Sometimes I can still hear their taunts when I close my eyes, see their fingers pointing towards my penis.  They hated me and they knew how to show it.  It mattered not that I was merely a child; I was guilty of so many crimes against them. 

I was their freak and they cared little for the idea of bodily autonomy.  They showed everybody who wanted to see, yanking my pants down for the whole world to see.   

At night I would cry myself to sleep wondering what I had ever done to those bitches.  It wasn’t my fault; my mother was a slut.  I never knew what their father saw in her anyway. 

It only grew worse as I reached adolescence and became fully aware of my deficit.  Not a day would pass without comment.  When they thought there was a girl who I might like they made sure to tell her. 

Eventually, I asked a doctor what was wrong with me.  It was what he called a micro-penis and there was nothing that could be done about it, no matter how great my psychological pain. 

When I told them, it was a serious medical condition and no reason to be sneered at, it only made things worse.  Then one day as I reached sixteen, one of them did it again while we were alone in the house.  But this time, fierce anger overcame me and I throttled her by the neck to the sitting room floor. 

For the first time, I could see fear in her eyes.  I wanted her to feel pain, to tear her apart but this was not the time nor place.  Neither of them ever bothered me again.  In fact, they kept their distance from me. 

But soon, I could see their faces in every woman.  Feelings of sexual arousal and hatred became somewhat conflated.  I wanted to punish, hurt, destroy but also to touch and gently caress. 

For a time, the thrill of the burglaries fulfilled my desires but no more.  I had to stop; it became far too risky.  Night patrols had been set up by the local community and CCTV now covered every back alley, every blade of grass.  My stab in the dark killed the man and the whole community was now on high alert. 

It was hard to resist the urge but I had to.  There was no hope of success, I had to bide my time.  Fortunately, after a few months, an opportunity to move came along, which I gratefully accepted, bringing me a new virgin territory to exploit. 

Here, nobody was warned about my existence but I could still use all my skills.  This time though, mere burglaries and invasion of peoples’ private space would no longer suffice. 

It didn’t take long to find my first target and it was during my weekly shop.  With long brown hair, glasses but somewhat pudgy and probably not yet twenty, she stood out not for her beauty but the sense of lostness I picked up from her.  She would be an easy target. 

So, I abandoned my shopping and followed her home to student accommodation apartments.   I watched from a distance, eager for my face not to be captured on any camera as she fortuitously entered one of the ground floor apartments.  Any other floor would be too risky to attack. 

It was then a matter of scoping out the area the next day and hiding my equipment close to the targeted apartment.  You’re probably wondering if I felt any remorse for what I was about to do, maybe even a tinge of regret about my actions. 

No, I never felt anything of the sort.  Only excitement and anticipation of the future joy I was about to feel.  At night, I could barely sleep with the thrill of it all as I would rush through all the required actions in my mind. 

Then the night finally arrived.  It was perfectly dark, windy and wet so there were even fewer people walking the streets late at night.  Even better she was alone, her two flatmates having left for the weekend. 

Getting in through the bathroom window was rudimentary for a person of my skills.  Then silently I went towards her bedroom and slowly opened the door.  There she was, fast asleep in front of me.  Little did she know what awaited her. 

I quickly jumped on top of her and put a blade to her throat.  She was not a fighter and froze on the spot.  She pleaded through her tears not to rape her, that she was a virgin but it mattered not to me. 

I raped her there and then.  Then I rested and did it again.  By then, she was a shadow of the woman I had first seen as if she was just a body now, without a soul.  Before leaving I rummaged through her bags, making sure I knew where her real home was.  I told her that her mother would be next if the police were called and with that, I left her sobbing and bruised on the floor. 

For weeks, I was ecstatic, the greatest high I had ever felt.  Everything had gone so perfectly.  There was no mention of my crime anywhere, leaving me with a sense of invincibility.   

Each night I relived each moment in my mind as if I worried, I might forget something.  But then once as the weeks passed just like with the burglaries, the thrill began to fade and the urge to repeat the experience grew stronger. 

Then the prowl started once again.  There were so many potential victims.  A few were followed but found to be unsuitable targets, whether it was the place they lived or who it was with. 

But inevitably I found legitimate ones.  The next victim was older, almost forty I reckon.  She fought hard but I eventually overpowered her.  She paid for that, I left her scarred.  She will never forget me. 

This time, though, the police were called despite my threats.  I noticed the odd poster here and there.  Still, they had no inkling of who I was so I was not deterred. 

