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RAGMULLIN

With Detective Inspector Parker and Detective Sergeant Boyd away for the week, Detective Larry Kirby had assumed the lead in the office. Maria Lynch had opted to extend her time off with unpaid leave following the birth of her most recent child, and he missed having her around. They’d always had each other’s backs. Now he was at the mercy of Detective Sam McKeown. At least Garda Martina Brennan was in his corner, as was Garda Lei, whose first name always escaped him.

The inspector had tasked him with making sense of the budget projections for the next six months, and Kirby found himself sinking into despair at the unfamiliar spreadsheets. He’d rather be out catching and interviewing criminals, or finding a space to have an illicit puff on his cigar. And with Superintendent Deborah Farrell on his case, he was hoping for an investigation to land in his lap so that he’d have an excuse to abandon bloody projections of income and expenditure. He could hardly believe it when his prayers were answered.

Kirby walked with Garda Lei, who was tapping his notebook against his palm. ‘I had to let Maura Carroll go home. Poor woman is an innocent in all this.’

‘And how do you know that? For all we know, she could have been involved.’

‘Involved in what, though?’ Lei said, a plaintive tinge to his voice. ‘She was only going for a run before heading into work at the hospital.’

‘That’s what she told you? Did you check it out before you let her go?’

‘Well, no… but I?—’

‘No buts, Lei. Make sure this Carroll woman is who she says she is.’

‘Certainly. I can do that.’

Kirby stared at him.

Flustered, Lei continued. ‘Okay. Her story makes sense, and?—’

‘Story? Let’s hope it’s not a fictional tale then.’ Kirby watched the young guard slouch off, head sagging between his shoulders. He called him back. ‘And organise a search of the riverbank, all the way back into town, and upstream to the lake too.’

‘What am I looking for?’

‘Something that might give us a fucking clue.’ Kirby relented as he noticed the hurt on Lei’s face. ‘The body is naked. I don’t think she did this to herself, because why would she take off all her clothes? The water isn’t too deep either. If we can conclude she was murdered, then the killer might have disposed of her clothing and belongings in or along the river.’ He realised he was assuming the body was that of a woman.

He quickly assessed the surrounding area. ‘The buildings and shops need to be canvassed. There’s not too many, so that’s good. I’ll organise that.’

The traffic on the main road was backed up and the link road that ran by the small bridge was now closed. The entire area around the bridge was cordoned off, out of bounds. He gazed around. No CCTV cameras, unless the fruit and veg shop had one, but that was nothing more than a galvanised structure, and anyway it was a hundred metres away with no clear view of the river. Still, maybe they’d strike lucky.

He peered over the bridge as SOCOs carried out their preliminary work beneath the tent that had been erected below. He needed to see what they were seeing, so he pulled on a protective suit, booties and gloves and, after psyching himself up, gingerly made his way downwards. At least the weather had been kind. No rain, so he wasn’t slipping and sliding.

Crouching into the tent, Kirby got his first look. The hair was dark, but he noticed grey roots. He had no idea of the age of the victim. Possibly a woman, but long hair didn’t tell him anything, and the body was face-down, partially submerged. The narrow, bony shoulders pointed to the body being female. No rings or bracelets. No tattoos that he could see.

‘Could the water have wrinkled the skin?’ He addressed Grainne Nixon, the SOCO team leader, who was working tweezers through the hair as another SOCO took photographs.

‘We will assess all possibilities. I’m doing preliminary work until the pathologist arrives, then we need to get her to the mortuary to discover what happened to her.’

‘So it is a her, then?’

‘Yes, she is female. Look at this. There’s evidence of burning or scalding on her back.’

‘Shit.’ He studied the blistered skin. ‘Can you move the body?’

‘Not until the state pathologist does her thing. And just for the record, I don’t think this was an accidental drowning, or a suicide.’

‘Because she’s naked?’

‘No. There is evidence of ligature marks on both wrists. She was bound, scalded and most likely killed elsewhere.’

‘Christ.’ Kirby scratched at his head, only for his gloved fingers to slip on the hood of his suit. ‘There doesn’t seem to have been any attempt to hide the body. Can you make out anything that might help me with identification?’

‘No, not yet. But there are abrasions and indentation marks between her shoulder blades.’