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the department and in, and the more likely the investigative team were to jump to conclusions or make mistakes.
    The entire thing was under a huge spotlight. The perp would feel unnerved and flee. The top brass already felt enormous pressure to wrap it up - hence the DPP liaison at the house earlier.
    No matter how this was diced, it would be at best frustrating, and at worst very messy.

9
     
     
    T wo uniforms were there to meet them, and hurriedly escorted them upstairs to where Josh Morrison was being treated.
    Reilly recognized one from a previous case, Fitzgerald, she recalled. He had good hair, thick and lustrous. A cop-face--but the good kind. And blue eyes.
    “You’re just in time, Mr. Morrison is stabilized, and not long back from theater,” Fitzgerald said.
    "Is he talking?" Chris asked.
    "Still intubated. And they induced a coma."
    "Why?" Reilly asked. "Did he suffer head trauma?"
    "Missed that bit," Fitzgerald shrugged. "Something about his liver?”
    "Was he ever conscious?”
    “No. Been under since he was found."
    They arrived outside the ICU to find Josh Morrison in isolation behind a window, and hooked up on various monitors, breathing with a tube and completely covered in bandages.
    There were several doctors and nurses in there checking charts, looking at equipment and clearing out other equipment.
    The ICU head nurse, pretty and in her mid-forties, had a calm and gentle face as she came outside to talk to the detectives.
    “Desperate day,” she said with a thick Cork accent. “Poor divil had a terrible time of it. Nearly lost a couple of fingers defending himself."
    “How many wounds altogether could you make out?” Kennedy asked.
    "Some lacerations on his palms where he grabbed the weapon, incised wound along the shoulder blades, and a puncture wound just below the ribs. You’ll have a better idea obviously, but to my mind, looks like it was a chef's knife."
    The word struck Reilly cold, and for a moment she felt dizzy, but she regained composure.
    It's been over a month. Get Over It.
    Her recent run in with a psychopath known as "the chef” during a previous case, was all too fresh. Chris seemed to feel it too and gave her an unblinking, sympathetic look. Fortunately, he was the only one to notice her falter.
    The woman continued. "Surgeon came down and admitted him once we had him stabilized. He was up in theatre for nearly three hours straight. The knife punctured part of his liver, now he's got nothing left in there to stop the blood toxins. We induced a coma until we can get that liver working again. Have a cocktail in his IV that should do the job in a couple of days. Higher brain functions bound to fail if we don't."
    Kennedy let out a low whistle. They were all feeling that whistle.
    “Blood alcohol level?” Reilly asked, thinking of the bourbon bottle.
    “Not a dickie bird,” the woman told them, which Reilly readily translated as ‘nothing.’ Interesting, so who was drinking from the Jack Daniels bottle on the dining room table? Assuming that was where it had been before the struggle.
    "Thanks, nurse," said Chris. “GFU will need to examine the wounds soon if we can."
    "Of course; I’ve already let the attending nurses know you were coming," she said. “One will need to stay to observe, or assist if needs be.”
    “Not a problem, thank you - and we’d appreciate the help. We’ll also need the clothes Mr Morrison was wearing when he was brought in.”
    “Better talk to A&E about that. I’ll buzz them now and ask them to get everything ready for you.”
    Reilly knew that any forensic trace found on the victim’s clothing would have already been badly contaminated by the wife, paramedics and the hospital staff, who would likely have cut them off his body, but you never knew.
    In any case the torn and bloody garments would help in assessing the nature of the damage inflicted, and if they were lucky, identifying the weapon used.
    In the ICU unit, Josh Morrison was