I’ll be ready. Now, you still haven’t told me what you bought Ivana for her birthday tonight.”
“Oh! I almost forgot. Let me show –”
Karl’s mobile rang. It was Hicks.
“Tom? What’s happening?”
“The bodies in the Black Mountain and the city centre.”
“What about them?”
“Definitely weren’t those of the young girl you’re searching for. The young girl in Black Mountain was Tina Richardson, a runaway from a home in Larne, two years ago. She was fourteen.”
“Terrible.”
“The body found in the city was that of Eileen Flynn, another runaway, this time from Belfast itself. Eighteen years old.”
“Shit.”
“Bodies were mutilated, exactly in the same method.”
“That vora rep thing?”
“Vorarephilia,” sighed Tom. “Yes, kidneys and liver removed, surgically. Both bodies were overweight – forcefully so.”
“Did Professor Kelly over at Queen’s get back to you with any explanation?”
“Not yet. She seems as baffled as me. Anyway, it’ll probably be all over the news this afternoon. I told Wilson I’m no longer willing to keep this from the general public. Oh, almost forgot to mention: I hear Phillips got his full retirement pension. Even got a recommendation from Wilson.”
“Are you serious?”
“Got it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, yesterday.”
“Funny, now that you mention it, there is a strong resemblance between Wilson and Arkle,” replied Karl. “What happened to the investigation? Wasn’t Phillips being investigated for corruption or some other sort of bullshit?”
“He was accused of shaking down pimps and drug dealers in the city, as well as being involved in two controversial shootings. Investigation found no evidence of wrongdoing,
allegedly
.”
“Ever get one of those feelings in your piss that things just aren’t kosher at the House of Wilson?”
“No, never in my urine, but I know exactly what you mean,” said Hicks. “Something’s going on between Phillips and Wilson.”
“Out of all of Wilson’s crew, Phillips was the one I always got on well with – most of the time, at least.”
“With the way he’s turned out, why am I not surprised at that statement? To be honest, I never liked the man. I always suspected he thought himself like the rest of his associates – above and beyond the law.”
“You always suspect someone of something. It’s your suspicious nature, Hicks.”
“What was that all about?” asked Naomi, who had beeen waiting for Karl to end the phone conversation.
“That was Hicks. It appears that Belfast has a serial killer on its hands, and the shit is about to hit the fan.”
C HAPTER N INE
“I prefer women with a past. They’re always so demmed amusing to talk to.”
Oscar Wilde,
Lady Windermere’s Fan
C onsidered by many to be Belfast’s best gay/transsexual bar, Billy Holiday’s was buzzing when Karl and Naomi entered, passing a sign at the doorway stating: Never mind just
one
good night out. We’ll make your hole weak.
A woman, dressed in tight black leather and uncannily resembling Freddie Mercury, sang from an irritatingly loud karaoke machine. Sweat was escaping from every pore in her muscular body as she swayed, running the mic seductively up the inside of her thighs. The fake moustache glued to thick lips was the only thing that looked real.
Accompanying her on stage was a tall, bald man covered in tattoos, grinding an air guitar, his face a mixture of anguish, pain and ecstasy.
“Naomi! Karl! Toot-a-loot! Over here, darlings!” shouted a voice from a darkened far corner.
“Ivana!” Naomi immediately smiled, waving back enthusiastically. Karl, less so.
“I didn’t think you were coming, Naomi,” claimed Ivana, kiss-kissing Naomi’s cheeks falsely.
“We wouldn’t have missed it for anything, Ivana,” said Naomi, handing a small birthday-wrapped box to Ivana.
“Oh, you lovely person. You really shouldn’t have,” gushed Ivana.
“That’s exactly what I told
“Oh! I almost forgot. Let me show –”
Karl’s mobile rang. It was Hicks.
“Tom? What’s happening?”
“The bodies in the Black Mountain and the city centre.”
“What about them?”
“Definitely weren’t those of the young girl you’re searching for. The young girl in Black Mountain was Tina Richardson, a runaway from a home in Larne, two years ago. She was fourteen.”
“Terrible.”
“The body found in the city was that of Eileen Flynn, another runaway, this time from Belfast itself. Eighteen years old.”
“Shit.”
“Bodies were mutilated, exactly in the same method.”
“That vora rep thing?”
“Vorarephilia,” sighed Tom. “Yes, kidneys and liver removed, surgically. Both bodies were overweight – forcefully so.”
“Did Professor Kelly over at Queen’s get back to you with any explanation?”
“Not yet. She seems as baffled as me. Anyway, it’ll probably be all over the news this afternoon. I told Wilson I’m no longer willing to keep this from the general public. Oh, almost forgot to mention: I hear Phillips got his full retirement pension. Even got a recommendation from Wilson.”
“Are you serious?”
“Got it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, yesterday.”
“Funny, now that you mention it, there is a strong resemblance between Wilson and Arkle,” replied Karl. “What happened to the investigation? Wasn’t Phillips being investigated for corruption or some other sort of bullshit?”
“He was accused of shaking down pimps and drug dealers in the city, as well as being involved in two controversial shootings. Investigation found no evidence of wrongdoing,
allegedly
.”
“Ever get one of those feelings in your piss that things just aren’t kosher at the House of Wilson?”
“No, never in my urine, but I know exactly what you mean,” said Hicks. “Something’s going on between Phillips and Wilson.”
“Out of all of Wilson’s crew, Phillips was the one I always got on well with – most of the time, at least.”
“With the way he’s turned out, why am I not surprised at that statement? To be honest, I never liked the man. I always suspected he thought himself like the rest of his associates – above and beyond the law.”
“You always suspect someone of something. It’s your suspicious nature, Hicks.”
“What was that all about?” asked Naomi, who had beeen waiting for Karl to end the phone conversation.
“That was Hicks. It appears that Belfast has a serial killer on its hands, and the shit is about to hit the fan.”
C HAPTER N INE
“I prefer women with a past. They’re always so demmed amusing to talk to.”
Oscar Wilde,
Lady Windermere’s Fan
C onsidered by many to be Belfast’s best gay/transsexual bar, Billy Holiday’s was buzzing when Karl and Naomi entered, passing a sign at the doorway stating: Never mind just
one
good night out. We’ll make your hole weak.
A woman, dressed in tight black leather and uncannily resembling Freddie Mercury, sang from an irritatingly loud karaoke machine. Sweat was escaping from every pore in her muscular body as she swayed, running the mic seductively up the inside of her thighs. The fake moustache glued to thick lips was the only thing that looked real.
Accompanying her on stage was a tall, bald man covered in tattoos, grinding an air guitar, his face a mixture of anguish, pain and ecstasy.
“Naomi! Karl! Toot-a-loot! Over here, darlings!” shouted a voice from a darkened far corner.
“Ivana!” Naomi immediately smiled, waving back enthusiastically. Karl, less so.
“I didn’t think you were coming, Naomi,” claimed Ivana, kiss-kissing Naomi’s cheeks falsely.
“We wouldn’t have missed it for anything, Ivana,” said Naomi, handing a small birthday-wrapped box to Ivana.
“Oh, you lovely person. You really shouldn’t have,” gushed Ivana.
“That’s exactly what I told
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