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Authors: Graham Masterton
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that she’s not available right now.’
‘You mean Eithne O’Neill,’ said Katie. ‘Yes, she’s very good. In fact she’s brilliant. But she’s off on compassionate leave at the moment. Her sister’s dying of cancer, sad to say.’
‘Oh. I didn’t know that. I’m sorry to hear it. And there was me grumbling to Bill because I can’t afford a freelance artist. Not on my budget.’
‘Well, let’s just see how this all plays out,’ said Katie. ‘Let’s go and take a look at the scene of the shooting, shall we, and then Detective Scanlan and I can have a few words with Mrs Cassidy.’
‘Her name’s Cleona, by the way,’ put in Sergeant Doherty. ‘And go easy on her when you ask her about the dogs. You’d think she’d lost her children, the way she’s talking.’
They returned to their cars and drove up the sloping driveway towards the two rows of kennels. Every individual bay had a light on, even the empty ones; and the two main wall lamps were shining too, so that the tarmac courtyard in between the two rows of kennels was starkly illuminated, like a deserted film set. A blue vinyl forensic tent was pitched right in the middle of it, surrounded by blue-and-white garda tape, and a Garda patrol car was parked beside the house.
After they had climbed out of their cars, Inspector O’Brien came across to Katie and said, ‘I did recommend to the Cassidys that they move away for a while, in case any of the gang decided to come back and retaliate. But they insisted that they couldn’t leave the dogs that were left behind. There’s still thirteen of them all told, and they wouldn’t hear of the CSPCA taking them in, even temporary-like.
‘That’s why I’ve posted two armed officers here twenty-four hours a day – at least until we’ve put a name to our victim, and we know exactly who we’re looking for.’
‘Have they given you a full list of the dogs that were taken?’
Sergeant Doherty held up a folded sheet of paper. ‘Twenty-six of them altogether. Mostly they went for the big dogs. Two German Shepherds, three bull terriers, a Vizsla, two boxers, one mastiff... but there’s a Samoyed here and that’s worth nearly eight-and-a-half thousand euros, according to Eoin Cassidy.’
They walked towards the house. In one of the kennels, a Labrador was mournfully and repetitively barking, while a wire-haired fox terrier was jumping up and down and yapping in excited bursts.
Inspector O’Brien knocked at the front door and one of the gardaí opened it, almost at once. He must have been expecting them, even if the Cassidys weren’t.
‘All right, sir?’ said the garda. ‘Everything’s quiet.’ He jerked his head towards the kennels. ‘Well, except for the effing dogs, like, do you know what I mean?’
They went into the living-room. Eoin Cassidy was hunched on the end of the couch, watching Today with Maura and Daithi on the television. The second garda was sitting with his arms folded in a straight-backed wooden chair against the wall, looking infinitely bored. A crumpled copy of The Sun was lying on the floor at his feet, where he had obviously dropped it after finishing with the sports pages. He stood up when Katie and Inspector O’Brien came into the room, but Eoin remained where he was, staring unblinkingly at the television, and didn’t even turn his head.
‘Mr Cassidy?’ said Inspector O’Brien. ‘Mr Cassidy – this is Detective Superintendent Maguire from Cork City Divisional Headquarters.’
Eoin still didn’t look around, so Inspector O’Brien raised his voice. ‘DS Maguire has a special interest in your case, Mr Cassidy. She’s been investigating a gang of dognappers in the city division for quite some time now, and she believes your man may have been one of them.’
After a long pause, Eoin switched off the television’s sound with his remote, and turned around. His face was unshaven with a pale and greasy sheen like linseed putty, and his eyes were so puffy
‘You mean Eithne O’Neill,’ said Katie. ‘Yes, she’s very good. In fact she’s brilliant. But she’s off on compassionate leave at the moment. Her sister’s dying of cancer, sad to say.’
‘Oh. I didn’t know that. I’m sorry to hear it. And there was me grumbling to Bill because I can’t afford a freelance artist. Not on my budget.’
‘Well, let’s just see how this all plays out,’ said Katie. ‘Let’s go and take a look at the scene of the shooting, shall we, and then Detective Scanlan and I can have a few words with Mrs Cassidy.’
‘Her name’s Cleona, by the way,’ put in Sergeant Doherty. ‘And go easy on her when you ask her about the dogs. You’d think she’d lost her children, the way she’s talking.’
They returned to their cars and drove up the sloping driveway towards the two rows of kennels. Every individual bay had a light on, even the empty ones; and the two main wall lamps were shining too, so that the tarmac courtyard in between the two rows of kennels was starkly illuminated, like a deserted film set. A blue vinyl forensic tent was pitched right in the middle of it, surrounded by blue-and-white garda tape, and a Garda patrol car was parked beside the house.
After they had climbed out of their cars, Inspector O’Brien came across to Katie and said, ‘I did recommend to the Cassidys that they move away for a while, in case any of the gang decided to come back and retaliate. But they insisted that they couldn’t leave the dogs that were left behind. There’s still thirteen of them all told, and they wouldn’t hear of the CSPCA taking them in, even temporary-like.
‘That’s why I’ve posted two armed officers here twenty-four hours a day – at least until we’ve put a name to our victim, and we know exactly who we’re looking for.’
‘Have they given you a full list of the dogs that were taken?’
Sergeant Doherty held up a folded sheet of paper. ‘Twenty-six of them altogether. Mostly they went for the big dogs. Two German Shepherds, three bull terriers, a Vizsla, two boxers, one mastiff... but there’s a Samoyed here and that’s worth nearly eight-and-a-half thousand euros, according to Eoin Cassidy.’
They walked towards the house. In one of the kennels, a Labrador was mournfully and repetitively barking, while a wire-haired fox terrier was jumping up and down and yapping in excited bursts.
Inspector O’Brien knocked at the front door and one of the gardaí opened it, almost at once. He must have been expecting them, even if the Cassidys weren’t.
‘All right, sir?’ said the garda. ‘Everything’s quiet.’ He jerked his head towards the kennels. ‘Well, except for the effing dogs, like, do you know what I mean?’
They went into the living-room. Eoin Cassidy was hunched on the end of the couch, watching Today with Maura and Daithi on the television. The second garda was sitting with his arms folded in a straight-backed wooden chair against the wall, looking infinitely bored. A crumpled copy of The Sun was lying on the floor at his feet, where he had obviously dropped it after finishing with the sports pages. He stood up when Katie and Inspector O’Brien came into the room, but Eoin remained where he was, staring unblinkingly at the television, and didn’t even turn his head.
‘Mr Cassidy?’ said Inspector O’Brien. ‘Mr Cassidy – this is Detective Superintendent Maguire from Cork City Divisional Headquarters.’
Eoin still didn’t look around, so Inspector O’Brien raised his voice. ‘DS Maguire has a special interest in your case, Mr Cassidy. She’s been investigating a gang of dognappers in the city division for quite some time now, and she believes your man may have been one of them.’
After a long pause, Eoin switched off the television’s sound with his remote, and turned around. His face was unshaven with a pale and greasy sheen like linseed putty, and his eyes were so puffy
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