference room was swinging and she proceeded out into the hallway. She caught a glimpse of Logue’s bulky frame turning the corner and heading out an exit door to the car park. She followed him and discovered the Irishman leaning against a wall taking a long satisfying pull from a cigarette.
“Hey Logue, what are you doing out here, it’s freezing. Sam said that we couldn’t have solved the case without you. He really admires you, he told me. I know the two of you got off to a bad start, but he is your number one fan at the moment. I’m getting a bit worried, to be honest. It’s a real bromance, is that what they call it?” Callaghan laughed.
“Yea, he’s all right, Sam. His head’s a bit up his own arse, but apart from that he’s all right,” Logue said in his thick Donegal accent.
“We are all heading up to Maguire’s in a half an hour for a right piss up as you would say, are you coming?”
“No, I can’t handle all that slapping each other on the back bullshit. The case is over, time to move on. I have to get home. My superintendent was on to me this morning. A wife of a big-wig politician was murdered in Port Ard the other day. He wants me to lead the investigation, sure they can’t cope without me. The whole place is falling apart around their ears.” Logue laughed.
“I’m sure they could manage for another few days. Did you ever think about moving out here, Logue? Make a new start, you could join the force here, we could do with you.”
“Are you paying me a compliment, Callaghan? Maybe I will take you up on that offer someday, but for now I have to get back to Port Ard. They have me booked on a flight at 4 am tomorrow morning, so that’s me out of here. I think I’ll head back to the hotel, pack my things, have a few drinks at the bar and hit the bed.”
“That’s a shame…. Here’s an idea, maybe you could take me with you back to the hotel. Sounds better than going with the gang to Maguire’s anyway.”
“Maybe I could,” Logue said and threw his cigarette on the ground, wrapped his arms around Callaghan’s waist and pulled her close to him as he kissed her.
The embrace lasted for five minutes and when it was over, Callaghan pulled back, took a breath and said, “Sounds like a good idea to me, Logue… lead the way, cowboy,” as she slapped him gently on the backside, took his hand and walked out towards the street.
Chapter 23: Love and Anger
10 Years Later:
Sunday 2nd June 2019
Saint Anne’s Cemetery, Port Ard
County Mayo, Ireland
2:30 PM
Logue placed the fresh flowers on the grave and wiped the dust and cobwebs off the headstone with the palm of his hand as he read the inscription: Geraldine Logue (nee Kelly) born 12-3-1965 died 2-6-1999. He thought about the twelve years they had together and how the last twenty years had passed since she left him. The pain of losing Geraldine had never departed, but in some ways it had shaped him as a person and compounded him to focus on his career as a means to deal with the pain. He had coped in other ways too, hitting the booze hard and almost destroying himself in the process, but he had been clean and sober for a number of years now. If it hadn’t been for friends like Mick Walsh, Jim Mulcahy and Jack McGarry he knew that he would have torn himself apart many years ago. He had recently passed the milestone birthday of sixty, and he knew that his career was coming to an end. What could he hold on to then, he thought. As he sat on the bench seat across from his wife’s grave he looked around him and pondered on such thoughts. As he did so his phone rang in his shirt pocket. He took it out and looked at the screen. He didn’t recognize the number, so he ignored it and put it back in his pocket where it rang again and again until Logue finally gave in and answered.
“For fuck sake, yes, who is this?”
“It’s me, Ray, Olivia.”
“Olivia who?” he said bluntly.
“Olivia Callaghan from Boston, remember, don’t say you have forgotten.”
“Oh Christ. Hi, Olivia, it’s been a long time, how long has it been?”
“It’s been ten years, Ray.”
“Really, ten years, that long, how the hell are you, Olivia, still in the force?”
“Yes.”
“Did you get married, have you kids now?”
“No, never had any time for marriage, but I have a son. How about you?”
“Christ no, who the fuck would be daft and blind enough to marry a grumpy and ugly big bastard like me.”
“I’m ringing you, Ray, because I got a note in an envelope today, a line from verse ten of A Paean: To join the untainted mirth of more than thrones in heaven. I’m scared, Ray, you know it’s the tenth anniversary of the death of Carissa Meyers tomorrow.”
“It’s probably just a prank, Olivia, we got the guys ten years ago. We got Donal Keane and Paul Austen.”
“I know, Ray, but what if it is some crank, some copycat killer. There are nuts out there who idolize Keane and Austin, you know. There are books written about them, there is even talk of a movie for Christ’s sake about A Paean Killer.”
“Have you told Sam Harper?”
“Sam isn’t around, Ray, he is away getting treatment for the last year, he’s seen too much over the years, it got to him and he just had a massive breakdown.”
“Right…. well get yourself to the police station straight away, stay there and do not leave. I’ll get on the next flight, but don’t worry, it’s probably just a prank.”
“Why do you think that it’s a prank?”
“Because I got the same note this morning.”
The End
About the Author
Kevin McManus is an award winning crime fiction writer who lives in Leitrim in Western Ireland where he works as a secondary school teacher.
In 2016 he was awarded the Leonard Trophy for his writing and in 2017 his third novel: Under the Red Winter Sky was voted the best Crime Novel of the year and 5th best Indie published novel of the year out of 2000 nominated books.
The author’s works have been consistent best sellers in the Crime fiction category.
Kevin has a great love for music and played in bands for over 20 years. He is also a keen supporter of Aston Villa FC.
Books by the Author:
Ray Logue Mysteries:
Death Rains Down, Ray Logue Book 1
New Blood, Ray Logue Book 2
9 Lives, Ray Logue Book 3
The Conor Doyle Series:
The Whole of the Moon
Under the Red Winter Sky
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Nine Lives Page 15