So, I struck again and in quick succession.  Each time as thrilling as the last.  A cloud of terror descended over the community but they still had no idea who it was.  So much so, that I decided to go to one of the community meetings that was called by the police. 

It was held in the gym hall of a local primary school.  Chairs were set out in rows from the very front to the very back.  Being somewhat cheeky I decided to go towards the front.  The first two rows were already filled so I slotted in behind them; a large crowd was in attendance of all ages, male and female.  Fear was written over the faces of many; it felt good.  

There was a heavy police presence.  Whether that was because they knew I might appear or they were worried about the community’s anger boiling over, I wasn’t quite sure.  It didn’t take long for everyone to become seated and for the meeting to start.  Everyone was there because of me.  The lead investigator, a short policewoman with a bald head took center stage. 

A silence quickly spread over the room.  Everybody appeared to be anxious to hear what she was going to say.  I made sure to fit in and look concerned as best I could.   

In truth, she was rather a bore rambling on about measures that women could supposedly take to remain safe, asking for the community to report any suspicious activity and saying they were doing everything possible to catch the attacker.  As if I could ever be stopped.  Anywhere else and I might have laughed. 

Then she asked if there were any questions.  Hands flew up into the air.  Most were just desperate appeals to police about how they were living in fear.  The first was an elderly woman living on her own who was terrified of being attacked.  As if I’d be bothered but she was informed that they took her concerns very seriously and they would talk to her privately after the event. 

Then a few younger women spoke about how I was destroying their lives, how they were afraid to go out on their own and how hard it was to concentrate on their studies.  That this was supposed to be the best time of their lives but it had turned into a nightmare.  Usually, they then broke down in tears. 

Then a man began to speak in a pompous, confident tone.  He was in the front and I could see him clearly, he was bald, short and stout. 

“I tell you one thing, if he comes after my wife and I get my hands on that monster, there’ll be no stopping me and no calling you guys.  He’s nothing but a coward who picks on the weak,” said the ghoul to a loud round of applause.   

I was filled with rage, the like I had never felt before and wanted to rip his head off on the spot.  But this was not the time or place.  Imagine that, calling me a coward.  A few other people spoke but I now cared little.  As the meeting ended, there was only one thought on my mind. 

I kept my eyes fixed on his location as he went, always making sure to keep a few people behind.  There was always a chance that there was surveillance in place, hoping to catch me. 

Just as he was about to reach the exit, he was stopped by a group of women, presumably because they liked his little speech.  It was just the opportunity I needed, I headed straight to my vehicle, which was parked some distance away but he would likely have to pass.  Then I waited for him to come out. 

It didn’t take long for that to occur and I immediately followed behind him, hoping he did not live too far away.  But I followed him for ten minutes, then twenty and no sign of him stopping.  Then thirty minutes later in a rural location, he finally disappeared into a driveway.  He wasn’t even a local but just wanted to pretend he was brave.  He foolishly thought he was in a safe place to berate me, that I would never pursue him.  Now it was only a matter of time before I had him and his wife. 

Patience – that is the key – and the reason I will never be caught.  I put all my focus on that house and finding out everything about them.  So much time passed that the posters looking for the rapist had all blown down.  Perhaps the community had hoped it was all coming to an end when in reality it was only beginning.  His wife, who was in her early fifties and quite overweight would not have been my usual target but it was time for a special exemption. 

The planning was meticulous; every little detail was important.  Nothing was going to get in my way.  The week before the attack I sneaked into the house, not to steal but to place the tools of the trade in hidden spots until they were needed.  The only things I needed to bring would be myself and the condoms and gloves so I wouldn’t leave any DNA around. 

An hour before the attack I had a shower, making sure to scrub my skin hard till it turned red.  It was all about leaving nothing behind me.  Shortly after midnight, I snuck into the house.  As expected, they had not found any of my hidden items in the meantime.  Once I had a knife at her throat, they both complied with everything I said.  They were in no doubt that I would slit her throat if there was any resistance. 

First, the man who was tied up on a chair, insisted on telling me through tears that his name was John as if there was some part of me that should care.  With him immobilized and no longer a threat, attention could fully focus on his wife. 

Her nightdress was ripped open and the rape began.  I insisted she roared out how much she was enjoying it and that I was bigger than him.  I couldn’t but help looking back at him through the ski mask to see his humiliation. 

Then I stopped for a while to ridicule him face-to-face.   I started to laugh at him calling him a little man and a loser, but then resistance came from a most unexpected source. 

“Leave him alone, you bastard!  You’re nothing but a coward with a small dick,” she yelled through tears. 

