The Cold, Cold Ground by Adrian McKinty Page A

I’vefrozen a sample just in case.”
    I nodded. She
was
good.
    We sipped our tea.
    â€œWhere’s the music?” she asked. “I thought we could figure it out together.”
    â€œI gave it to McCrabban. It’s a nineteenth-century opera. Italian. Other than that I have no idea. He’s getting it photocopied, either that or he’s run off screaming to the Witchfinder General. Good lad, McCrabban, but he’s from Ballymena. Different world up there.”
    â€œAnd you’re not from up there, are you?”
    â€œGeographically a little. Spiritually, no.”
    We looked at one another.
    â€œSo what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
    â€œHow do you know I’m a nice girl?”
    â€œThe Malone Road accent, the fact that you’re a doctor …”
    â€œWhat’s
your
accent?”
    â€œCushendun.”
    â€œCushendun? Oh, that’s way up there, isn’t it? What primary school did you go to?”
    â€œOur Lady, Star of the Sea.”
    And just like that she had established that I was a Catholic. Of course I’d known she was a Catholic from the get-go because of the cross around her neck.
    She took another sip of her tea and added a decadent third cube of sugar.
    â€œNo, seriously, you could be earning a fortune over the water,” I said.
    â€œDoes it always have to be about money?”
    â€œWhat should it be about?”
    She nodded and tied back her hair. “My parents are here and my dad’s not very well.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear that.”
    â€œIt’s his heart. It’s not fatal. Not immediately fatal. And bothmy little sisters are still here. What about you? Brothers, sisters?”
    â€œOnly child. Parents still up in Cushendun.”
    â€œOnly child?” she asked incredulously. She obviously thought that all country Catholics had twelve children each. The only possible explanation was that something terrible had happened to my mother. She gave me a pitying look that I found adorable.
    â€œSo where did you go to uni, Queen’s?” I asked.
    â€œNo, I was at the University of Edinburgh.”
    â€œAnd you still came back?”
    â€œYup.”
    She didn’t ask me where I had gone to uni because in general coppers did not bother with college. She was more relaxed now and that lovely smile came back again.
    I was starting to like her.
    â€œSo what do you make of everything that I told you?” she asked.
    I shook my head. “This was a pretty complex killing possibly disguised to look like the simple execution of an informer.”
    â€œBadly disguised.”
    â€œMaybe he thought we would never find the paper in the victim’s rectum.”
    â€œNo, it was sticking out. It was quite obvious. And that’s what made me check for signs of rape.”
    â€œSo he’s signposting everything. His working assumption is that we’re lazy and incompetent and he needs to underline everything. He put the body where he knew it would be found fairly soon. He’s bold and a bit too sure of himself and he has contempt for us. I imagine he’s had a few dealings with the cops over the years if that’s his attitude.”
    â€œIs the RUC not noted for its competence?” she asked with a slight sarcastic edge to her voice.
    â€œOh, there are worse police forces but it’s not exactly Scotland Yard, is it?”
    â€œYou’re the expert.”
    â€œWhen was the last time you’ve seen a male rape in the courseof your duty?” I asked.
    â€œNever.”
    â€œIt’s not in the paramilitaries’ MO, is it?”
    â€œNot it in my limited experience.”
    â€œBoth sides are extremely conservative. And the normal way they deal with informers is virtually identical.”
    â€œIs that so?” she asked, her eyebrows arching with interest.
    â€œThere’s really no difference at all between your average IRA