Siobhan laughed, not sure whether to believe her ears. ‘I think that would be completely outrageous and deeply provocative.
Are you serious? Do you think we could make it stand up?’
Griffin grinned at her, his face wreathed in an expression of malevolent mischievousness. ‘Damn it, we haven’t given the government
a decent hammering for weeks. As my old mentor Arthur Hayes used to say: “If the eejits are thick enough to hand us a stick,
then we’d be bigger ones not to beat them with it.” Harry’ll be mad for it, I bet. I’ll tell you what, I’ll sort it myself.
You concentrate on following up on the girl and the assault and what the Gardai are doing about it. But discreetly – we want
to keep a lid on it until we see how it’s all panning out. I’m still seeing that as the splash. Make sure it’s absolutely
airtight because we’ll really want to stick it to them if they’ve cocked up on it. In the meantime, I’ll get a couple of lads
to start stirring things up on the political side. Who should we be talking to, do you reckon, about the flight, and nailing
down all that stuff?’
‘My Aer Rianta guy says he’s happy to be quoted,’ Siobhan said. ‘But for the real confirmation you’ll have to talk to the
Air Corps Command, I suppose.’
Griffin batted the suggestion away.‘ They’ll just deny everything, give us the usual national security bollocks. I reckon we
should go straight for the jugular. Why don’t I try the Department of Defence? Whack ’em right between the eyeballs and ask
for a statement from the Minister on why a Spanish military unit was here operating on Irish soil. If they deny it, we have
them by the knackers. If they don’t, then they’ll just have to tell us where the authorisation came from, and then somebody
else’ll have one heck of a lot of explaining to do on the subject of cover-ups. Good girl yourself, let’s get—’
A knock made him snap his head round as one of the subs poked his head around the door.
‘What is it?’ Griffin asked irritably.
‘It’s for Siobhan,’ the sub said, all huff and attitude. ‘A phone call. Says it’s urgent.’
‘Put it through to her here, on extension 538.’
The sub sloped off to transfer the call and Paddy Griffin headed for the door.
‘I’ll go ring Defence and then see if I can track down Harry. He’ll want a heads-up on this straight away. And if that call’s
anything to do with the Spanish girl, I want to know about it.’
He slipped out the door and Siobhan snatched up the phone as soon as it rang.
‘Siobhan Fallon,’ she answered, wondering who could be ringing her now and how to palm them off as quickly as possible. But
her eyes lit up as soon as she heard the voice at the other end. ‘Have you got something else for me?’
She listened to the distorted voice coming down the line. ‘Another one? Holy Jesus! Yeah, too right, I do. Go on…’ was all
she said before kicking the door shut with a thud, grabbing a pencil and a sheet of Harry Heffernan’s headed notepaper and
settling down at his desk, writing furiously.
Mulcahy arrived back to find the offices of the DVSAU had changed beyond recognition, packed with a sea of unfamiliar faces,
buoyant with chatter. There must have been twenty, maybe thirty new arrivals, standing around, drinking tea or Starbucks,
and the tiny incident room felt as crammed as a sardine tin in a glut. A few words of enquiry established that this influx
of manpower was all Brendan Healy’s doing, and that the man himself was due down any moment to conduct a briefing. Mulcahy
moved through the throng, heading towards Brogan’s office but was barely halfway there when he was waylaid by Maura McHugh.
‘Hey, Inspector, do you have any idea what we’re all supposed to be doing next?’ she asked above the hubbub, perching herself
on a desk edge while removing a sandwich from a paper bag and tucking into it.
‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘Have you seen Brogan? How’s it all going?’
She shrugged, then swallowed. ‘It’s a mess,’ she said, echoing the words Brogan had used in describing the situation to him
earlier. She then went on to tell him how things had begun to unravel as soon as the news of the assault on the girl in Fairview
came filtering in. But things had really kicked off after Cassidy arrived out at the Scully family home in Blackrock.
The story that followed unfolded like a farce. Scully’s parents had refused the sergeant entry to their house on the grounds
that he was an hour early. Cassidy said he’d wait but wanted some proof that their son Patrick was actually on the premises.
But while the parents repeatedly assured him that Patrick would soon be out of the bathroom, the minutes kept ticking away.
Until Cassidy lost his rag and threatened to do them for wasting police time. At which point a fracas broke out, a forced
entry was effected and the discovery was made that not only was Patrick Cormac Scully not in the bathroom, he hadn’t been
anywhere in the house for many hours and certainly hadn’t slept the night there.
