was a strong smell in the air of burned plastic and rubber. Halfway up the ramp was a tangle of metal that had once been Shelagh Hagerty’s Renault. It resembled a giant dead tarantula rather than a car, because the roof had been ripped apart to form angular legs, and the foam-filled seats were bulging like a furry black body.
There were no human remains inside it, and no fragments of banknotes scattered around. The suspect must have left the car before blowing it up, and taken the bag of money with him.
Close behind this wreck was Garda McCracken’s Mondeo. Six or seven paramedics and firefighters were already clustered around it in their yellow high-visibility jackets. The windscreen had been blown out, and as Katie inched her way between the concrete wall and the jagged remains of the Renault, she could see Garda McCracken still sitting in the driver’s seat, looking pale and bloody, with an oxygen mask over her face.
A grey-haired female paramedic had cut the right sleeve from Garda McCracken’s pale green sweater and attached a colloid drip, holding up the bag of fluid as high as she could. Two of the firefighters were using a long crowbar to wrench open the rear nearside door, which had been wedged backwards by the explosion. The squeal of bending metal reminded Katie of a pig being slaughtered.
One of the paramedics stood back so that Katie could get up close to the car. The blast had torn off the Mondeo’s bonnet, which was lying upside down at the top of the ramp. It had also forced the steering column back into the passenger compartment, so that the steering wheel had crushed Garda McCracken’s collarbone and chest. At first sight, her injuries didn’t look too serious, until Katie realized how deeply the wheel had impacted into her ribcage. She looked up over the oxygen mask with glazed, unfocused eyes, but it was miraculous that she was still conscious.
Katie smiled at her and said, ‘Don’t you worry, Brenda. We’ll soon have you out of there. You have the very best people taking care of you.’
Garda McCracken nodded, although Katie wasn’t sure that she had understood what she was saying.
She stepped away from the car and beckoned Inspector Fennessy over to the side of the ramp. ‘Call Father Burney, would you, Liam?’ she said, quietly. ‘I don’t think she’s got too much longer.’
Inspector Fennessy took out his mobile phone. He looked at Katie with a grim face as he waited for Father Michael to answer. ‘Why is it always the best ones?’ he said. ‘Never the useless collips sitting on their fat arses behind a desk all day, counting the hours till they can go and play golf.’
Katie went back to Garda McCracken. The firefighters had prised off the rear passenger door of the Mondeo and one of them was now lying sideways behind the driver’s seat, loosening the bolts that fixed it to the floor. He was grunting with effort.
‘We’ll have to be very cautious now,’ said the grey-haired paramedic. ‘We don’t know if the pressure of the steering wheel is keeping any of her main arteries constricted. If it is, we may cause catastrophic bleeding when we ease her away from it, and who knows what other damage we might do. I’d say that her sternum’s split and all of her ribs have been broken and pushed inwards, and her right lung’s collapsed. It’s pure amazing that her heart’s still beating so strong.’
Her heart may still have been beating, and she may still have been breathing, but Garda McCracken’s eyes were now closed and her face was as white and greasy-looking as candle wax. The firefighter standing next to Katie said, ‘We’ll disengage her from the steering wheel and then we’ll take the roof off with the cutters and lift her out. Can’t say that I fancy her chances, though.’
The word ‘disengage’ gave Katie a chilly feeling down her back. ‘What do you think?’ she asked the firefighter. ‘It looks like her airbag didn’t work. That might have
There were no human remains inside it, and no fragments of banknotes scattered around. The suspect must have left the car before blowing it up, and taken the bag of money with him.
Close behind this wreck was Garda McCracken’s Mondeo. Six or seven paramedics and firefighters were already clustered around it in their yellow high-visibility jackets. The windscreen had been blown out, and as Katie inched her way between the concrete wall and the jagged remains of the Renault, she could see Garda McCracken still sitting in the driver’s seat, looking pale and bloody, with an oxygen mask over her face.
A grey-haired female paramedic had cut the right sleeve from Garda McCracken’s pale green sweater and attached a colloid drip, holding up the bag of fluid as high as she could. Two of the firefighters were using a long crowbar to wrench open the rear nearside door, which had been wedged backwards by the explosion. The squeal of bending metal reminded Katie of a pig being slaughtered.
One of the paramedics stood back so that Katie could get up close to the car. The blast had torn off the Mondeo’s bonnet, which was lying upside down at the top of the ramp. It had also forced the steering column back into the passenger compartment, so that the steering wheel had crushed Garda McCracken’s collarbone and chest. At first sight, her injuries didn’t look too serious, until Katie realized how deeply the wheel had impacted into her ribcage. She looked up over the oxygen mask with glazed, unfocused eyes, but it was miraculous that she was still conscious.
Katie smiled at her and said, ‘Don’t you worry, Brenda. We’ll soon have you out of there. You have the very best people taking care of you.’
Garda McCracken nodded, although Katie wasn’t sure that she had understood what she was saying.
She stepped away from the car and beckoned Inspector Fennessy over to the side of the ramp. ‘Call Father Burney, would you, Liam?’ she said, quietly. ‘I don’t think she’s got too much longer.’
Inspector Fennessy took out his mobile phone. He looked at Katie with a grim face as he waited for Father Michael to answer. ‘Why is it always the best ones?’ he said. ‘Never the useless collips sitting on their fat arses behind a desk all day, counting the hours till they can go and play golf.’
Katie went back to Garda McCracken. The firefighters had prised off the rear passenger door of the Mondeo and one of them was now lying sideways behind the driver’s seat, loosening the bolts that fixed it to the floor. He was grunting with effort.
‘We’ll have to be very cautious now,’ said the grey-haired paramedic. ‘We don’t know if the pressure of the steering wheel is keeping any of her main arteries constricted. If it is, we may cause catastrophic bleeding when we ease her away from it, and who knows what other damage we might do. I’d say that her sternum’s split and all of her ribs have been broken and pushed inwards, and her right lung’s collapsed. It’s pure amazing that her heart’s still beating so strong.’
Her heart may still have been beating, and she may still have been breathing, but Garda McCracken’s eyes were now closed and her face was as white and greasy-looking as candle wax. The firefighter standing next to Katie said, ‘We’ll disengage her from the steering wheel and then we’ll take the roof off with the cutters and lift her out. Can’t say that I fancy her chances, though.’
The word ‘disengage’ gave Katie a chilly feeling down her back. ‘What do you think?’ she asked the firefighter. ‘It looks like her airbag didn’t work. That might have
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