“So a note on your door?”, the police officer was a round-faced man who looked like he had just gotten up minutes before I arrived. His pressed uniform was incongruous with his haggard appearance.
“Yes”, I said handing him the note,” The message is the same as the text and phone call that I got.”
He scanned it with eagle eyes then went to his colleagues at the back. I had to stop myself hopping from foot to foot at the familiarity of the procedure. I was a regular at the Garda station as some people were at the pub. Maybe that was a bad comparison. I looked at the notice board and the pamphlets full of public service announcements. I looked at one on road safety and the importance of wearing a seatbelt, flipping through it aimlessly. Once my dad died, I couldn’t look at anything to do
