The Priest (16 page)

‘Speaking of which, could you maybe remember the names of the Gardai who came in the day before? The ones who got involved
in the fight with this fella. They sound just as bad.’

‘They were,’ Nurse Sorenson agreed. ‘Especially the young woman who was in charge. Nicely dressed she was, but she had a mouth
on her. You’d think she could walk on water.’

‘And her name was?’

‘I don’t remember, I’m sorry. I’m sure it began with a B – Brady or Brosnon or something, but I know that’s not quite right.’

‘Any of the others?’ Siobhan looked up hopefully from her notepad. ‘The one involved in the fight, maybe?’

‘Ah, now, yes, I think she called him Andy. Yes, I’m pretty sure of it. She was calling him that while she was trying to drag
him off the other…’

‘And you’re sure it was the Garda who struck first?’

‘Oh, yes, certainly. And without any warning, either. Just launched himself at the fella as soon as he came through the door.’

Siobhan was so caught up in getting it all down, she nearly missed the next revelation.

‘Inspector Mulcahy was the only one of them who behaved with any sort of decency or respect for poor Jesica.’

Siobhan gawped at her, not quite sure she could believe what she’d just heard. ‘Inspector Mulcahy, did you say?’

‘Yes, I’m sure that’s what he said his name was.’ Nurse Sorenson was smiling a little coyly now. ‘He was my idea of a proper
Garda.’

‘As in
Mike
Mulcahy, from the Drugs Squad?’ Surely that couldn’t be right? There had to be lots of Mulcahys in the guards. But at inspector
grade?

‘I’m sure I couldn’t say.’ Nurse Sorenson paused, pursing her lips in concentration. ‘I can’t see why anyone from the Drugs
Squad would have been here. I didn’t hear any talk
of drugs. But now you mention it, he didn’t seem to be
with
the other two, if you know what I mean. To be honest, it was like he was only there because he could speak Spanish, and they
were desperate to talk to young Jesica.’

‘He spoke Spanish?’ Siobhan didn’t even wait for a reply: she was already off and racing down the corridors of her mind, opening
doors, closing others, putting it all together. If it really was Mulcahy on the scene, maybe there was some major international
drugs connection as well? This was turning into one little beauty of a story.

Now all she had to do was get to the bottom of it.

When he phoned Liam Ford, he only had to wait a minute for the search to go through and to hear the ping of a positive hit
echoing down the phone line to him. The last time Mulcahy had worked out of the cramped GNDU offices over in Dublin Castle,
an outside request to run a check on a suspect would have taken a couple of hours, minimum. Now it was instant.

‘Yup, we’ve got a couple of Patrick Scullys here,’ Ford said. ‘One from Ballyheige, Kerry, so I’m guessing it’s not him. This
other fella has an address in Blackrock alright. DOB 25.03.86, so that makes him what, twenty-three? Last-known has him a
postgraduate student at UCD. That sound about right?’

‘That’s him alright. What’s he down for?’

‘Nothing much. Arrested for minor-possession cannabis – two point two grams – back in May ’07 at a university gig.
Got off with a first-strike slap on the wrist that time, and nothing do-able since, except he keeps getting mentioned as a
small-time dealer of Es. Nothing heavier, as far as we know. That’s all we’ve got.’

‘Typical student dealer, then, making some dosh on the side.’

‘Sounds like it, the little shit – making a blip on the radar every now and again.’

‘Fine, it’ll give us a bit more leverage on him, anyway. With that one on the sheet already, it’s enough for us to keep him
in custody, for now.’

‘String the shitehawk up,’ Ford growled. ‘Whatever he’s supposed to have done.’

‘Glad to hear you haven’t grown a sensitive side over the years,’ Mulcahy laughed.

‘Yeah, right. Unlike you. What was all that about, at lunchtime? You ran out of the place like a scalded cat.’

‘Nothing you’d be interested in.’

‘I suppose you never called Murtagh either.’

‘Not yet, but I will.’

‘Speaking of calls, some little hottie was looking for you here earlier.’

‘For me?’ Mulcahy’s brow furrowed. ‘Over there?’

‘On the phone. Feckin’ bizarre, man, especially after I’d only just seen you and all. When I told her you hadn’t worked here
for years, she was a bit surprised, then she said something about Madrid and having your mobile number, so I didn’t go on
about it.’

