HSE said that the hospitals are dealing with at least half-a-dozen near-fatal overdoses every week,’ said Detective Scanlan. ‘Last year twelve people altogether died of heroin overdoses in Cork city alone, and if things carry on like this, she reckons that this year it will probably be more than twenty.’
‘But she hasn’t picked up any hint at all where it’s coming from, all this heroin? Nor Jim Geoghegan, neither, nor Cuan Mhuire? Because, let’s face it, we’re still totally in the dark, too. The street dealers are mostly the same old scummers as always, but the quantity they’re selling now, and the quality of it. There’s no question at all that there’s somebody new in the business, and they’re incredibly well organised. But who is it?’
‘I talked to Declan Murphy from the Real IRA yesterday morning,’ said Detective Scanlan. ‘Even he doesn’t know who it is, or makes out he doesn’t, anyhow, and if anybody should know, it’s him. But I’m working on a couple of new contacts at the moment. I think one of them has a half an idea who’s behind it, but he’s too jibber to tell me.’
‘Well, keep on nagging him,’ Katie told her.
‘I will. Besides, I think he fancies me something rotten, so I might get lucky.’
Katie gave her a quick sideways smile. Detective Scanlan was just twenty-four – tall and thin as a model, with a wave of shoulder-length brunette hair. She was very unusual-looking: she had a long pointed nose, but her huge violet eyes and her pouting pink lips gave her an almost magical appearance, as if she were an aes sidh , a fairy who had decided to join the mortal police force.
Over the past few weeks, Katie had become increasingly pleased by the progress she was making. Pádraigin Scanlan was one of a team of four young detectives whom Katie had selected to give special guidance and encouragement. ‘Katie’s Kids’, Detective O’Donovan called them, although he didn’t mean it entirely as a compliment. But what these four lacked in street experience they more than made up for in other ways. They were attractive and bright and computer-literate and all of them looked young for their age, which meant that they could mingle with college and university students and infiltrate Cork’s thriving club scene. Detective O’Donovan was approaching forty. He was putting on weight and his hair was starting to turn grey. As canny and as hardened as he was, he would have found it impossible to pass himself off as a raver at Rearden’s or Cyprus Avenue.
‘You have eaten something today?’ Katie asked Detective Scanlan. ‘I don’t want you fainting on me in mid-interview.’
‘Oh, I’m grand altogether,’ said Detective Scanlan. ‘I had a cheese and bacon burger at Coqbull for lunch, with the chorizo fries. I’m full as an egg.’
‘Holy Mary, I don’t know where you put it all,’ Katie told her. ‘You must have extra-efficient metabolism.’
She looked again at Detective Scanlan in her skin-tight jeans with the belt done up to the very last hole and wondered if she had been as thin at that age. Probably, although she had been much more bosomy. When they had first got together, her late husband Paul had almost been able to close both of his hands around her waist.
‘You should eat more,’ Paul used to say to her. ‘Don’t want you snapping in half, like, do we?’
*
It was dark by the time they reached the harbour town of Kinsale, but the restaurants and bars were all lit up and the pavements were crowded.
‘Jesus, I could do with a drink,’ said Katie, as they passed the scarlet-painted front of Max’s Wine Bar, on Main Street.
‘Serious?’ said Detective Scanlan.
‘Not really. I don’t want to keep Inspector O’Brien waiting. But maybe we’ll stop for one on the way back.’
Once they had driven through the busy town centre, the darkness closed in again, and they were on their own. They crossed the long concrete bridge that spanned the last
‘But she hasn’t picked up any hint at all where it’s coming from, all this heroin? Nor Jim Geoghegan, neither, nor Cuan Mhuire? Because, let’s face it, we’re still totally in the dark, too. The street dealers are mostly the same old scummers as always, but the quantity they’re selling now, and the quality of it. There’s no question at all that there’s somebody new in the business, and they’re incredibly well organised. But who is it?’
‘I talked to Declan Murphy from the Real IRA yesterday morning,’ said Detective Scanlan. ‘Even he doesn’t know who it is, or makes out he doesn’t, anyhow, and if anybody should know, it’s him. But I’m working on a couple of new contacts at the moment. I think one of them has a half an idea who’s behind it, but he’s too jibber to tell me.’
‘Well, keep on nagging him,’ Katie told her.
‘I will. Besides, I think he fancies me something rotten, so I might get lucky.’
Katie gave her a quick sideways smile. Detective Scanlan was just twenty-four – tall and thin as a model, with a wave of shoulder-length brunette hair. She was very unusual-looking: she had a long pointed nose, but her huge violet eyes and her pouting pink lips gave her an almost magical appearance, as if she were an aes sidh , a fairy who had decided to join the mortal police force.
Over the past few weeks, Katie had become increasingly pleased by the progress she was making. Pádraigin Scanlan was one of a team of four young detectives whom Katie had selected to give special guidance and encouragement. ‘Katie’s Kids’, Detective O’Donovan called them, although he didn’t mean it entirely as a compliment. But what these four lacked in street experience they more than made up for in other ways. They were attractive and bright and computer-literate and all of them looked young for their age, which meant that they could mingle with college and university students and infiltrate Cork’s thriving club scene. Detective O’Donovan was approaching forty. He was putting on weight and his hair was starting to turn grey. As canny and as hardened as he was, he would have found it impossible to pass himself off as a raver at Rearden’s or Cyprus Avenue.
‘You have eaten something today?’ Katie asked Detective Scanlan. ‘I don’t want you fainting on me in mid-interview.’
‘Oh, I’m grand altogether,’ said Detective Scanlan. ‘I had a cheese and bacon burger at Coqbull for lunch, with the chorizo fries. I’m full as an egg.’
‘Holy Mary, I don’t know where you put it all,’ Katie told her. ‘You must have extra-efficient metabolism.’
She looked again at Detective Scanlan in her skin-tight jeans with the belt done up to the very last hole and wondered if she had been as thin at that age. Probably, although she had been much more bosomy. When they had first got together, her late husband Paul had almost been able to close both of his hands around her waist.
‘You should eat more,’ Paul used to say to her. ‘Don’t want you snapping in half, like, do we?’
*
It was dark by the time they reached the harbour town of Kinsale, but the restaurants and bars were all lit up and the pavements were crowded.
‘Jesus, I could do with a drink,’ said Katie, as they passed the scarlet-painted front of Max’s Wine Bar, on Main Street.
‘Serious?’ said Detective Scanlan.
‘Not really. I don’t want to keep Inspector O’Brien waiting. But maybe we’ll stop for one on the way back.’
Once they had driven through the busy town centre, the darkness closed in again, and they were on their own. They crossed the long concrete bridge that spanned the last
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