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be a start.’
    ‘There’s a few more tattoo places you can try if you don’t have any luck there,’ said Detective Horgan. ‘Body and Soul on Rahilly Street and Magic’s on Robert Street. Oh, and there’s Dark Arts on Maylor Street … I know
they
do a lot of Nigerians.’
    ‘“Nigerians” may be
spelled
with a “g”, Horgan,’ Katie retorted, ‘but you
pronounce
it soft, like a “j”.’
    ‘Oh, sorry, ma’am,’ said Detective Horgan, feigning surprise. ‘Don’t want to be accused of inadvertent racism. Or even advertent racism, whatever that is.’
    ‘Shut up, Horgan. And start knocking on doors, both sides of the street. We want to know if anybody was seen coming in or out of this building, and when – and if anybody heard anything unusual, whether it sounded like two gunshots or not. Also, if they heard any arguments or shouting or screaming.’
    ‘Yes, ma’am.’
    The technician sucked in his breath behind his surgical mask and said, ‘We’ll be here for three more hours, at least, probably more. I’ll let you know as soon as we’ve had the victim wheeled off to the path lab.’
    ‘Thanks,’ said Katie. ‘I’d better get on to the state pathologist. Oh God, if it’s Reidy, he’s really going to hate this one. If there’s one thing that gets up his nose, it’s a blindingly obvious cause of death.’

Four
    When she came back out on to the street, Dan Keane from the
Examiner
was waiting for her, as well as the woman reporter in the silvery anorak with the furry collar. Dan had his usual cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth, which waggled when he talked, and his face looked even more prune-coloured than ever.
    ‘What’s the form, Dan?’ she asked him. ‘Didn’t I hear you were retiring?’
    ‘Can’t afford to, superintendent. Not with the price of Powers these days.’
    ‘You could always give it up.’
    ‘Oh yeah, and I could give up breathing, too.’
    ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’
    ‘Sure, yes, sorry. This is the lovely Branna, superintendent. She’s just joined the
Echo
, although I can’t imagine she has half an idea what she’s let herself in for. Detective Superintendent Maguire, meet Branna MacSuibhne. Branna, girl – meet the highly respected and extremely scary Detective Superintendent Maguire.’
    Branna held out her hand but Katie was busy untangling her surgical mask and didn’t take it. ‘Whatever you do,’ she said, nodding at Dan, ‘take everything this man tells you with a bucket-load of salt.’
    Branna MacSuibhne was much younger than she had seemed at first sight. Perhaps it was the bouffant ash-blonde hair which had been sprayed rigidly into place on either side of her face like two water-buffalo horns, or the thick black mascara on her eyelashes. She had a plump, heart-shaped face and was actually quite pretty, though her chin was a little weak, and Katie would have guessed she wasn’t much older than nineteen.
    ‘Do we know who’s gone to higher service yet?’ asked Dan, nodding towards the upstairs room. Branna tugged a new notebook out of her anorak pocket and stood close beside him with her freshly sharpened pencil poised.
    Fionnuala Sweeney came over to join them, with her gingery curls and her trademark green windcheater. Her unshaven cameraman hovered behind her shoulder, repeatedly coughing. Fionnuala held out her RTÉ microphone and smiled sweetly.
    Katie was suddenly conscious of how messy her hair was and she gave it two or three tugs to try and tidy it. Fionnuala widened her eyes and kept on smiling, as if to reassure her that she looked grand and not to worry about it.
    Katie cleared her throat and said, ‘The victim – the victim is an African male of indeterminate age who appears to have been fatally injured by gunshot wounds, although we’ll have to wait for the coroner to establish the precise cause of death.’
    ‘His fecking head was blown off,’ said Dan, blowing smoke out of the corner of his