Read Cold Steel for Free Online

troubled than the others by the violent images. A small number of the investigation team gathered to listen, their shadows casting irregular lines. All eyes were fixed on a ten-by-twenty foot patch of heavily trampled green with divots lifted where red blood had clung to green tufts. The park was tended only occasionally and the grass had grown long and straggly. Its flattened surface stood out like a map.
    'There was a thick pool of blood at that first stake,' Dunne motioned his clipboard towards the yellow tip. 'Then a sort of trail,' he moved the clipboard in an arc, 'to there.' Another yellow tip marked the next stage of the murderous journey.
    Patrick Dillon made notes in a pocket book, his large frame contrasting with the slightly hunched pathologist. He interrupted. 'I'd say something happened at that point, something different.' All eyes switched to him. 'The body seems to have been laid down for a while. The grass is flattened again and there's more bloodstaining.' He scribbled on a corner of a page and went on, 'You can almost see the trail where her feet were dragged.' Dunne and Clarke followed the pointing finger. 'Then she was dumped. Like a sack of coal.'
    For a moment no one spoke, each to their own thoughts but all trying to imagine the scene.
    'There are no footprints,' Dillon added pointedly. 'Someone's gone to a lot of trouble scuffing any footprints.'
    A very deliberate sweep of the earth had fudged all traces where the murderer had stood and walked. Dillon went down on his hunkers, resting chin on upturned hand. His attention was concentrated on one small area close to where the body had lain. 'He must have dragged her head first, hands under armpits.'
    'He?' Clarke cut in.
    'I'd say it's a "he". It usually is, isn't it?' Dillon looked towards Dunne for confirmation.
    'Aye,' agreed the pathologist wearily, 'in Dublin murder is almost always a male activity.'
    Dillon stood up slowly and arched his back, then reached into a side pocket for a Dictaphone, fiddling with its buttons.
    'Any idea what time she died?' Clarke asked.
    Dunne scanned scribbled notes. 'I'd say around ten last night. Her rectal temperature's down to 26C. Her body's cold and stiff. Allowing for the warm night and the light clothes I'd go for ten, no later than eleven.'
    Dunne began putting away his clipboard. 'I'll see you in the morgue.'
    Clarke watched him trudge heavily between the incident tapes, a man worn out by repeated contact with violent death.
    'I'll follow you in an hour,' he shouted at the hunched back. A hand went up in the air to acknowledge.
    Patrick Dillon dictated his immediate observations into the pocket recorder, then flicked it off. 'I'll have a preliminary report as soon as I can.'
    Moss Kavanagh's mobile phone went off in the middle of the first on-site conference and he moved away so as not to disturb. The phone had an unusual ringing tone, like a cartoon jingle. Clarke had nicknamed it 'looney-tunes'.
    'Yes?'
    'That you, Mossy?'
    'It is. That you, Barry?' Barry Nolan was crime reporter for the Post group of newspapers.
    'Aye, what's happening? Is it definitely the Marks girl?'
    Kavanagh swivelled on one foot to make sure he wasn't being overheard. 'I can only confirm we're not looking for her any more.'
    'What happened, Mossy? I heard she was found with a knife in her back, can I print that?'
    'You could print that all right.'
    'Anything else? Was she raped?'
    Kavanagh noticed the group breaking up. 'Nothing yet. Ring me tonight and I might have something more.'
    'Ah fuck, Mossy, how am I gonna make the last edition?'
    'I'll give you an exclusive on the PM for the morning, okay?'
    'Jaysus, I love you, Mossy, d'ye know that?'
    'Bugger off,' advised Kavanagh. He pushed the OFF button.
     
     
     
    4
    2.57 pm
     
     
    Micko Kelly didn't know he had blood on his hands when he finally awoke to the high-pitched screech of the drug-addicted baby in the next flat. It was just before three that afternoon and he was still