Page 83 of Dublin's Danger Dancer

“Every fucking thing you’ve ever said to me is a lie. I’d hate to be you. You have no fucking idea who you are.”

I walk towards him looking over him as he buckles against the ties, arching his back. His white tux shirt is dirty.

“Is Ciara even your real name?” he asks. “And all the business about you using drugs? Of course, that was lies too,” he says shaking his head laughing.

“Ciara actually is my real name.” I say, looking at one of the chisels I’d found to push under his nails.

“You handler got you to keep your name?” He questions.

“When you’re as deep undercover as I am. It’s easier to use the same name.”

“But Connelly isn’t your last real last name?” He asks. “Ciara Ahern, that’s your name isn’t it? Your interest in Harriet’s death. Your her cousin?”

“I was her sister, you feckin gobshite.” I say, stalking towards him with the chisel in one hand and a mallet in another.

“That’s why you did all of this. Became a detective. Went undercover. Fucked me. It was all to find out...” he stops. “Fuck. God, this is bad. If I had known she had a sister, I would have...”

“I’m on her feckin’ tombstone. She was a beloved daughter, SISTER and niece. Had you ever been to her grave, you’d have known.”

“I didn’t even know where she was buried. How would I?”

“But you saw me at St Mary’s?”

“That’s where my mum is buried. What was left of her anyways.” he tries again to pull at his cable ties.

“You have to believe me. I wish I could have saved you all this suffering because” he pauses, “the answer you’re seeking...God..” buckling against the cable ties.”

“I don’t want to drive this under your nails.” I say stroking the top of the flat headed chisel. “just tell me who murdered her.”

“You know everything that I know, Ciara.”

“I don’t actually, and as you said, that’s what got me into this job.” I say taking a seat next to his legs on the bed.

“Let’s take a trip down memory lane, shall we? It’s Thursday 7 July, 2002,” Liam pulls his cable ties making the rusting bedpost rattle. He tries desperately to slip one over his wrist.

“I’ve tied them too tight. You can forget getting away.”

“I need to use the toilet.”

“That’s grand. I’ll bring the bucket to you. I emptied it earlier, so it’s all fresh for you.”

I bring the bucket over and undo his trousers. He releases a stream of urine into the bucket. I redo his trousers and place the bucket outside the door.

“I’m not going to let you get up until you tell me the truth.”

His gaze shifts away from me.

“Even if you don’t want to hear it?”

I swallow hard. “After my sister was murdered. I was made a ward of my aunt. A lovely, staunchly Catholic woman who decided the devil had entered me and was intent on beating it out of me, day and night. After that didn’t work, she put me into the care system.”

I drag the finger down his arm. “Can you imagine what happened to me? I was thirteen. My breasts and my curves were just developing.”

Liam breathes out angrily. “We never even knew you existed. Harry never mentioned you.”

“She was selling drugs for your father to fund our apartment and my private school. She was twenty-three and she did whatever it took to take care of me. She was more of a mother to me. More than our own mother.”

Liam looks up. “But she would have been only ten when you were born?”

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