This was not the respect I yearned for and I felt a sudden rage.  Without even a second thought I jumped on top of her once more and plunged the knife in her repeatedly and watched her life fade away.  He pleaded with me to stop but it had only been a form of encouragement. 

There was no coming back from this, it was the next level.  A level I had never expected to reach but my soul felt cleansed.  This was what I was born to do.  Now it was just a matter of clearing my tracks. 

I quickly slit his throat.  There would be no survivors.  Then the house was set alight and I disappeared into the darkness.  Now everything had changed, changed utterly. 

Weeks, then months passed and Sean had heard nothing from Billy.  But he knew it was only a matter of time before he came knocking.  The gang warfare had continued its incessant onslaught.  Bodies were showing up in all corners of the city, sometimes killed execution-style with a bullet to the back of the head. 

Sean had given up hope of anything ever happening with Laura. In fact, she said that was now with someone and happily so.  It made him feel ill just to think about it, it was probably someone boring.  Laura had been clear about it though.  They may have had a night of passion once, but it was just fun.  It never meant anything and now she only saw him as a friend.  Deep down Sean knew he would be thinking likewise if not for his injury, officially telling her he was pleased she had found someone. 

At least it was now June and there was a persistent high over the country.  Even Sean couldn’t help but be cheered by the warm weather.  It made his transfers easier; his hands were no longer frozen and at night time he didn’t have to worry about his paralyzed legs turning blue. 

But it was so much more than too, if only it could be summer all year round.  This particular Monday morning was a joy.  There was no need to bring a coat to work, he was hit by the warm air once he opened the front door and wheeled towards his car. 

He wondered what his day would hold as he turned on some pop music for his trip, having long got tired of listening to the depressing news in the morning – something strangely that never bothered him pre-accident.  Better to start the day in a good frame of mind. 

Everything seemed normal when he reached his desk.  There was still the large pile of files on his table that he needed to go through.  Better get straight into it, he thought, so that he could leave early and enjoy some of that sun.  He even considered taking a half-day. 

It was only after an hour that he realized there was something untoward when Laura frantically burst into his office. 

“Have you received anything yet?  I don’t believe it.” 

Somewhat bemused, Sean asked her what was she on about. 

“The Ripper has struck again.  That’s the nickname he’s been given.  Did you not hear from the news?” she said with incredulity.  

He quickly searched through the top of his pile but he hadn’t received anything yet.  Laura, who he probably shouldn’t have told about even his small role in the case informed him that the latest murders were reported to have happened on Saturday night in County Mayo, the other side of the country to the first ones.  It was another couple.  The pathologist had visited the scene the previous day, Sunday. 

Sean couldn’t help but be excited.  So much time had passed, but he was back.  Once again, the now so-called “Irish Ripper” was the talk of the station.  Everybody had a theory of what his motivations were and who he was; from the absurd to the sublime.  Some thought it was just a copycat to cover another reason for killing the latest couple; others were saying that the notorious killer from the seventies Bundy had been reincarnated. 

He waited impatiently for the pathologist’s report to arrive.  It wouldn’t have to wait in a pile.  But the hours passed by and it wasn’t long till lunchtime started to approach.  He was disappointed but thought it was likely to come in the afternoon. 

It was still not there on his return but there was a note telling him to attend the Superintendent’s office at three o’clock.  He suddenly felt queasy; perhaps Laura had not been keeping her mouth shut and he was about to be disciplined.  Then, taking a deep breath, he knew he had to calm down; it was unlikely Laura would betray his secrets. 

It quickly became clear that this wasn’t a disciplinary meeting.   There were far too many smiles and handshakes for that.  A special unit was being set up to investigate the murders.  There was a serial killer on the loose and he had to be stopped.  Long hours would be on the cards and they would mostly be unpaid. 

They wanted to know if Sean was prepared to be part of the unit.  He didn’t have to think twice and answered a very affirmative yes.  There were two other people in the room, the Superintendent and Sean’s new superior officer David DeRossa. 

Sean would continue to work from the same office but may have to attend meetings, both formal and informal throughout the country.  Also, he should now be prepared to field calls at any time.  This was exactly what Sean needed in his life, something he could focus on.  This was Sean’s first-time meeting DeRossa who looked close to retirement in his suit.  He had a full head of grey hair and a heavily wrinkled face with a warm, gregarious smile. 

The Super then insisted on telling De Rossa how proud he and everyone else at the station was of Sean and how well he had done getting over his injury.  It made Sean cringe, but he tried to outwardly smile; asking himself if they would say the same if they knew the whole story. 

