Angel of Death

angel of death Book 1 of the Inspector Sheehan Mysteries By Brian O’Hare Copyright held by Modus Operandi Media Limited. This book is a work of Fiction. Names, characters, events or locations are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This book is licensed for private, individual entertainment only. The book contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into an information retrieval system or transmitted in any form by ANY means (electrical, mechanical, photographic, audio recording or otherwise) for any reason (excepting the uses permitted by the licensee by copyright law under terms of fair use) without the specific written permission of the author. GLOSSARY Police Service of Northern Ireland Acronyms. Northern Ireland is part of the United Kingdom (Britain) and its police service has broadly similar ranks to its counterparts in England. The short glossary below, while not exhaustive, is offered to clarify for American readers the abbreviations used in this book. RUC—The Royal Ulster Constabulary now redundant and replaced, in 2001, by: PSNI—The Police Service of Northern Ireland which is peopled by: CC—Chief Constable DCC—Deputy Chief Constable ACC—Assistant Chief Constable CS—Chief Superintendent Superintendent (tends not to be abbreviated) DCI—Detective Chief Inspector DI—Detective Inspector DS—Detective Sergeant DC—Detective Constable SOCO—Scene of Crime Officer Table of Contents ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO TWENTY-THREE TWENTY-FOUR TWENTY-FIVE TWENTY-SIX TWENTY-SEVEN TWENTY-EIGHT TWENTY-NINE THIRTY THIRTY–ONE THIRTY-TWO THIRTY-THREE THIRTY-FOUR THIRTY-FIVE THIRTY-SIX THIRTY-SEVEN THIRTY-EIGHT THIRTY-NINE FORTY FORTY-ONE FORTY-TWO FORTY-THREE FORTY-FOUR ONE D etective Chief Inspector Jim Sheehan studied the mutilated corpse. “Something about the body doesn’t seem right,” he muttered. Detective Sergeant Kevin Doyle looked at him askance. His inscrutable face almost registered surprise. “It’s naked, sir!” he said. “The tongue is pulled some three inches out of its mouth. It’s lying sprawled on the floor on its back. It’s got knife wounds all over the place. Why wouldn’t it look not right?” The chief inspector stared again at the dead body of the Most Reverend Charles Loughran, until today Bishop of the Diocese of Down and Connor. His sergeant was right, of course. This was a brutal murder. The wounds had been inflicted with considerable ferocity but, while there was plenty of blood, it was clear that the victim’s clothes had been removed post-mortem. The bloodied garments were lying in an untidy heap against a far wall, slung there as if to distance them as far as possible from the body. But how did the bishop finish up lying on the floor on his back, his right knee bent, twisted almost, and tucked under his left leg, his hands stretched backwards above his head? Did he simply fall like that after the killer had undressed him or had he been posed like that? And the tongue? How did that happen? Dr. Richard Campbell, Deputy State Forensic Pathologist, a stout man, balding, was kneeling by the body. He had rolled it half-over to examine the back and sides, feeling around the back of the head for bruising or lacerations. Returning the body to its original position, he struggled to his feet, almost losing his balance. He righted himself, breathing rather more heavily than he should. He flicked a glance at Sheehan’s trim, efficient shape as he peeled off his latex gloves and said, somewhat testily, “I really am going to have to start going to the gym.” The corners of Sheehan’s lips twitched but he simply said, “Well, what’s the story?” “I won’t be sure until I see the body back in the mortuary but I’d say the knife wounds did it.” “Y’ think!” It wasn’t a question. “Come now, Jim. I’ve learned a long time ago not to jump at the obvious. But this time, yes, I think!” “Any other injuries? Signs of a struggle?” “None that I can see. The infra-red photos might show some latent bruising but I can’t see anything at the moment” “No trauma to the head anywhere?” “No.” “He’s a big man. Gave in without much of a struggle, did he not? How did the killer overcome him so easily?” “Hard to say right now …” “Ah, come on, Dick. You can hazard some sort of a guess. It’ll be at least a couple of weeks before I see your report.” “Well, don’t hold me to anything, the autopsy could change things entirely, but I’d say the first blow from the knife probably came as a surprise. If it didn’t kill him right away, it certainly would have immobilised him.” “Pretty lucky, what? I mean, the heart is well protected by the sternum and the ribs, isn’t it?” The doctor nodded but said, “Might have been more than luck. There’s a severe wound in the middle.” He pointed. “There, just at the top of the abdomen. Looks like it might have done the trick. If the blade was aimed at just the right angle, it could have hit the heart immediately. If you knew what you were doing, it wouldn’t be that difficult.” “Medical knowledge?” “Maybe, or combat training, perhaps.” “Time of death?” The pathologist consulted his pencilled notes. “Liver temperature relative to room temperature, rigor mortis well started, one and a half degrees an hour …” He muttered some figures, brows furrowed as he did some mental calculations, and said, “I might have to change my mind about this but I’d guess roughly between ten pm yesterday and four o’clock this morning.” He clicked shut his brief case and looked at his watch. “Nearly ten o’clock and I haven’t opened the office yet. I’m outta here.” “What about the tongue? How did it get like that?” “Oh, it was obviously pulled out deliberately. Judging by the bruises I’d guess a pair of pliers.” “Why?” The pathologist shrugged. “Absolutely no idea.” “Okay! I might call in to see you in a day or so.” “Ah, come