to do is look at your reflection in that window to recognize yourself by that description.’
‘I’m saying nothing to you, you pox,’ said Ruarí, and yanked his arm free.
‘You think I’m going to let you go as easy as that, after what you and your gang did to my Caoimhe?’
Ruarí stopped again and turned around, and this time he shouted so loudly that the students inside the library could hear him and looked up from their computers.
‘Do you want to know the truth, old man? Your daughter was a slut! She loved everything we did to her, and she was crying out for more! She wanted us to shit in her mouth and now I know where she got it from, because your mouth is full of nothing but shit! Now feck off and leave me alone!’
The man looked away for a moment, across the quadrangle, as if he was thinking about something that had happened to him a long time ago and had just remembered. Then he turned back and dashed all of the books and the tablet out of Ruarí’s hands. They dropped on to the wet concrete pavement and a dozen sheets of notepaper fell out and were blown away into the rain.
‘What in the name of Christ—?’ Ruarí screamed. ‘That’s all of my study, you stupid bastard! I’ve just spent hours on that!’
He bent down to pick up his books, but as he did so the man reached out and pincer-gripped the back of his neck. He jerked up straight again, furiously reaching behind him to wrench the man’s hand away. He didn’t see the hammerhead dive knife that the man pulled out of his pocket and plunged without any hesitation into his stomach, just below his sternum, almost up to the hilt.
Ruarí let out a high-pitched heeeee ! as the shock of being stabbed expelled all the air from his lungs. He started to pitch forward, but the man kept his grip on the back of his neck. Slowly, and with obvious effort, he dragged the knife downwards, cutting through Ruarí’s pale green sweater, as well as his shirt, and his skin, and his abdominal muscles, all the way down to his braided leather belt.
Ruarí stared at the man in disbelief and reached out to grasp his shoulder for support. The man didn’t push him away, but drew out the knife and dropped it on top of Ruarí’s books. Ruarí tried to take a step forward, but when he did his stomach opened up like the mouth of a giant fish and his intestines tumbled out, glistening and bloody and beige, and swung in coils almost as far down as the pavement.
He lost his grip on the man’s shoulder and fell sideways, hitting his head hard against the concrete. He lay there gasping and feebly trying with one hand to push his intestines back into his body.
The man made no attempt to escape. He stood beside Ruarí with his arms folded as students came running to help, and then stood well away, horrified by what they saw, and realizing that there was nothing they could do. He was still standing there five minutes later when an ambulance drove up, with its siren warbling, and then two Garda patrol cars. By then, Ruarí’s eyes had glazed over and it was obvious that he was dead.
Two gardaí came up to him. He raised both hands and said, ‘You can handcuff me if you want to. I did it. I stabbed him. A judge will decide if he deserved it. God has already made up His mind.’
*
Before Katie went down to interview Fergus O’Farrell, Detective Sergeant Ni Nuallán knocked at the door of her office.
‘How’s it going?’ Katie asked her.
‘We’re making progress,’ said Kyna. ‘Fergus wouldn’t tell us himself, but we’ve found out how he picked those boys up. He lives at Árd Na Gréine, only three doors away from the Buckleys, so he’d seen which taxi company they usually used. It was Leeside Cabs and one of their drivers is a good friend of his, so when they rang and ordered a taxi this driver rang him and he went to collect them instead. The driver had no idea that Fergus intended to do them any harm. All he thought he was going to do was give them down
‘I’m saying nothing to you, you pox,’ said Ruarí, and yanked his arm free.
‘You think I’m going to let you go as easy as that, after what you and your gang did to my Caoimhe?’
Ruarí stopped again and turned around, and this time he shouted so loudly that the students inside the library could hear him and looked up from their computers.
‘Do you want to know the truth, old man? Your daughter was a slut! She loved everything we did to her, and she was crying out for more! She wanted us to shit in her mouth and now I know where she got it from, because your mouth is full of nothing but shit! Now feck off and leave me alone!’
The man looked away for a moment, across the quadrangle, as if he was thinking about something that had happened to him a long time ago and had just remembered. Then he turned back and dashed all of the books and the tablet out of Ruarí’s hands. They dropped on to the wet concrete pavement and a dozen sheets of notepaper fell out and were blown away into the rain.
‘What in the name of Christ—?’ Ruarí screamed. ‘That’s all of my study, you stupid bastard! I’ve just spent hours on that!’
He bent down to pick up his books, but as he did so the man reached out and pincer-gripped the back of his neck. He jerked up straight again, furiously reaching behind him to wrench the man’s hand away. He didn’t see the hammerhead dive knife that the man pulled out of his pocket and plunged without any hesitation into his stomach, just below his sternum, almost up to the hilt.
Ruarí let out a high-pitched heeeee ! as the shock of being stabbed expelled all the air from his lungs. He started to pitch forward, but the man kept his grip on the back of his neck. Slowly, and with obvious effort, he dragged the knife downwards, cutting through Ruarí’s pale green sweater, as well as his shirt, and his skin, and his abdominal muscles, all the way down to his braided leather belt.
Ruarí stared at the man in disbelief and reached out to grasp his shoulder for support. The man didn’t push him away, but drew out the knife and dropped it on top of Ruarí’s books. Ruarí tried to take a step forward, but when he did his stomach opened up like the mouth of a giant fish and his intestines tumbled out, glistening and bloody and beige, and swung in coils almost as far down as the pavement.
He lost his grip on the man’s shoulder and fell sideways, hitting his head hard against the concrete. He lay there gasping and feebly trying with one hand to push his intestines back into his body.
The man made no attempt to escape. He stood beside Ruarí with his arms folded as students came running to help, and then stood well away, horrified by what they saw, and realizing that there was nothing they could do. He was still standing there five minutes later when an ambulance drove up, with its siren warbling, and then two Garda patrol cars. By then, Ruarí’s eyes had glazed over and it was obvious that he was dead.
Two gardaí came up to him. He raised both hands and said, ‘You can handcuff me if you want to. I did it. I stabbed him. A judge will decide if he deserved it. God has already made up His mind.’
*
Before Katie went down to interview Fergus O’Farrell, Detective Sergeant Ni Nuallán knocked at the door of her office.
‘How’s it going?’ Katie asked her.
‘We’re making progress,’ said Kyna. ‘Fergus wouldn’t tell us himself, but we’ve found out how he picked those boys up. He lives at Árd Na Gréine, only three doors away from the Buckleys, so he’d seen which taxi company they usually used. It was Leeside Cabs and one of their drivers is a good friend of his, so when they rang and ordered a taxi this driver rang him and he went to collect them instead. The driver had no idea that Fergus intended to do them any harm. All he thought he was going to do was give them down
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