Once that ended Sean headed back to his desk, but not before DeRossa handed him the pathologist’s report of the latest murders and other documentation, which he was told to read.  Full of intrigue, Sean wondered if he has ever loved his job quite so much, and he wasn’t quite sure what that said about him. 

On reading the report, it became clear that the news media reports were somewhat lacking in accuracy.  The two bodies had been found in a rural house close to Ballaghaderreen in Roscommon, not Mayo – although it was close to the border.   The corpses had laid there; undiscovered for approximately two weeks before discovery and had started to decompose. 

The scene was eerily similar to the previous one.  Her right breast had been removed after her death due to multiple stab wounds.  This time her intestines had also been removed though, carefully placed to the right of the body. 

Once again, the woman was the first to die.  Her male partner, whose body was found in the same room had died from just a single stab wound to the heart.  He had been strapped in a chair pointed towards her body.   

Sean studiously scanned, then entered all the relevant information onto the database.   Then he began the arduous task of reading all the documentation he was told to.  Most of it was from the FBI in the United States.  They had a behavioral unit seeking to understand the minds of serial killers, originally called sequence killers since the seventies.  An agent called John Douglas played a particularly important role.  They searched for the worst of the worst and tried to understand the motivations for what they had done.  Some killers such as Ed Kemper aka “The Co-ed Killer”, a monstrously intelligent killer of ten people that included his own mother were all too happy to divulge their secrets.  With others, it had to be slowly teased from them. 

The documentation included a speculative, psychological profile from their current behavioral analysis unit that they hoped would be of assistance.  It stated the following about The Irish Ripper – 

• An emotional age equivalent to a 25 to 31-year-old. 
• Engaged in paraphilic behavior and brutal sex in his private life. 
• Engaged in sex with prostitutes. 
• Had some knowledge of police investigative methods and evidence-gathering techniques. 
• Sexually functional, capable of ejaculation with consenting and non-consenting partners. 

• Enjoyed an audience. 
• Dressed well and would not stand out in upscale neighborhoods. 
• Good physical condition. 
• May have a small penis. 
• Skilled, experienced cat-burglar, and may have begun as such. 

• Had a criminal record as a teenager which was expunged.
• Had some means of income, but did not work in the early-morning hours. 
• Hated women for actual (or perceived) wrongs. 
• If married, probably had a submissive spouse who tolerated his sexually-deviant behavior. 
• Intelligent and articulate. 

• Probably began as a voyeur in his late teens or early twenties. 
• Neat and well-organized in his personal life, and drove a well-maintained car. 
• Peeped in the windows of many people who were not attacked. 
• Possibly unmarried, and did not enter into long-term relationships. 
• Self-assured and confident. 

• Would continue committing violent crimes until incapacitated by prison, death, or other intervention. 
• Would have been described by those who knew him as arrogant, domineering, manipulative, and a chronic liar. 

At least now they had some sort of idea about who they were looking for and there seemed to be plenty of avenues to look into.  Sean hoped he could be a part of that as he excitedly kept reading.   There were also other notes on the general characteristics of serial killers. 

According to the paperwork, there are two types of serial killers; those who are organized and those who are disorganized.  Organized crimes are premeditated and well-thought-out so few clues are left behind.  They are generally antisocial with strong psychopathic tendencies but know right from wrong, are not technically insane and have no remorse.  They take their time and inflict horrendous suffering on their victims. 

Organized killers are likely to be intelligent, attractive, married or living with a domestic partner, employed, educated, skilled, orderly, cunning and controlled. They have some degree of social grace, may even be charming, and have often been thought of as pillars of their community, talking and seducing their victims into being captured.  

With organized offenders, there are typically three separate crime scenes: where the victim was preyed on by the killer, where the victim was murdered, and where the victim’s body was disposed of. Organized killers are usually very difficult to apprehend because they go to inordinate lengths to cover their tracks and often are forensically savvy, meaning they are familiar with police investigation methods.  

They are likely to follow the news media reports of their crimes and may even correspond with the news media.  In rare circumstances, they have even contacted investigators. 

Disorganized killers were very different.  Disorganized crimes, in contrast, are not planned and the criminals typically leave evidence such as their fingerprints or blood at the scene of the murder. There is sometimes no attempt to move or otherwise conceal the corpse after the murder. Disorganized criminals are often young and under the influence of alcohol or drugs, or mentally ill. They often have deficient communication and social skills and may be below average in intelligence. 

