Page 93 of Dublin's Danger Dancer

Julia walked over to my desk.

“Not coming tonight to celebrate your brilliant victory after two years of undercover work? Fergus would be turning in his grave.”

“He’s not in a grave yet, so he’ll be turning in his morgue bag.”

“Come with us. You deserve to celebrate this. If it wasn’t for your hard work and efforts. We wouldn’t be breaking up the biggest human trafficking network in the world!”

“What’s Liam been charged with?” I ask.

“He is due to be arraigned tomorrow, one count of drugs smuggling and four counts of murder with intent.”

“How long do you think he’ll get?”Julia’s eyes narrow. My question has alerted her to my over involvement with Liam O’Shaughnessy.

“You should speak to psyche, becoming overly involved with people you spent two years with. It’s normal you have to disentangle yourself from this. He’s not a part of your life. We’ll be at the pub across the road if you wanna join us.”

I turn back to my computer and continue tapping, watching the alerts go out across the continent and reading the notes that are coming in. In Italy, a group of police officers were arrested during a nightclub raid as they tried to speed away with six girls in the back of the police van, ready to be trafficked.

My stomach churns. Apart from the many cups of milky builders brew tea. I hadn’t eaten anything today. In fact, my appetite had completely faded and I felt a constant backdrop of nausea.

Grateful that Ireland recently legalised abortion, I type into Google: abortion clinic Dublin.

Chapter Twenty-three

Julia’s name flashes on my phone. I answer.

“I thought you’d want to know O’Shaughnessy got off on a technicality.”

“All the charges?”

“The CPS says the case against him won’t stand. They’ve released him today.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” I say ending the call.

The air is crisp. Brown leaves flutter towards the cobblestoned ground.

I listen to a tour guide walking tourists through the orange autumn leaves.

“The beautiful thing about Dublin is that you can follow the River Liffey through the city centre from Phoenix Park past the Guinness Storehouse, Saint Patrick’s Cathedral and Dublin Castle, out to the newly rejuvenated Docklands.”

Ever since Harry had been pulled out of the river, I’d never considered it beautiful. But today, the way the light is pulling through the silver streaks forming where the stone wall met the water, for the first time, it looked beautiful to me.

I pass a café with a red front and embossed gold writing where couples nestle inside drinking hot chocolate with mini marshmallows bobbing on the surface near an open fire.

I walk under the small bridge through to the red brick townhouse. I stop opposite the blue door with the polished gold doctor’s plaque. I grip the hand railing hard as Ican andclimb the steps to find out my fate.

I climb the white stone steps alongside the black metal spikes that line the entranceway.

As I reach for the handle, a single raindrop drips off a tree looming over the door and smashes into the crown of my head. I push my hand through my hair and march inside.

I don’t have to sit down. The receptionist waves me in.

Doctor Choo has a brown envelope on his desk with my name handwritten on the front. They are the test results I’ve been dreading.

“Take a seat Ciara.” He says.

“It’s a strange disease. It doesn’t come on for twenty years, but then it develops fast. Before we open the results, Ciara. Perhaps you can give me a more accurate timeline of when you were exposed?”

“It was at one of my foster parents. They used to lock me in the attic for long periods. Sometimes the entire weekend. So circa 2004 -2006.”

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