Cold Steel Read Online Free PDF Page B

twenty feet away from the undergrowth. He was a tall, paunchy man with a magnificent steel-grey beard and moustache that merged with his equally steel-grey head of hair. The end result almost covered his face, masking any expression. His eyes darted from side to side as he spoke, taking in every detail of the park and its surroundings. Despite the warmth of the morning he wore a Donegal tweed suit and Viyella shirt set off badly by a dark blue linen tie. He was something of a living legend within the force with a wealth of stories and humorous anecdotes that flowed like whiskey when the occasion demanded. The usual demanding occasion was murder.
    'Knife in her back to the hilt,' he muttered as he made notes on an A4 page attached to a clipboard. 'Your men tell me she's the missing Marks girl.' It was more statement than question. 'Is that why our friend Dillon's here too?' Dunne grinned at his psychiatric colleague. 'Looking for the mind of our murderer?' he teased.
    Dillon was humming softly and said nothing. Humming was his own peculiar way of dealing with unpleasant situations.
    From somewhere a framed photograph was stuck into Moss Kavanagh's large hands and he glanced at it quickly before handing it over. Clarke and Dunne studied the face smiling out from the frame, then turned and stared at the spot Joe Harrison was photographing.
    'The description given out last night fits exactly,' Dunne said gloomily. He stopped to shout instructions at one of the white-suited forensics. 'And she's certainly got three silver studs in her left ear lobe.' Clarke looked at him. 'She's lying belly down,' explained Dunne, 'but the right side of her face is flat on the ground. I could see the left ear lobe. Three silver studs.' He pointed at the photograph. 'Just like you see in the picture.'
    Clarke squinted closely and noted the tiny silver dimples on the ear of the smiling girl.
    'Three silver studs,' muttered Dunne as he moved off, 'just like you see in the picture.' He paused briefly and turned back. 'And if it is her,' he added unhappily, 'there's going to be hell to pay.'
     
     
    The sun now commanded clear blue skies without a cloud in sight. The warm May day had clothes sticking by the time the pathologist and his team completed their inspection of the murder scene. The body lay where it had been discovered, examined but not moved. Clumps of earth from beside and around had been lifted. Tufts of grass were trowelled, twigs and branches snipped. Brown evidence bags built up at the end of the taped corridor. As plastic protectors were slipped and secured around the feet and hands and head of the body, in the wooden shelter a bloodstained syringe was slipped into a cardboard case. The beer cans and cider bottles and cigarette butts were teased into separate containers. Everything was recorded and detailed. There was an air of weary resignation as the fourteen men and three women went about their work. Another body found, another murder recorded. But secretly each knew this one was going to cause ripples. As if to reinforce their thoughts a helicopter whirred into view with a television crew hanging out the side. The chopper blades almost drowned out conversation, the only relief coming from the cooling effect of its downdraught.
    Just after two that afternoon the body of a young female was gently lifted and carried across Sandymount Park to a waiting hearse where it was laid in the 'shelf compartment. From the nearest-allowed vantage post, a battery of press cameras recorded the movements. Protected by squad cars front and back, the hearse slowly made its way through the afternoon traffic and the short journey across the River Liffey to the city morgue on Dublin's Store Street. A few of the older neighbourhood residents blessed themselves as they watched the cortege leave.
     
     
    'I'd say she got stuck there.'
    Noel Dunne, Jim Clarke and Patrick Dillon stood at the edge of one of the yellow incident tapes. Only Dillon seemed less