The disorganized offender is likely to come from a broken or dysfunctional family and have often have been abused physically or sexually by relatives. They are often sexually inhibited, sexually uninformed and may have sexual aversions or other pathologies. They are more likely than organized criminals to be compulsive masturbators. They are often isolated from others, live alone and are frightened or confused during the commission of their murders. They often do not have reliable transportation, so they kill their victims closer to home than organized offenders. 

There could be no doubt in anybody’s mind that this Ripper was at the extreme end of the organized variety, Sean thought to himself.  The murders were meticulously planned and there were no clues.  They were bordering on perfection.  He must be someone of great intelligence, who was most probably, highly educated. 

Sean continued to read vociferously hoping that his mind would absorb everything.  In addition to the organized/disorganized dichotomy, a serial killer may leave traces of one or both of the following behavioral characteristics: MO (modus operandi or method of operation) and signature—the personal mark or imprint of the offender. While every crime has a MO, not all crimes have a signature.  

The MO is what the offender must do in order to commit the crime. For example, the killer must have the means to control his victims at the crime scene such as tying them up. Significantly, the MO is a learned behavior that can change over time.  

A serial killer will alter and refine his MO to accommodate new circumstances or to incorporate new skills and information. For example, instead of using rope to tie up a victim, the offender may learn that it is easier and more effective to bring handcuffs to the crime scene. 

The signature, on the other hand, is not required in order to commit the crime. Rather, it serves the emotional or psychological needs of the offender. The signature comes from within the psyche of the offender and it reflects a deep fantasy need that the killer has about his victims. Fantasies develop slowly, increase over time and may begin with the torture of animals during childhood. 

The essential core of the signature, when present, is that it is always the same because it emerges out of an offender’s fantasies that evolved long before killing his first victim. The signature may involve mutilation or dismemberment of the victim’s body.  

An investigator, he read, may also encounter deliberate alterations of the crime scene or the victim’s body position at the scene of the murder. If these alterations are made for the purpose of confusing or otherwise misleading criminal investigators, then they are called staging and they are considered to be part of the killer’s MO.  

On the other hand, if the crime scene alterations only serve the fantasy needs of the offender, then they are considered part of the signature and they are referred to as posing. Sometimes, a victim’s body is posed to send a message to the police or the public. 

For a few moments, Sean put down the books and thought about the killer.  In this case, the Gardai knew very little about the MO but a signature was apparent.  The male was in both cases bound to a chair facing the direction of the female who was raped and mutilated, before the killer’s focus turned back to him. 

The killer wanted an audience.  That must be part of the fantasy and where he gets his sexual exhilaration from.  But he must also have had some deep-seated hatred of women leading to the mutilation of their bodies. 

For a moment, Sean felt a chill down his spine.  This killer would not stop of his own accord.  There could yet be dozens of future victims. 

Or was the killer just posing? Sean wondered.  Making potential investigators think it was about sex when it wasn’t?  That didn’t seem likely though, surely no ordinary person could do this? 

Just before Sean left the station to go home for the night, he received details about the victims that would be released to the media within the hour.  It made for particularly depressing reading. 

Both of the victims worked in the medical profession in the Mater hospital in Dublin.  They had told their colleagues they were going on holiday to an undisclosed location and had been butchered in the man’s holiday home.  Even their friends didn’t know where they were going but the Ripper somehow did.  They must have been murdered shortly after their arrival. 

He was a 41-year-old anesthesiologist named John O’Hara, renowned worldwide in his field; she was a much loved 26-year-old nurse originally from the Philippines called Mary.  The callous murder would not only affect them and their colleagues but also an unknowable number of patients. 

He was athletic, tall, handsome and Sean imagined that he would have given the attacker some difficulties.  But there were no signs of a struggle.  A photo of Mary was enclosed.  She was petite with long, flowing hair.  Sean shuddered when he thought about what she must have gone through. 

There were some similarities with the previous murder as regards the location.  They were both one-story.  That would have made it easy to survey all the rooms prior to launching an attack or maybe, it was that he could easily escape if things didn’t go according to his diabolical plan. 

Sean, his eyes now tired and sunken turned off his computer to go home.  It had been a long day.  That night, while lying in bed, he wondered what the future would hold both for him and everyone else.  The news on both the radio and television was filled with interviews from ordinary people about their fears of being the next unfortunate victim.  There was now an atmosphere of fear permeating the country. 

To the rest of the world, Sean’s darkest day was obvious, there could be no doubt.  A car crash and paralysis should surely stand head and shoulders over everything else.  But life is not always so straightforward and many can harbor dark secrets, which eat into their very souls. 

The day before Sean’s crash was no ordinary one; it was one that he would also never forget.  The thing that Sean had always liked about being a detective was the freedom that it gave him.  So long as he produced the results, they didn’t care much what he had got up to.  It suited him and them. 

