Living Death

by Graham Masterton

Conor was still waiting for a return call from Lorcan Fitzgerald, and Detective Scanlan was looking bored.

  Katie said, ‘Okay, Let’s leave it for now. Conor – so long as you keep that phone with you. Maybe Fitzgerald’s busy napping dogs right now, or maybe he’s just not interested in your Neapolitan mastiff. If that’s the case, we’ll have to track him down some other way. Michael – you go home now and get your head down. Pádraigin, go and get yourself something to eat.’

  ‘What about you?’ asked Conor, when Detectives Ó Doibhilin and Scanlan had gone.

  ‘I thought you and me could go to Ramen for some Asian street food. It’s only a couple of minutes down the road.’

  ‘That sounds like a plan. Breakfast seems like a long time ago now.’

  They walked together down Anglesea Street to Ramen, with its red-painted frontage and a notice-board outside saying Buy One For The Price Of Two And Get One Free. It was crowded inside, and noisy, and filled with the smells of wok-fried vegetables and garlic. They managed to find a place to sit on one of the long wooden benches, and order themselves some beef khao pad and prawn firecracker and teriyaki. Conor ordered a Tiger beer but Katie stuck to sparkling water.

  Conor laid the mobile phone on the table beside him in case Lorcan Fitzgerald rang.

  ‘I missed you last night, Katie,’ he told her.

  ‘I missed you too.’

  ‘So when are you and I going to be able to get together again?’

  She reached across and gently touched his cheek. She loved his face. It was so strong, and clearly formed, and in his eyes she could see such sparkle and sincerity. Her husband Paul had been handsome when she first met him, but too many years of Satzenbrau and take-away curries had made him rounder, with a double chin, and his eyes had always been shifty, like his character. John had looked almost godlike when she first met him, with his black curly hair and his muscular body, but now of course he was physically ruined.

  Fate had brought her Conor at the wrong time in her life – while she still had John to look after – but she had such a strong feeling that he could be the right man for her. His lovemaking had been so strong but so considerate, and more than anything else he made her laugh, and feel happy.

  ‘I can come back to the guest house with you this evening,’ she said. ‘I can’t stay all night, though, as much as I’d like to.’

  ‘I thought you said you had someone to take care of your dog. What’s his name – Barney?’

  ‘I do. But I have other things to attend to.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Like checking my mail and watering my plants and making sure the house is tidy. Also, my father lives in Monkstown on the opposite side of the river and I have to go and see if he needs anything.’

  ‘Okay, fair play. I suppose that sometimes post and plants and parents have to take priority over passion.’

  She gave him a light, playful slap. He caught hold of her wrist, and held it firmly, and looked steadily into her eyes. He didn’t have to say anything. She could sense that he was feeling a stirring sensation between his legs just by holding her, because she was feeling the same. My God, she thought, this is something special. This is something very, very special.

  ‘Come with me this afternoon,’ she said. ‘I’m going up to Sarsfield Court, for a birthday party.’

  ‘A birthday party? Aren’t you on duty?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ she said, as their food arrived in cardboard take-away boxes. She picked up her chopsticks and gave him a particular look that John always used to call her Irish Sea look. Because her eyes were so green, he said that it made him feel that he was looking out to sea – a calm sea, but a sea with unexplored depths, where sunken treasure lay, but riptides, too.

  They ate, and talked, and laughed, but still the phone didn’t ring.

  33

  Only about ten minutes after they had returned from lunch, Dr Kelley arrived at the station. She came up to Katie’s office in a bundled-up camelhair coat and a floppy tweed hat, carrying a white cardboard box.

  ‘I had three tries at this before I managed to get it right,’ she said. ‘But I’m pure pleased with what I’ve managed to produce.’

  She set the box down on the low glass-topped table by the couches, and opened the lid. Inside, carefully wrapped up in tissue paper, were five knife-blades, all made of dark grey plastic. Two of the blades were flat, like conventional knife-blades, but the other three were thick and multi-faceted, more like lemon-squeezers than knives.

