The Cold, Cold Ground

couple of the local hacks. Seen you do it before. “
    McCallister smiled at me and shook his head. “No, no, fellas, that’s not the way to handle this at all. No defensiveness. We present this as a triumph. Through clever police work we have linked two murders. We talk about modern forensic techniques and how even during these difficult times we hard-working honest peelers are able to spend due care and attention on every single case.”
    Brennan nodded. “I like it.”
    “We won’t get TV because of all the other nonsense going on but we can call in some of our pals from the Belfast Telegraph , the Carrickfergus Advertiser , the Irish News and the Newsletter and let them have it. Maybe your woman Saoirse Neeson from Crime Beat on Downtown Radio.”
    Brennan looked at me. I shrugged. When I’d thought this wasa nothing case I was keen for the telly but now it had got more complicated there was, at the very least, an element of stage fright; however, if big Alan McCallister wanted to help out. “If Alan wants to do it, that’s great,” I said.
    “Ok, we’ll defer everything to Sergeant McCallister,” Brennan said.
    Hold the phone. Defer everything? What did he mean by that?
    Fortunately Alan saw my face and did his best Uri Geller: “Nope. I’m not CID. This is not my case, it’s Duffy’s. Run everything through Sergeant Duffy. I’ll only be his press officer. He tells me what to say and I’ll say it and that’s that.”
    “Well said, Alan. These CID boys are flighty, sensitive creatures who don’t like their toes stepped on,” Brennan said. He got up and put his arm around me. “What kind of a loony are we dealing with here, son?”
    “We’re dealing with a type none of us have encountered before in an Ulster context. A careful, intelligent, non-sectarian, serial murderer.”
    “A total freak psycho,” Burke said.
    “Not in the way you think. Sociopaths tend to have no regard or empathy for the feelings of others but they may in fact be personally charming with considerable charisma. I expect that our boy (and I’m pretty sure he’s a boy) will challenge us, but we’ll get the bastard, I’m confident of that,” I said and looked Brennan in the eye.
    “That’s good to hear,” Brennan said. “But let me just say something here. Sean, I want you to tell me if you think we’re in over our heads. It’s not a weakness to admit the truth. You yourself were saying it the other night. You’re relatively new at all this and we are understaffed … we can always get a real expert in from Special Branch or even someone from over the water …”
    The thought of having this case snatched from under me sent a chill down my spine. Because Carrickfergus was a Protestant town most of the mischief was expected to come from theLoyalist paramilitaries who were not as efficient at carrying out attacks as the IRA and who, anyway, were unlikely to attack the cops. As safe postings went, there were only four or five better ones in Northern Ireland, which is why I had initially not been that excited to end up here, a relative backwater. If you wanted to make your name you had to be in Belfast or Derry, but it would be worse if they were going to take all the good cases away from me …
    “You yourself told me that resources are stretched thin. Belfast needs every available man until the hunger strikes and the riots are over. And running to mummy in England would be embarrassing for the whole RUC. No, I think we can handle this here in Carrick, sir, we really can.”
    “Ok,” he said, not completely convinced. “I won’t ask you again. I’ll trust you to come to me.”
    “I will, sir.”
    “Any other comments?” Brennan asked but nobody could think of anything.
    Brennan whispered something in Matty’s ear and he got up and came back with a bottle of Jura single malt. He poured us all a healthy dose in plastic cups and raised his glass.
    “Unlike some stations that have been radically transformed with fairy gold from London, we’re still a small barracks, a small barracks with a family atmosphere, and this is going to be a challenge, but we can handle it if we all pull together. Can’t we, fellas? Can’t we, Sean?”
    “We’ll have to, chief.”
    We drank our whiskeys. It was the good stuff and it tasted of salt, sea, rain, wind and the Old Testament.
    “Ok, boys, get that dram down your neck and get out there. Get working! I’ll have to tell Superintendent Hollis before I tell the