 That morning had started like many others with a visit to a hooker.  Her name was Candice and Sean wanted to know if she wanted her laptop back that had been seized the previous week when her place was raided.  Of course, Sean would want something in return.   

Her place, presumably her home was a dingy two-bedroom flat in a large complex that would usually be a no-go area for lone Gardai.  But it was early morning, the “bad” crowd would be nursing their hangovers at this stage of the day and anyways he was in an unmarked car in civilian clothes, he thought to himself. 

Sean made sure to sidestep the needles and hold his nose as he quickly pranced up to the fourth floor, cocky that everything would go well.  On reaching the apartment, he gave the door a few hard knocks.  Nobody came to answer but he knew from previously checking her website; that she was definitely there, so he knew she was in there probably with a client. 

So; he knocked again and shouted out that it was the Gardai.  After about a minute the door swung open and what appeared more an old boy rather than a man quickly darted out.  Sean couldn’t but smile to himself that he might have just stopped that boy from losing his virginity. 

However, “Candice” to punters but otherwise known as Jane, looked far from amused with a wide grimace across her face.  It didn’t bother Sean though as he salivated at her large breasts, thin waist and long, flowing black hair that touched her buxom bottom.  He knew the drill having had done this, many times previously.  All that mattered was that he had something she needed and would do anything to get back. 

“What the fuck doo ya wan’” she said angrily in red lingerie in her strong Lithuanian accent. 

“Now is that any way to address a gentleman?  Especially one that has come out all this way with a gift?  Surely, not.”  Sean held the laptop forward in front of him so that she would see it. 

She came towards the door but he quickly withdrew it back behind him.   

“Obviously, I would want some kind of reward for my good behavior,” Sean said grinning, “about a half-hour of thank yous should do it…” 

“You coppers, all the same,” she said in loud resignation as she motioned her hands for him to enter. 

She didn’t need to show him to where to go, he remembered from the raid the previous week and headed straight to the bedroom in the cramped flat.  That was when he first set eyes on the beauty and knew he’d be back to have her. 

Not having much time to spare, he quickly took off his clothes throwing them into a pile in the corner.  Briefly, he wondered how many other men she’d had in the last few hours; not that he was the squeamish type.  He hadn’t had sex in a few days and nothing was going to stop him. 

After a few minutes, she appeared before him and asked what he wanted.   

Sean pointed towards his penis and she got on her knees.  His hands brushed through her hair, then began rubbing her breasts as she sucked.  This was what he had been waiting for.  But just as he was about to climax a group of three men entered the room and she withdrew, spitting in his face. 

For a moment, Sean just stood there stunned by the turn of events.  He recognized one of the men from his job; it was Joe McCraven.  A short, articulate gangster, renowned as much for his cleverness as his brutality.  It wasn’t every day you bumped into a criminal with multiple degrees and fluency in foreign languages. 

“Well, well – look who we have here – Detective Sean O’Callaghan.  You’re nothing if not predictable.  I told the boys here that you’d be back.  You see you have a pattern – like a dog who can’t stop pissing on the wrong tree,” he said laughing. 

“What do ya want?” Sean replied angrily, still covering his privates with his hands. 

“Put your fucking clothes on first you disgusting pig,” another of the men interjected, an opportunity he quickly seized. 

It was a set-up.  They knew he’d be back because he always was.  Now they had him on camera with a prostitute that he was involved in busting only the previous week.  His career would be finished in disgrace.  Now it was only about what they wanted in return – and they wanted something very big. 

The Gardai had been running a very successful witness protection program and they wanted details on a snitch by lunchtime.  Sean pleaded with them that they were being totally unreasonable and that there was no way he could get the information that quickly. 

But they were unperturbed, adamant that if they didn’t get the information they needed within that timeframe, Sean’s “porn” would be on the internet and a concerned member of the public would feel obligated to inform his colleagues. 

They wanted the details and in particular the whereabouts of one Stephen Clarke who had turned tout on his former associates after being caught in possession of a major haul of cocaine.  He was due to give evidence that afternoon.  That is why they were insisting on such a tight time constraint; they had been surprised by how long it had taken for their trap to spring. 

“Look man, I couldn’t give a fuck.  Not a fuck, just get his details or else,” said Joe menacingly. 

Sean knew he was skewered, there was no obvious solution.  He put Joe’s number into his mobile phone and told them that he would get they wanted.  They gave him a final warning that they were not the people to be messed with as he hastily made his way out of the apartment. 