  ‘These were all 3-D printed using high-definition acrylate,’ Dr Kelley explained. ‘I could have used metal, but I wanted to achieve the finest detail possible. If you can find the original weapon, you’ll be able to compare the tiniest scratches and nicks in the blade, and identify it beyond any possible dispute.’

  ‘You have two here that look like ordinary knives,’ said Katie. ‘What are these triangular ones?’

  ‘These two flat blades were replicated from the wound that the knife inflicted when it was first pushed into the victim’s perineum. After that first penetration, though, the blade was rotated in an anti-clockwise direction inside his body, and these other three blades are representations of the damage that was done.’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Conor. ‘That wouldn’t have done his love life much good.’

  Katie examined all of the blades and then put them back in the box. ‘That’s fantastic, Dr Kelley. You’re a genius. As you say, all we have to do now is find the original knife.’

  Dr Kelley looked at her watch. ‘I’m off back to Dublin now, but I expect that I’ll be back – either me myself or one of my fellow pathologists. You Corkonians seem to be making a habit of killing each other these days, in one unusual way or another.’

  She left, and Katie said to Conor, ‘Twenty past two. I have to go down and give our escorts a quick briefing, and then we can head off to Sarsfield Court.’

  ‘We’re going to a birthday party and we have to have escorts?’

  ‘Only to be on the safe side. They’re not exactly what you’d call close friends, the characters holding the party. As a matter of fact, they’re downright dangerous.’

  Katie went down to see Superintendent Pearse, who was sitting in his office having a shouting match with somebody on the phone.

  ‘I fecking told him I had to have that warrant issued today! I made it totally transparently crystal clear! So where’s he disappeared off to? Joseph and Mary and the Wain, I can’t believe it!’

  When he had slammed the phone down, Katie gave him a smile and said, ‘I’ll be heading off to Sarsfield Court in a minute. Do you have your men free?’

  ‘I’ll call them in now, Katie. Sorry for the shouting. Those eejits across at the District Court couldn’t organise a you-know-what in a you-know-where.’

  He made the call and after two or three minutes two burly uniformed gardaí came in, both of them wearing holsters with Sig-Sauer automatic pistols. One of them had a face so red he looked as if he were about to explode at any moment, but Katie guessed that he had probably been sunning himself on Gran Canaria, too.

  ‘I’m calling in to a children’s birthday party at Sarsfield Court Industrial Estate,’ Katie told them. ‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty yet to tell you exactly why, but I can tell you who the organisers are. The Callahan family. Yes, that Callahan family – I’m not surprised you’re pulling faces. I have to give them a bit of a caution, so they won’t be very happy out, so I’d appreciate it if you’d stand behind me looking formidable. Just give them the impression that you’ll whip out your handcuffs if any of those Callahans gives me the slightest bother.’

  Conor was waiting for her by the front desk.

  ‘All set?’ he asked her.

  ‘All set. There’s only one stop I want to make on the way.’

  They went outside to the car park and climbed into Katie’s blue Focus. As she drove across Parnell Bridge the two armed gardaí followed close behind her in a black unmarked Volvo. She drove
across to Oliver Plunkett Street, where she parked, and then she and Conor walked to Maylor Street. They reached Smyths Toy Store and Katie went straight in.

  ‘A toy shop?’ said Conor.

  ‘It’s a children’s birthday party we’re going to. We can’t turn up without presents.’

  *

  The yard outside the green-painted warehouse was crowded with vehicles, most of them SUVs, so Katie had to park in the roadway. The two armed gardaí parked across the entrance, in case anybody wanted to leave in a hurry.

  Katie walked up to the front door, carrying a large yellow Smyths bag, with Conor beside her and the two gardaí a few steps behind. There were two big men standing beside the door, one of whom Katie recognised as a former bouncer from the Voodoo Rooms. He recognised her, too, because he stepped forward with his hand held out. He was wearing a black T-shirt with a white picture of Jimi Hendrix on it.

  From inside the warehouse Katie could hear loud music, and children shouting, and a man’s amplified voice. It sounded as if they were playing musical chairs.

  ‘Sorry, folks, this is a private party going on here,’ the bouncer told her. ‘No uninvited guests allowed in.’