‘She didn’t leave a name then?’

‘No, didn’t want to talk to me at all after that. And believe me, I tried.’

Mulcahy racked his brains to think of anyone who’d known him when he was at the Castle and in Madrid and would fit Ford’s
description. He couldn’t.

‘Oh well, if she’s got my number she can get in touch.’

‘You’d better hope so. I’ve never seen you looking more like you could do with having a good time. And she sounded like just
the girl to give it to you.’

‘O
kay, okay, calm down, you lot.’

Although there were only eight people present, the incident room was buoyed up by enough excitement for twice that many. The
babble of voices faded away again as Brogan prepared to wind up the evening briefing. Sitting on a desk behind the semicircle
of animated cops, Mulcahy felt more than ever the outsider. Having slogged their arses off all day out on the streets, the
team was floating on a cloud of satisfaction that, at close of play, their good work was about to yield a result. It was the
best feeling any decent cop could experience and one that he hoped and prayed they were bloody right about. Because, before
the briefing began, he’d made that call to Murtagh about the Southern Region job. He’d cut to the chase, making no assumptions
about Dowling’s departure but letting his own interest be known. And, hallelujah, Murtagh had responded enthusiastically in
kind, saying in effect that he really hoped Mulcahy would apply the minute the job became available, because it needed to
be filled quickly. The implication being: he was in,
but only if he was free to move. That thought had been playing on Mulcahy’s mind throughout the briefing. That and getting
the estate agents to crack on. It would all be so much easier with the house off his hands.

‘Like I said,’ Brogan was saying, ‘it looks like we’re on to a winner here but there’s no point pushing it until we have the
forensics on Scully’s van and his clothes back from Technical. As for now, it’s not going to do any harm to let Scully stew
overnight in Blackrock – and thanks to Inspector Mulcahy’s contacts in Drugs we can do just that.’

Mulcahy nodded acknowledgement to Brogan.

‘There was something else you wanted to raise, wasn’t there, Mike? Something about Geraghty’s findings that you thought we
should talk about?’

‘Yes, there was.’ He looked at the faces turned to him expectantly. ‘It’s to do with Jesica’s cross and chain.’

There was a low groan of ‘Jaysus, not again’ from somewhere in the room. Cassidy, he assumed, but he let it go.

‘I’m sure if it had turned up in the van you’d have said,’ Mulcahy smiled.

‘Considering it would have put the case against Scully beyond doubt, I think I would have, yeah,’ Brogan retorted.

‘It’s just that when Geraghty said he’d found traces of gold in the swabs, my first thought was they must’ve come from Jesica’s
cross and chain which, we know, was ripped off her during the attack. But he also said the metal traces he found were from
cheap gold plate.’

‘So?’

‘Well, Jesica’s jewellery wouldn’t have been cheap,’ Mulcahy shrugged.

‘How can you be so sure?’ Cassidy interjected. ‘As you’re constantly reminding us, we don’t have it.’

‘It just wouldn’t be, not in that family. They’re very wealthy.’

‘Maybe it was something she picked up herself,’ said Maura McHugh. ‘You know how girls of that age are. Maybe it was sentimental
value, from a boyfriend or something.’

‘I got the impression it was of enormous value to her.’

‘Look, why does it matter where it came from?’ Brogan protested, checking her watch. ‘What’s your point, Mike?’

Impatience spread like a rash across Brogan’s face as Mulcahy related his lunchtime encounter with the priests in the pub
and his flash of inspiration regarding the gold crosses and the burn marks on Jesica. As he told them how he’d pored over
the photos again to confirm his suspicions, some of the others began shifting about uncomfortably in their seats. For a split
second the possibility occurred to him that the couple of drinks he’d had with Ford had gone to his head, and he’d dreamed
it all up. But he killed that thought immediately.

‘So, really, what I was wondering was whether there isn’t some kind of religious dimension to this that we haven’t been giving
proper consideration to. Or even whether the attacker’s primary motivation was sexual at all?’

‘Ah, for fuck’s sake!’ At the far side of the group, Cassidy
had clearly heard enough and wasn’t going to keep his opinion to himself. He was glowering in Mulcahy’s direction now, his
jaw thrust forward. Everybody in the room was gawping, waiting to see what he’d say or do next.