His mind was racing as he quickly went down the stairs and into his car.  Once there, he tried to calm down.  He could feel his heart beating through his chest; he needed a plan and he needed it very fast.   

The information about informants was only kept on paper files in drawers in the basement of the station as it was considered too risky to keep them in an electronic format where they could be hacked and copied ad infinitum.  But you needed a swipe card to get down there, and Sean needed to think of a legitimate reason to go visit. 

Then it came to him in a flash.  Garda Laura Mulhern sometimes did the rather boring task of manning the basement some mornings and he was pretty sure that day was one of them.  He knew she had been having a rough time of it lately and having always wanted to bed her, he could kill two birds with the one stone. 

Garda Mulhern was having a dour morning.  A week previously she had broken up with what turned out to be a short-term boyfriend.  She was disappointed that things hadn’t turned out better, missing the sex and having someone to talk to.  He had dumped her, which made her feel worse.  He said that he wanted a girlfriend that would be there when he needed, not on shift work who sometimes wouldn’t show up. 

To boot, it was one of those mornings where she was tasked with manning “The Dungeon”.   It was given that name for many reasons; it was the oldest part of the station and you had to walk down a sheer set of stone steps bowing your head so as not to hit it which led you to an underground cavern.  This was where the station’s greatest secrets were kept. 

It used to be where prisoners were kept back in the day but the conditions were considered too squalid for them, so now it was just used for the torture of Gardai.  This was pure sentry work, making sure someone didn’t just come in and walk off with all the most important files.  It was a tedious job and sometimes she wouldn’t see anybody during her shift at all. 

So, she was quite surprised and somewhat excited to see Detective Callaghan walking down the steps.  She knew that he wanted her, he had made that clear and that fact enthused her, she wanted the attention.   

“How’s things, Laura?” was the somewhat banal start to the conversation, but it quickly turned sexual, with him telling her how sexy she looked in uniform to which she gave a wide smile.  She teased him saying that it would be taken off once she got home. 

She did find it somewhat odd, however when he asked her if she needed a break of any sort.  But she did need to leave for a few minutes and was thankful for it, telling him she’d be quick. 

Sean didn’t waste any time once she was gone, and went immediately going over to her desk, where the computer that held the database was.  All Sean had to do was type in the name and the cabinet number appeared on the screen – L15.  That was the easy part. 

The cabinets didn’t seem to be arranged in any particular order physically.  Cabinets labeled “Z” were besides those labeled “A”, for instance.  This was more likely due to general tardiness over the years rather than a clever security measure. 

Anxiously, he went from cabinet to cabinet, trying to find the required detail; he knew Laura wouldn’t be that long.   Then he paused for a second; it was probably at the very back, he thought to himself.  It was a hunch but he went for it and there it was.   

He quickly opened the file he was looking for, putting the address into his phone, but didn’t send it yet.  His heart started to race when he heard the door starting to open and he tried to quickly walk back to her desk but he only made it three-quarters of the way before she saw him.  He saw an expression of puzzlement on her face and knew he needed to think of something fast. 

“What about tonight?  I was thinking of calling over,” he said with a cheeky grin. 

Laura liked him being so direct; it was about time she allowed herself some fun.  

“Yeah sure why not?  I’ll be waiting for you..” she said with a smile. 

With that, he was out the door.  Things couldn’t have gone better; he had the information he needed and was going to get the sex he had missed out on earlier.  He would have thanked God had he believed in such things.  Actually, maybe he wouldn’t. 

He knew better than to send the details from his own phone so he memorized the address and left it at his desk, then left the station and bought a new pay-as-you-go phone with cash.  Then with some hesitation, he sent on the details, knowing that doing so was probably a death sentence. 

This was not the life Sean had envisioned for himself.  He had tried to stay positive since his accident but things were starting to get him down.  Every day felt like an endurance test of sheer drudgery.  Work was mostly mundane and boring, then he’d come home to an empty house, repeating the process the next day.  Nothing had happened in relation to the double murder in Wicklow except for the newspapers branding the killer “The Irish Ripper.” 

There was the odd argument on television that this was sensationalist and glamourized violence but the name stuck nevertheless.  Sean was surprised that neither had there been a breakthrough in the case or more killings.  Part of him was disappointed. 

He missed the excitement of his old life and the murders had all too briefly brought some of that back.  But now it seemed to be gone all too fleetingly.  He longed to be able to stand again, to run; to spend days driving around Dublin looking for suspects. 