  ‘Is Maureen here yet?’ Katie asked him. ‘If Maureen’s here, tell her that Detective Superintendent Maguire is paying the Callahans a friendly social call. And I have birthday presents for Tom and Patrick.’

  The bouncer looked dubious, but his companion said, ‘Go on, Vinny, for Christ’s sake. Go tell her.’

  The bouncer went inside, and they waited for a few minutes before he came out again and said, ‘Maureen says it’s okay. You can come on in.’

  Katie and Conor stepped in through the warehouse door while the two armed gardaí waited outside. The noise inside the warehouse was deafening. Three long tables had been set out with plates of sausage rolls and Tayto crisps and cupcakes, and the children were running around them shrieking and laughing. Scores of multi-coloured balloons were hanging from the ceiling, as well as paper-chains and streamers. ‘Wake Me Up’ by Avicii was playing from two loudspeakers at top volume, and a man in a red-and-yellow clown outfit was dancing to it, and juggling Indian clubs.

  On the right-hand side of the warehouse a fourth table had been set for adults, and there were at least twenty of them, with bottles of beer and wine and whiskey. Most of them were women, but there were six or seven men, and Katie knew most of them, because at one time or another she had arrested and questioned them and charged them. One of the women she recognised as the wife of a man who had been sent to prison only three weeks ago for beating a teenager with a hammer on Carey Street and causing him irreparable brain damage.

  Sitting at the front of this table was Danny Callahan, the father of the Callahan clan, white-haired, with a bristly white moustache. He was wearing a baggy grey tracksuit and he had the appearance of a long-retired boxer. Next to him was Bree, Maureen’s oldest sister, with frizzy blonde curls and lips painted a garish scarlet. Bree was bulging out of a green velvet dress, with huge bare arms and enormous breasts, and she was drinking Magners cider out of a bottle. Next to Bree sat Maureen, glaring at Katie as if she were daring her to say anything that would upset her family.

  All of the adults stared at Katie with intense hostility as she approached them. Katie kept on smiling, but saying nothing because the music was so loud and they wouldn’t have been able to hear her. When ‘Wake Me Up’ had finished, Danny Callahan called over to the young DJ on the opposite side of the warehouse, ‘Give us a moment’s hush, would you, Lloyd?’ and then the only noise came from the children.

  ‘What are you after, Mrs Maguire?’ asked Danny. ‘We’re having a private birthday party here. I don’t recall myself inviting any shades.’

  Katie said, ‘I’ve brought birthday presents for the boys. And I wanted to have a word with all of you, just to avoid any misunderstandings.’

  ‘What manner of misunderstandings would those be, then?’

  ‘Any misunderstandings that might arise from the little trick that Maureen tried to play on me. I gather you all know about her falsely trying to arrange for me to mount a full-scale Garda raid on this birthday party, and I expect that she’s explained to you the arrangement that she and I have come to. In case she hasn’t made it abundantly clear to you, I’ve withdrawn all charges against her on the condition that her attempt to deceive me is never mentioned by her or by any of you, and I mean like ever. If I hear one whisper of it – and believe me I get to hear every single whisper that goes around Cork – then I’ll be having no hesitation in charging her with extortion and wasting police time.’

  She opened the Smyths bag and took out two bright green Splash Attack water pistols. She held them out to Danny but he wouldn’t lift his hands to take them, so she set them down on the table next to the whiskey bottles.

  ‘Maureen tried to make me believe that you were expecting a shipment of guns here today. For a while, I nearly believed her. And do you know why I believed her? Because the Callahans have been dealing in illegal guns for years, and I know for a fact that you’re still doing it.

  ‘But these two children’s scuttering guns are the only shipment of arms you’re going to be getting today, or any other day. After the way you’ve tried to set me up, I’m going to make sure that my detectives keep the closest watch on you, twenty-four seven, and if they get so much as a hint that you’re bringing in more guns, or more explosives, I’m going to crack down on you so hard that the next birthday party you’ll be attending for Tom and Patrick will be their twenty-first, and that’s if you’re lucky.’