But Brogan got in first. ‘Like I said before, Inspector, I appreciate that this is a new area of operations for you.’ She
let her gaze drill straight into Mulcahy, as if to say her vast reserves of tolerance were being stretched here. ‘And that
you’ve had a lot of time on your hands for the last couple of days. But what matters here this evening is that we have a suspect
in custody and we’re trying to build a case against him – not break it down and start all over again. And that case is for
aggravated rape, because that’s what happened to young Jesica.’

‘I’m not trying to break anything down,’ Mulcahy replied. ‘I never even suggested it wasn’t Scully, only that you might be
better going into that interview room tomorrow armed with all the facts rather than with just some of them.’

‘And what exactly is it that I’ve overlooked?’ Brogan asked.

‘Well, motive, for one thing.’

That was it for Cassidy. Pushing his chair back with a loud scrape of its metal legs, he stood up and snorted at Mulcahy.
‘What more bloody motive do you want? He didn’t get his rocks off, so he came back to take what he wanted and teach the girl
a lesson while he was about it.’

‘And you think that was enough reason for one of the most violent attacks anybody in this room has ever heard of,
do you?’ Mulcahy said. ‘An attack that, before you landed on Scully, you all agreed had to be premeditated and carefully planned?’

Cassidy didn’t have an answer for that, but he didn’t need one as Brogan stepped in again.

‘Shut up, Andy, and sit down.’

She examined the backs of her hands until Cassidy, cursing beneath his breath, took his seat again.

‘Okay, Inspector,’ Brogan continued, ‘maybe you do have a point there. But remember, just because Scully picked Jesica up
in a club doesn’t mean he didn’t have every detail of the attack planned – other than his victim. Either way, for now I’m
not sure we need to concern ourselves with why Scully did it, okay? All I’m hoping for is to get the forensics back and nail
him with those, if I can. We can deal with the whys and wherefores later. Now let’s move on.’

But Mulcahy wouldn’t let it go. ‘And all I’m saying is that if you’re looking for a motive that fits, and you look at the
burn marks on Jesica and tie that in to what she said about her attacker being like a priest, then maybe, just maybe, there’s
some weird religious element to it.’

At that there was another snort from the far side of the room. Cassidy was on his feet again, this time spreading his arms
wide to the audience already turning expectantly towards him. ‘Ah, lads,’ he scoffed. ‘That’s got to be it, alright. First
we had The General, then The Monk, The Viper, The Psycho, and all that lot. Now it’s The Priest.
The Priest
, for fuck’s sake – as if we haven’t had enough of them
in the last few years. Maybe they’ll do a film about this fella, too, and make a star of him like they did Martin Cahill.
As the inspector’s pointed out to us before, Scully’s got a bit of the Brad Pitt about him alright.’

Everybody in the room was laughing except Mulcahy. And Brogan, who above the din was telling Cassidy to shut up. But Cassidy
wasn’t going to do that without getting one last dig in.

‘And what about you, Inspector Mulcahy? I’m sure you see your name up there in lights. Who’d you see as yourself? George Clooney?’

Head down, every nerve in his body fizzing with fury at Cassidy, at Brogan and the whole fucking lot of them, the shouted
greeting failed to crack the carapace of Mulcahy’s angry self-absorption.

‘Hey, Mulcahy.’

Louder this time, it got through.

He swung around, startled. She was leaning against a small red convertible in the parking bay outside the gates, looking like
an ad for something sunny and aspirational in her big shades, white cotton top, black jeans and heels.

‘Siobhan, what the hell are you doing here?’

She folded her arms and scowled at him. ‘That’s nice. Here I am, after trekking halfway across the city to see you, and all
I get is sworn at.’

With the sunglasses on, hiding those big blue eyes of hers, she was more unreadable than ever.

‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t, eh… wasn’t expecting…’

‘And why would you be?’

She smiled broadly at him. She wasn’t put out, not really. Door-stepping people was a way of life for her, he reasoned, and
she was probably used to far worse reactions. She pushed herself away from the car with her hips and strode over towards him,
something feline in her gait.

‘So you’ve been transferred, then?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘No, I haven’t. But, now you mention it, how’d you know I’d be here?’

She beamed at him even brighter. ‘God, you cops, always so bloody suspicious. It’s my job, isn’t it, to find out stuff?’

‘Maybe,’ he nodded. ‘But it doesn’t answer the question. How?’