‘I could hear the Sarge bellowing down the phone at the boss from over here, y’know, while it was all going off,’ Maura continued,
swivelling her eyes. ‘After that she went straight up to Healy and I think he must’ve given her a terrible rollicking cos
I’ve never seen her come back from anywhere so pale-faced. Jesus Christ, it was tense… Anyway, it’s been
mad here ever since. I’ve been on the phones, calling in anyone who’s available. Most of these guys are giving up their free
Saturday to help.’
Just as she was finishing, a fresh murmur of anticipation ran through the room and Mulcahy stood up to see a grim-faced Healy,
flanked by Brogan and Cassidy, entering the incident room from the corridor. As they came in Healy surveyed the room, spied
out Mulcahy and, with a jerk of his head, signalled him to join them up front by the whiteboards. Mulcahy pushed through the
mass of bodies and positioned himself beside Brogan, trying to catch her eye to see how she was doing, but she avoided his
gaze. Even Cassidy seemed unable to drag his eyes from the floor for once.
‘Okay now, c’mon, a bit of whisht now, I’m going to have to keep this brief,’ Healy began, nodding appreciatively as silence
fell upon the room. He gestured vaguely behind him at the boards. ‘I’m sure you’ve all gathered some idea by now of why you’ve
been asked in today. In a few minutes, Sergeant Cassidy here and a couple of his colleagues will give you newcomers a crash
course on the two hideous sexual assaults that have occurred on our city’s streets this week. One last Sunday, another this
morning – both of them off the scale in terms of violence but last night’s stopped so short of murder, I’m telling you, it’s
a miracle we’re not talking in those terms yet. In fact, there’s a strong possibility that this second victim – a young woman,
whose name we don’t even know for now – will yet succumb to her injuries.
‘I’m telling you, lads,’ Healy continued, his brow furrowing even deeper, ‘it’s no exaggeration to call this the work of the
devil. But don’t forget it’s a man who’s attacking these young girls, a very dangerous, sick and evil man, who’s out there
committing these offences and leaving a trail of agony and grief behind him. But that’s not the only trail he’s leaving. And
that’s what we have to focus on. Every move this fella makes, he leaves a trace. And together we’re going to find those traces,
put them all together and track him down. Every single one of us, lads, we’re going to work our bollocks off so that we can
string him up by his. Are ye with me?’
There was a muted roar of encouragement from the crowded room but Healy put a hand up to quell it. ‘Good men,’ he continued.
‘I’ll be leading this investigation from now on, with Inspector Claire Brogan here on point and Inspector Mike Mulcahy assisting.
Any questions you have, address them to Sergeant Cassidy or another of his team for now. I need to sit down with these guys
right away and talk tactics.’
The murmuring rose loud again as Healy swept out, followed by Brogan and Mulcahy. The sound of Cassidy calling for quiet was
the last thing they heard as they slipped into Brogan’s office and closed the door. Healy made straight for Brogan’s chair
behind her desk.
‘Any news on Scully?’ Mulcahy asked her, as they dragged the two spare chairs away from the wall.
‘No,’ she shook her head vigorously. ‘Not yet.’
‘Good to see you here, Mike,’ Healy interrupted sharply, obviously in no mood to waste time. ‘Tell us what you got from the
scene. Anything we can run with for now?’
‘Not much that you don’t already know from the prelims, Brendan. It looked to me identical in every significant respect, apart
from location. I’ve absolutely no doubt this is the same offender.’
‘I heard you were in the Mater Hospital afterwards. What took you down there?’
‘Just wanted to see her for myself. Get the feel, you know?’
Healy nodded, tolerating the gesture as a good one. ‘Anything else from the scene?’
‘Three things struck me. None crucial, maybe, but worth mentioning. One was the location – major route, phenomenally busy.
You must go past there yourself all the time. Opposite that row of shops on Marino Parade, near where the Clontarf and Malahide
roads meet. Even in the early hours there’s traffic constantly going by. This guy parks up and heaves a semi-conscious girl
over four-foot railings and the hedge behind it. Vehicles passing, loads of first-floor viewpoints from across the road. Somebody
must
have seen something. And there were more sheltered spots available to him either side of where he did it, even within a few
hundred yards. Which makes me think he must’ve wanted to be seen this time.’
‘Interesting,’ Healy remarked, looking at Brogan.
‘Yeah,’ was all she said in reply.
‘Or maybe he wanted the girl found quickly,’ Mulcahy added.
