got blanket silence on this one. No leaks, no exceptions – on pain of the worst
transfer you’ve ever imagined. Okay?’
There was a low murmur of assent from the room, and Brogan turned to Cassidy. ‘Andy?’
Standing in front of the whiteboard, using a marker pen as a pointer, Cassidy launched into his what-we-know-so-far spiel.
‘Right then, lads, this is Jesica Salazar – at least that’s the easy version, so let’s go with that from now on, yeah? She’s
a sixteen-year-old Spanish national, here on a four-week English course. You know the type exactly…’
Brogan zoned out and compared her sergeant’s face with those of the others looking up at him. His expression, as usual, was
glowering to the point of aggressive, his wide-legged stance a parody of the John Wayne gait. As for the suit, if he didn’t
get it cleaned soon, Health and Safety would be having to prise it off him by force. She ought to say something, take him
aside and explain that it wasn’t acceptable to go into people’s homes scowling and stinking of sweat. But she didn’t want
to risk alienating him because, for all his faults, he was a good cop. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer but a street fighter
to the core, and the others looked up to him.
She surveyed the rest of the team. Three of them were her own: Maura McHugh, Donagh Hanlon and Brian Whelan, all detective
Garda rankers and all okay in their own way, but not exactly shit-hot. None of them could hold a candle to Cassidy in terms
of getting things done. Maura was about the best of them but she’d be losing her in a few weeks anyway, when she went off
on maternity leave. As for the two uniforms in from Dundrum, well,what could you expect? Young, green and thick, cheeks still rosy, hair trimmed down to a stubble that wouldn’t normally be
visible beneath their caps. They’d hardly be much use for anything but knocking on doors and keeping the coffee hot and sweet. The
look of shock seeping into their expressions, as Cassidy summarised some of the more horrific detail from the medical reports,
told her all she needed to know about them. Not much of a team, but you got used to that in the DVSAU. And at least Healy
allowed her use of the two administratives outside, to help with the paperwork.
‘As I said, lads,’ Cassidy went on, ‘the damage you can see here to the girl’s face and chest is nothing compared to what
he’s done to her down below. But if you’re still in any doubt about what kind of a twisted sick fucker we’re after, the photos
taken by the burns specialist at the hospital are here in a folder for you to look at afterwards.’
He paused as every gaze in the room took in the folders stacked on the table to his left, weighing up whether they really
wanted to open them and see the worst – knowing that morbid curiosity would get the better of them all in the end.
‘Right, we’re not doing too badly on this so far. We tried to interview the victim yesterday, but she was too distressed to
give up any detail and our translator wasn’t exactly on the ball. Still, we managed to get a couple of things… Ah, speak of
the devil.’
Cassidy broke off and every head in the room turned tothe back of the room as Mike Mulcahy came in through the door, flushed and short of breath.
‘So you managed to join us,’ Brogan said, and all eyes returned to her, momentarily, before ping-ponging back to Mulcahy again.
Mulcahy nodded. He’d arrived at Harcourt Square to be told that no one had booked a space in the basement car park for him,
and there were none left now anyway. It had taken him the best part of half an hour to find a spot in the crowded side streets
nearby and another ten minutes to walk back. Sweating and visibly annoyed, this wasn’t the impression he was used to making
on entering a room.
Cassidy waded into the gawping silence, drawing the attention back to himself again.
‘Okay, lads, this is
transfer you’ve ever imagined. Okay?’
There was a low murmur of assent from the room, and Brogan turned to Cassidy. ‘Andy?’
Standing in front of the whiteboard, using a marker pen as a pointer, Cassidy launched into his what-we-know-so-far spiel.
‘Right then, lads, this is Jesica Salazar – at least that’s the easy version, so let’s go with that from now on, yeah? She’s
a sixteen-year-old Spanish national, here on a four-week English course. You know the type exactly…’
Brogan zoned out and compared her sergeant’s face with those of the others looking up at him. His expression, as usual, was
glowering to the point of aggressive, his wide-legged stance a parody of the John Wayne gait. As for the suit, if he didn’t
get it cleaned soon, Health and Safety would be having to prise it off him by force. She ought to say something, take him
aside and explain that it wasn’t acceptable to go into people’s homes scowling and stinking of sweat. But she didn’t want
to risk alienating him because, for all his faults, he was a good cop. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer but a street fighter
to the core, and the others looked up to him.
She surveyed the rest of the team. Three of them were her own: Maura McHugh, Donagh Hanlon and Brian Whelan, all detective
Garda rankers and all okay in their own way, but not exactly shit-hot. None of them could hold a candle to Cassidy in terms
of getting things done. Maura was about the best of them but she’d be losing her in a few weeks anyway, when she went off
on maternity leave. As for the two uniforms in from Dundrum, well,what could you expect? Young, green and thick, cheeks still rosy, hair trimmed down to a stubble that wouldn’t normally be
visible beneath their caps. They’d hardly be much use for anything but knocking on doors and keeping the coffee hot and sweet. The
look of shock seeping into their expressions, as Cassidy summarised some of the more horrific detail from the medical reports,
told her all she needed to know about them. Not much of a team, but you got used to that in the DVSAU. And at least Healy
allowed her use of the two administratives outside, to help with the paperwork.
‘As I said, lads,’ Cassidy went on, ‘the damage you can see here to the girl’s face and chest is nothing compared to what
he’s done to her down below. But if you’re still in any doubt about what kind of a twisted sick fucker we’re after, the photos
taken by the burns specialist at the hospital are here in a folder for you to look at afterwards.’
He paused as every gaze in the room took in the folders stacked on the table to his left, weighing up whether they really
wanted to open them and see the worst – knowing that morbid curiosity would get the better of them all in the end.
‘Right, we’re not doing too badly on this so far. We tried to interview the victim yesterday, but she was too distressed to
give up any detail and our translator wasn’t exactly on the ball. Still, we managed to get a couple of things… Ah, speak of
the devil.’
Cassidy broke off and every head in the room turned tothe back of the room as Mike Mulcahy came in through the door, flushed and short of breath.
‘So you managed to join us,’ Brogan said, and all eyes returned to her, momentarily, before ping-ponging back to Mulcahy again.
Mulcahy nodded. He’d arrived at Harcourt Square to be told that no one had booked a space in the basement car park for him,
and there were none left now anyway. It had taken him the best part of half an hour to find a spot in the crowded side streets
nearby and another ten minutes to walk back. Sweating and visibly annoyed, this wasn’t the impression he was used to making
on entering a room.
Cassidy waded into the gawping silence, drawing the attention back to himself again.
‘Okay, lads, this is
Similar Books
