Page 91 of Dublin's Danger Dancer

“In an ideal world, yes. But that’s not the world we live in, is it Miss Ahern?”

“I want to talk to O’Shaughnessy unobserved, sir. He won’t speak freely if he knows others are watching.”

“You’ll have to clear it by Julia,” he says

“OK.” I say feeling anger rush through my body. “I’ll go and speak to O’Shaughnessy now.”

“You should get some sleep after this, Detective Ahern you’re looking very,” he pauses regarding me carefully “confused,” he says, as one of the hairs standing up with static falls down the front of his head, caressing the deep wrinkles on his forehead.

“I’ll have Mr O’Shaughnessy transferred to an interview room so you can speak to him.”

“Thank you, sir,” I say, rising from the hardback leather lined chair.

“There’s not a chance in hell I’m letting you speak to him without observing you and recording it.” Julia says, her face and neck reddening incredulously.

“He won’t talk to me, Julia, if he knows we are being watched. I’ll tell you everything that he says. I promise.”

“There’s got to be another way to trace Fergus and his bribes to this Interpol human trafficking network?” she tuts.

“Think about all the girls we can help. You have daughters. What would you do if they were trafficked?”

“I’d put a bullet in O’Shaughnessy’s head,” she says, sipping her mug of builder’s brew and hitting the vending machine for a Kit Kat she’d just paid for that was refusing to come out.

It slumps into the black box. She takes it out and peels back the red foil and pushes two chocolate wafer fingers in her mouth, crunching loudly.

“Go ahead,” she says, closing her eyes for a long time, “but after you chat with him. I want something we can link to find this cunt in Interpol.”

“Thanks Julia.” I say walking away. I push my hands into the pockets of the uniform that I’d been lent by the station. The trousers were scratching my leg and the shirt was too tight around my bra causing the material between the buttons to gape open, but I was just grateful that I was no longer wearing my sequin gown. Funny how something so beautiful could hold such dark memories.

As I walk along the corridor to the interview room he’s being held in, butterflies flood my stomach. I feel sick and close to heaving my guts up.

I stop outside the light mahogany door. The silver handle calls me to press it. For a moment I don’t until I hear the click clack of garda issue shoes coming towards me.

I don’t want to be seen to be dithering, so I press open the door. Liam is reclined in his chair, his legs splayed, his wearing a grey t-shirt and grey tracksuit bottoms. He raises his chin to me.

“Is this a conjugal visit?” He asks.

“Do you want it to be?” I say, closing the door behind me.

“Take a seat, guard,” He says, kicking his foot towards the chair opposite.

The walls are painted dove grey. The brushed felt chairs are a mix of brown and black. I sit down on the opposite side of the aged IKEA matte black ringed with white teacup stains.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, detective?” Liam asks.

“Are they treating you okay?” I ask.

“As well as a pig can treat a criminal,” he answers, pushing himself back into the chair.

He sits forward, pushing his elbows on the table and knitting his fingers together.

“How are you feeling? I mean the baby. How are you feeling with the baby?”

“Even if I wanted to have the baby, Liam. There’s no way I could.”

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated,” I say.

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