The Emerald Lie

Chapter 2

Superintendent Clancy was as close to apoplexy as it is possible to get short of a brain hemorrhage. Lined before him was the Murder Unit. Among them was the newly promoted Sergeant Ni Iomaire, Ridge. A former ally of Jack Taylor, a rarity in the Guards, openly gay and feisty. Her friendship/alliance with Jack had cost her dear in the past but two years of no contact had fast-tracked her career. Behind her back, she was called, to rhyme with Inspector Gadget,

Inspector Faggot.

Clancy too had once been a close friend of Jack’s but was now his archenemy. He roared at the collected detectives,

“A second murder, the week before the Galway Races?”

The Races mattered; the killings, not so much. He said,

“And the only lead is the cards he leaves on the bodies?”

He had to check his notes, read,

“An a and an e? The sweet Jesus is that about?”

Ridge said,

“Vowels, sir.”

He gave her the Look. He’d picked it up from watching The Armstrong Lie. He said in an icy low tone,

“Don’t f*****g tell me he’s working through the vowels?”

Pause.

“Is he going to start on the frigging consonants next?”

The second murder had happened on the promenade in Salthill. In full view of crowds. Many . . . many witnesses described the killer as

White

Tall

Short

Muslim

A woman

A gang!

Had a small scar under his eye.

A man had been standing right on the edge of the footpath, arguing with somebody, and when the other person left, he’d been approached by a figure who said some words to him, then literally

. . . threw him under the bus.

One witness said,

“It was as if he was waiting for the No. 24 from Eyre Square, then pushed hard and the victim went under the wheels. The pusher had stopped for a moment, then casually walked over and dropped a white card on the mangled remains, turned, and sauntered away.”

Clancy said,

“Whatever else, he’s a brazen bollix.”

Now the super glared at his troops, asked,

“So, thoughts?”

A thick former hurler from Thurles tried,

“He knows his bus times.”

And another wag threw in,

“Least we know the buses are running on time.”

Not smart.

Clancy had left his sense of humor in 1988. He snapped at the wag,

“Take your smart mouth and canvass all the houses along the prom, and I mean all of them.”

A groan.

This was usually a tedious task for a uniform. Now Clancy asked,

“Any more bright sparks?”

Ridge ventured,

“Do the cards tell us anything? Prints, where they were bought?”

A nod from Clancy, then,

“Get on it.”