younger brother of Algis Walunis, that Lithuanian drug-dealer we were talking about the other day. Walunis can be very violent to anybody who crosses him. We’ve arrested him God knows how many times for assault, but can we ever find a witness to stand up in court?’
‘You think Walunis might have done this?’
Katie thought about it, and then shook her head. ‘It’s not really his style. He likes to hear his victims begging for mercy, and he usually uses a knife or a broken bottle, or a baseball bat.’
‘Anybody else?’
‘I know that Horgan was checking on two male suspects in Togher because he had information that they were members of the Real IRA and were both in possession of firearms. I’m not sure what the latest story was with that, but he told me yesterday morning that he was hoping to make an arrest this weekend.’
‘But what if it wasn’t Horgan they were after? What if it was you ?’
‘Well, that was my first thought,’ said Katie. ‘Just at the moment there’s any number of serial scumbags who would breathe a deep sigh of relief if I could be disposed of.’
Technical expert Denis McBride came waddling up to them in his Tyvek suit, holding up a bullet in a pair of tweezers. He was bespectacled and neatly bearded and deeply serious, and one of the best ballistics experts in the country.
‘I found this buried in the back seat upholstery,’ he said. ‘It’s a very powerful round indeed – 7.62 × 54 millimetre R – often used for sniper rifles, especially in Russia and Eastern European countries.’
‘Well, we know that a large proportion of the guns we find in Cork are smuggled in from the Baltic States and the Czech Republic,’ said Katie. ‘So, yes – I suppose it could have been Walunis, or one of his gang, but I still don’t think that Walunis would have been so clinical. This was a calculated hit. From what I’ve heard, Walunis has to work himself up into a frenzy first.’
‘Obviously I’ll have to examine this round more closely, back in the lab,’ said Denis McBride. ‘At a guess, though, I’d say it came from a Mosin-Nagant or Dragunov rifle, or a derivative thereof. They were manufactured under licence in many different countries – Finland, Poland, Norway – and usually they’re not too expensive, about six or seven hundred euros on the black market.’
‘Thanks, Denis,’ said Katie. She looked back at the Toyota. The interior was fitfully lit up by camera flashes, so that she could see Detective Horgan sitting behind the wheel and the blood that had sprayed all over the seat behind him. She turned to Detective Inspector O’Rourke and said, ‘I think I’ll be getting back to the station now, Francis, if you don’t mind driving me.’
‘Not at all,’ said Detective Inspector O’Rourke. ‘I should think you’ve had enough for one day. If I was you, and my missus was me, I’d give you a goody and send you to bed.’
If the circumstances had been different, Katie could have smiled. She hadn’t been given a goody since she was off school with the chickenpox – white bread soaked in hot milk with a spoonful of honey stirred in. But then again, it made her think of her mother, and that unexpectedly gave her a lump in her throat.
* * *
They had almost reached the city when Katie’s iPhone warbled. It was Detective Dooley ringing her.
‘I was wondering if you were still up in Dromsligo, ma’am.’
‘No, no, I’m on my way back,’ Katie told him. ‘I won’t be more than a couple of minutes. We’re in Blackpool, just passing the brewery.’
‘Jesus, that was an awful land about Horgan. None of us can believe it.’
‘I know, Dooley, I know. We can all get together later and talk about it. I think we’ll need to.’
‘You’re all right yourself, though?’
‘Shocked, like you are. But I wasn’t hurt.’
‘Thank God for that. I’ll see you when you get in so.’
There was something in his tone of voice that made Katie think
‘You think Walunis might have done this?’
Katie thought about it, and then shook her head. ‘It’s not really his style. He likes to hear his victims begging for mercy, and he usually uses a knife or a broken bottle, or a baseball bat.’
‘Anybody else?’
‘I know that Horgan was checking on two male suspects in Togher because he had information that they were members of the Real IRA and were both in possession of firearms. I’m not sure what the latest story was with that, but he told me yesterday morning that he was hoping to make an arrest this weekend.’
‘But what if it wasn’t Horgan they were after? What if it was you ?’
‘Well, that was my first thought,’ said Katie. ‘Just at the moment there’s any number of serial scumbags who would breathe a deep sigh of relief if I could be disposed of.’
Technical expert Denis McBride came waddling up to them in his Tyvek suit, holding up a bullet in a pair of tweezers. He was bespectacled and neatly bearded and deeply serious, and one of the best ballistics experts in the country.
‘I found this buried in the back seat upholstery,’ he said. ‘It’s a very powerful round indeed – 7.62 × 54 millimetre R – often used for sniper rifles, especially in Russia and Eastern European countries.’
‘Well, we know that a large proportion of the guns we find in Cork are smuggled in from the Baltic States and the Czech Republic,’ said Katie. ‘So, yes – I suppose it could have been Walunis, or one of his gang, but I still don’t think that Walunis would have been so clinical. This was a calculated hit. From what I’ve heard, Walunis has to work himself up into a frenzy first.’
‘Obviously I’ll have to examine this round more closely, back in the lab,’ said Denis McBride. ‘At a guess, though, I’d say it came from a Mosin-Nagant or Dragunov rifle, or a derivative thereof. They were manufactured under licence in many different countries – Finland, Poland, Norway – and usually they’re not too expensive, about six or seven hundred euros on the black market.’
‘Thanks, Denis,’ said Katie. She looked back at the Toyota. The interior was fitfully lit up by camera flashes, so that she could see Detective Horgan sitting behind the wheel and the blood that had sprayed all over the seat behind him. She turned to Detective Inspector O’Rourke and said, ‘I think I’ll be getting back to the station now, Francis, if you don’t mind driving me.’
‘Not at all,’ said Detective Inspector O’Rourke. ‘I should think you’ve had enough for one day. If I was you, and my missus was me, I’d give you a goody and send you to bed.’
If the circumstances had been different, Katie could have smiled. She hadn’t been given a goody since she was off school with the chickenpox – white bread soaked in hot milk with a spoonful of honey stirred in. But then again, it made her think of her mother, and that unexpectedly gave her a lump in her throat.
* * *
They had almost reached the city when Katie’s iPhone warbled. It was Detective Dooley ringing her.
‘I was wondering if you were still up in Dromsligo, ma’am.’
‘No, no, I’m on my way back,’ Katie told him. ‘I won’t be more than a couple of minutes. We’re in Blackpool, just passing the brewery.’
‘Jesus, that was an awful land about Horgan. None of us can believe it.’
‘I know, Dooley, I know. We can all get together later and talk about it. I think we’ll need to.’
‘You’re all right yourself, though?’
‘Shocked, like you are. But I wasn’t hurt.’
‘Thank God for that. I’ll see you when you get in so.’
There was something in his tone of voice that made Katie think
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