‘So why not leave her on the pavement? Why throw her over the railings?’ said Brogan.
‘I don’t know,’ Mulcahy said. ‘It was just a thought.’
‘You have any more, Mike?’ Healy asked.
‘Yeah, some short red plastic fibres found on the girl’s clothes. I’ve rushed them over for priority analysis. I thought I
remembered seeing something similar in the Technical reports from the Jesica Salazar assault.’
‘You’re right, there was,’ Brogan said. ‘We thought she might have acquired them from the floor of the attacker’s van.’
‘That’s what I thought. Good for a possible match, then. It would tie the attacker to both offences. Which brings me to point
number three, regarding the van. Or rather
a
van, any van.’
‘What about it?’ asked Healy.
‘Well, the CSM said he couldn’t tell what kind of vehicle had been parked up on the pavement. I suggested he look for short
wheelbase Transit type tyre marks and he said he’d have another look but didn’t hold out much hope. The point is, if we do
get an eye witness in Marino and they confirm a van was used, then maybe we should think again about Scully. I mean, what’s
the likelihood of him having access to another van – that’s assuming Technical still have his father’s van impounded.’
Brogan nodded that they did.
‘Even with him on the run, you don’t fancy him for it?’ Healy said. ‘Some coincidence, don’t you think?’
‘I honestly don’t know. My concern would be the drugs. Could be he’s more worried about the ecstasy possession charge. With
his form, he’d be facing three to five years. I’ve known plenty of dealers who’d keep a stash of cash and a passport handy
to do a runner from a stretch like that.’
‘Well, obviously it’s something we’ve already given a lot of thought to this morning,’ Healy said, again glancing over at
Brogan. ‘Claire’s come up with some pretty compelling new information about his academic interests that points it back towards
him, which I’m sure she’ll fill you in on in a moment. But for now, I agree, it’s best we keep an open mind and widen the
scope of the investigation. For now, we’ve got alerts out at all ports and stations and Scully’s description has been circulated
as priority one. What we’ve now got to consider is: what if it
wasn’t
him?’
Healy paused to draw a breath. ‘One thing I’m thinking we can say for certain, though, is there’s almost no chance now of
any Spanish political angle to this.’ A tiny upward twitch of his lips betrayed a flash of relief before the stern mask of
formality returned.‘ It’s not about who Jesica Salazar’s father is. Are we agreed?’
Mulcahy and Brogan shared a glance.
‘The guys in the ambulance said our new victim mumbled a few things before she was sedated,’ Brogan said. ‘Nothing useful
for us, but they’re pretty sure she’s local.’
Mulcahy nodded. ‘That was always a long shot anyway.’
‘Good,’ Healy said. ‘Let them know at the embassy, Mike. Now, going forward…’
The next few hours went by in a tumult of briefings, job allocations and technical meetings. The strategy agreed on was to
put a small specialist team in place to lead the manhunt for Scully using the Garda Network – a battery of electronic tools
for monitoring the use of mobile and landline phones, cash cards, email, internet service providers and any other electronic
signatures and imprints a suspect might leave – plus four detectives following up on Scully’s known associates, relatives,
ex-girlfriends and so on. In the meantime, the majority of the new bodies on board were to be thrown at the second incident,
in a co-ordinated drive to collate as much information on victim, perpetrator and crime as was achievable in a condensed space
of time.
As a result, by early afternoon the information on the second assault began to trickle through. The most important piece of
the jigsaw provided an ID for the girl and, as a result, a location of sorts for the actual attack. A door-to-door inquiry
in Pearse Avenue, Fairview, turned up a Mrs Fidelma Plunkett who was beginning to wonder why her daughter hadn’t yet returned
from a night out at a club up the road with friends. Alarm bells rang, a description of clothing matched the victim’s, and
a car was sent round. By mid-afternoon a team of detectives had gleaned enough information from shell-shocked relatives and
friends, about the victim’s background and movements, to give the key
facts: nineteen-year-old Catriona Plunkett was a pretty dental secretary who’d gone out for a Friday night bop at the Kay
Club up in Killester with her pals, drank a bit too much, felt a little tired and decided to leave early. The bouncer, pulled
out of his bed, confirmed that he’d seen her leaving the club alone at around 12.45 a.m. Both these facts were subsequently
confirmed by the club’s exterior CCTV. At which point the trail went ice cold, until Catriona turned up half dead a couple
of miles away in Fairview Park at 5.25 a.m.