  All the time she was talking, Danny was fiddling with his signet rings, twisting them around and around. To Katie, that was an indication that he was doing everything he could to keep his temper bottled up. He wouldn’t usually let anybody speak to him like that, let alone a woman, and let alone a guard, and let alone a woman guard.

  When she had finished, though, he jerked his head towards Conor. ‘This your feller?’ he asked her.

  Katie didn’t answer, but Danny turned to Conor and said, ‘If she’s your sly lack, boy, this Mrs Maguire, I suggest to you that you watch out for her day and night, every day of the week, equally close as she’s going to be watching us Callahans. That’s all I’m going to say.’

  ‘Are you threatening me, Mr Callahan?’ said Katie.

  ‘You think whatever takes your fancy,’ Danny told her, and shouted out, ‘Lloyd! You can start up the music again now! Loud as you like!’

  Staying any longer would simply have been provocative, so Katie said to Conor, ‘Come on. I think I’ve made my point,’ and the two of them walked out of the warehouse and back into the open air. They found the two bouncers smoking and chatting to the two armed gardaí as if they were old acquaintances they had met in a pub.

  Katie and Conor returned to their car, turned around, and drove back through Sallybrook towards the city. Katie glanced into her rear-view mirror from time to time to make sure that the gardaí were keeping up with them.

  ‘That was impressive,’ said Conor. ‘Look at you... your hands aren’t even shaking.’

  ‘They don’t frighten me all that much, the Callahans,’ said Katie. ‘They’re old-school, like the O’Flynns. They can do some fierce terrible things to people who cross them – setting fire to them and nailing them to trees – well, and shooting them in the head if they’re lucky. But they’re wide when it comes to the law, unlike some of the young headers we have to deal with these days. They’re so high on drugs, some of these kids, they never think about the consequences of killing someone, no matter who they are. Civilian, guard, they just don’t care.’

  Conor said, ‘Are you done for the day, or do you have to go back to the station?’

  ‘That’s it for now,’ said Katie. ‘My hands may not be shaking, but my nerves could do with a scoop.’

  *

  They stopped for a drink at Dan Lowery’s pub on MacCurtain Street. It was a small, intimate pub, its shelves c
rowded with bottles and souvenirs and vases of dried flowers, and its walls hung with mirrors and framed advertisements for Murphy’s stout. Katie liked to go there because it was so discreet and because its stained-glass windows meant that nobody could see her from the street.

  That was the same reason it was favoured by Eamonn ‘Foxy’ Collins, once one of Cork’s most prosperous drug dealers. He was there today at his usual table in the back room, along with a young brunette in a fur-collared anorak who looked about half his age, and a shaven-headed minder in a maroon leather jacket. Eamonn was dressed as smartly as usual, in a tailor-made three-piece suit, and he nodded a greeting to Katie as she walked in with Conor.

  ‘What’s the craic, Detective Superintendent?’ he called out, knowing full well that she would be annoyed to be identified out loud in front of the other customers – although at this time of the afternoon there were only six or seven other drinkers in the front bar.

  ‘You know what’s going on more than I do, Eamonn,’ she replied.

  ‘Foxy’ stood up and came over to her table. His ginger hair was brushed up and she thought that it was whiter than the last time she had seen him.

  He leaned over towards her and said, in a low voice, ‘I’ll tell you something for nothing, DS Maguire. I’m out of the business now. I swear on the tomb of Saint Patrick. There’s too much competition these days, and it’s fierce unregulated. Somebody’s fetching tons of the stuff into the city and selling it on the streets at knock-off prices, and I got tired of competing. I was like Brown Thomas trying to compete with Poundsworth.’

  ‘Yes, I heard you’d retired from dealing,’ said Katie. ‘You’re still running your insurance business, though?’

  ‘Foxy’ gave her a grin. ‘Everybody needs protection, don’t they? And the guards can’t be everywhere at once.’

  Conor interrupted and said, ‘What would you like to drink, Katie?’

  ‘Oh, my apologies for interrupting you,’ said ‘Foxy’. ‘This your new feller, is it? Aren’t you going to introduce me?’