drifted into his mind, but he pushed the image away. It worked both ways, of course. Half the
gangsters in Dublin would hardly be known to the Gardai if it wasn’t for journalists exposing them. But it still grieved him
to see psychos being treated like celebrities.
He moved around the press pack and up the steps, between tall granite columns, dragging his focus back to the case. Entering
the round, marble lobby, all echoing footsteps and murmured conversations, he looked around to see if he could spot any of
the other guys who’d worked on the operation, then stopped in his tracks when he heard a familiar voice hailing him from behind.
‘Mike, wait up there.’
Mulcahy turned and watched as Superintendent BrendanHealy, all blue-serge uniform and amiability, patted a gowned barrister farewell and strode across the lobby towards him.
In his mid-fifties, he was a big man but with a head that seemed too small to match his bulk and, despite the heavily braided
cap tucked beneath his arm, a hairstyle of such steely precision it’d put a US news anchor to shame.
‘Brendan, what brings you down this way?’
‘You do,’ Healy replied. There was an edge of castigation in his voice, despite the smile. ‘Didn’t you get my message last
night?’
‘What message?’
‘You weren’t answering your mobile, so I left a message on your phone at home.’
Mulcahy remembered the blinking red light and mentally kicked himself. It was only when he’d pulled on his jacket this morning
that he realised he’d left his mobile switched off ever since he was in the hospital. Didn’t look good, that. Unprofessional. Trust
Healy to use the home number.
‘I didn’t get it,’ he said.
‘Ah, no matter. I wanted to come down here and square things with Downey in person, anyway. Never hurts to stay on the right
side of those fellas.’
Mulcahy didn’t like the sound of that. Downey was the barrister prosecuting the Colgan case. ‘I don’t follow. What did you
need to square?’
‘Why you won’t be attending today’s briefing – on account of more pressing matters having arisen. Look, I hate to spring this
on you, especially when you were so obligingyesterday, but I did try to give you notice. You’re on the case with Brogan.’
‘I’m what?’ Mulcahy spluttered.
Healy adopted an expression of sympathetic disbelief. ‘The Spanish say they want you as liaison officer.’
‘The Spanish? Why in the name of God would they do that?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Healy shrugged. ‘Whatever you did yesterday, they took a liking to you and the Ambassador himself asked the
Minister for you to be assigned.’
Mulcahy was gobsmacked. Why would the Spanish ambassador have asked for him? Then he remembered the incident with the diplomat,
Ibañez, and, with a groan, cursed himself for getting involved. He tried a last forlorn hope.
‘But sex crimes is a specialist area of operations. I have no experience—’
‘No buts, Mike.’ Healy cut in, getting impatient. ‘This is right from the top. I told the Minister it’s not what you do, but
he felt he wasn’t in a position to refuse, in the circumstances.’
‘And how long am I going to be stuck doing that?’
‘As long as it takes. I told Brogan you’ll be joining her at Harcourt Square this morning. Go over there now, and you’ll make
the eleven o’clock briefing. And remember you’re just assisting. Brogan is the lead on this, so let her get on with it. Okay?’
But for Mulcahy that caution was so far beside the pointas to be irrelevant. The last thing he wanted was to be tied into some politically sensitive operation while opportunities
to get back to where he wanted to be passed him by.
‘But that’s crazy, Brendan. The whole point of me being with NBCI is so I don’t get caught up in—’
‘I thought I’d made myself clear, Mike. This is not up for debate.’
A hiss of steely officialdom had entered Healy’s voice, and it
gangsters in Dublin would hardly be known to the Gardai if it wasn’t for journalists exposing them. But it still grieved him
to see psychos being treated like celebrities.
He moved around the press pack and up the steps, between tall granite columns, dragging his focus back to the case. Entering
the round, marble lobby, all echoing footsteps and murmured conversations, he looked around to see if he could spot any of
the other guys who’d worked on the operation, then stopped in his tracks when he heard a familiar voice hailing him from behind.
‘Mike, wait up there.’
Mulcahy turned and watched as Superintendent BrendanHealy, all blue-serge uniform and amiability, patted a gowned barrister farewell and strode across the lobby towards him.
In his mid-fifties, he was a big man but with a head that seemed too small to match his bulk and, despite the heavily braided
cap tucked beneath his arm, a hairstyle of such steely precision it’d put a US news anchor to shame.
‘Brendan, what brings you down this way?’
‘You do,’ Healy replied. There was an edge of castigation in his voice, despite the smile. ‘Didn’t you get my message last
night?’
‘What message?’
‘You weren’t answering your mobile, so I left a message on your phone at home.’
Mulcahy remembered the blinking red light and mentally kicked himself. It was only when he’d pulled on his jacket this morning
that he realised he’d left his mobile switched off ever since he was in the hospital. Didn’t look good, that. Unprofessional. Trust
Healy to use the home number.
‘I didn’t get it,’ he said.
‘Ah, no matter. I wanted to come down here and square things with Downey in person, anyway. Never hurts to stay on the right
side of those fellas.’
Mulcahy didn’t like the sound of that. Downey was the barrister prosecuting the Colgan case. ‘I don’t follow. What did you
need to square?’
‘Why you won’t be attending today’s briefing – on account of more pressing matters having arisen. Look, I hate to spring this
on you, especially when you were so obligingyesterday, but I did try to give you notice. You’re on the case with Brogan.’
‘I’m what?’ Mulcahy spluttered.
Healy adopted an expression of sympathetic disbelief. ‘The Spanish say they want you as liaison officer.’
‘The Spanish? Why in the name of God would they do that?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Healy shrugged. ‘Whatever you did yesterday, they took a liking to you and the Ambassador himself asked the
Minister for you to be assigned.’
Mulcahy was gobsmacked. Why would the Spanish ambassador have asked for him? Then he remembered the incident with the diplomat,
Ibañez, and, with a groan, cursed himself for getting involved. He tried a last forlorn hope.
‘But sex crimes is a specialist area of operations. I have no experience—’
‘No buts, Mike.’ Healy cut in, getting impatient. ‘This is right from the top. I told the Minister it’s not what you do, but
he felt he wasn’t in a position to refuse, in the circumstances.’
‘And how long am I going to be stuck doing that?’
‘As long as it takes. I told Brogan you’ll be joining her at Harcourt Square this morning. Go over there now, and you’ll make
the eleven o’clock briefing. And remember you’re just assisting. Brogan is the lead on this, so let her get on with it. Okay?’
But for Mulcahy that caution was so far beside the pointas to be irrelevant. The last thing he wanted was to be tied into some politically sensitive operation while opportunities
to get back to where he wanted to be passed him by.
‘But that’s crazy, Brendan. The whole point of me being with NBCI is so I don’t get caught up in—’
‘I thought I’d made myself clear, Mike. This is not up for debate.’
A hiss of steely officialdom had entered Healy’s voice, and it
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