Sex was another thing he craved.  He had none since his injury; in fact, there hadn’t even been a kiss.  He wondered what it would be like now that he could feel nothing in his penis.  It felt like he was a virgin all over again.  He wouldn’t even know where to start, it had been such a long time since he felt so vulnerable and lost. 

Like everything these days, he went to the internet for guidance, which was a complex myriad of information.  Some websites had a reassuring message that there was more to sex than just penetration.  There was touching, sensuality and intimacy.  In fact, some said they had better sex after injury and even found other erogenous spots on their body to receive pleasure but that it took time and patience. 

But on other websites, there was negativity, with men especially saying how hard they found it to find partners with a visible disability.  That women just no longer looked at them post-injury.  They yearned for companionship and for someone to reach out and touch them. 

There were disability dating websites.  Sean wasn’t quite sure if he’d date a woman with a disability.  Life seemed so complicated as it was.  Surely, an able-bodied woman, who could do things he can’t be best.  But he wasn’t ruling out the idea.   

Then there was a further complication in that some able-bodied people had a sexual preference or kink for disability.  It was something Sean couldn’t quite get his head around.  In any event, female devotees seemed to be rare and he thought it unlikely, that he would ever meet any. 

A week previously, he had tried his luck with Laura but to no avail.  She had done it once; it wasn’t like they would have been breaking new ground but that’s not the way she saw it.  They were friends now; it wasn’t the same and that was only ever intended as a once-off. 

“Is it the chair?” he retorted but in response, she slammed the door in his face. 

Sean thought Jack would understand but he had a wholly different perspective when he mentioned it to him at tea break.  Little did he know she had already phoned him wondering was she in the wrong much to Jack’s chagrin.  She was far too good for him and anyway, he had an eye for her himself. 

“You really are an asshole, but I guess you always were.  She doesn’t owe you a thing, yet she’s been there worried about you since your return,” he replied. 

Sean nodded in quiet acquiescence and changed the conversation back to football.  Perhaps he was in the wrong but he hadn’t anticipated such a strong rebuttal.  He had expected at least some sympathy but there was none whatsoever. 

On returning to his desk, he felt a rage coursing through his veins.  This was the first time that he felt everything was just getting too much.  He had no reason to look forward to the next day or any day in his future.  His future seemed unendingly bleak. 

He tried to finish off his day at work but left early, telling people that he had a medical appointment but nobody seemed to care anyway.  Sean thought he needed medicine alright, but it would be in the form of a nice cold beer. 

For a few minutes he wondered in his car where would the best place to go given his circumstances.  Then “Flanagans” popped into his mind.  It was in the middle of his old work area and he remembered that there were no steps or that into it.  It was in a rough area though where he might bump into undesirables he once knew, but he didn’t care anymore. 

Fortunately, as he had left early, he missed rush hour and it only took twenty minutes to reach the pub although he had to park a street away as there was nowhere else suitable to.  It was somewhat of a relief to finally get to the front door of the pub in his chair where a kind woman opened the door. 

There was already a good crowd inside, all of whom seemed to look in his direction as he entered.  It was a musty, archaic place but that didn’t bother Sean who went to one of the free low tables at the back.  There was a muted television not too far from him.   Everything was as he remembered, giving him a brief sense of stability in a tumultuous day.  Just a few seconds later, one of the two exquisitely dressed barmen came over to ask if he wanted anything. 

Without thinking he asked for his favorite staple, a whiskey, and red.  Once the first drop hit his lips, he began to think about all the high points in his life.  Maybe he could still have a few more, he thought to himself.   

It didn’t take long for the first whiskey to go down, then another and another till they all started to blur into one another.  The bar gradually became more and more packed and a band started to get ready to play. 

“Bejesus, is that you?  I thought you wer’ dead!” 

It was one of the former McCraven twins with a henchman.  This was one of the worst people Sean could have bumped into as the twins were notoriously violent and hated cops.  They must have taken over this territory since Sean was last there.   

The McCraven twins were Billy Sullivan and Joe McCraven.  It was Billy who now stood before him.  Strangely they were not actually related but earned the moniker due to the fact they had grown up in the same vicinity, their similar appearance and age.   Joe and his loyal henchman had been murdered a few days after Sean’s accident. 

“It’s me all right,” Sean sternly replied, anxious to show no fear as the two men sat down at his table.  

Billy, a bald, heavy man with a protruding square jaw, and impeccably dressed in a black suit sat right beside him.  The henchman who was slender, with ruffled long hair and with a withdrawn look that signified a drug addiction sat disinterested further away. 

“Long time, no see.  You still a pig?” Billy asked a passive-aggressive tone, with a big smile. 

Sean nodded that he was.  Fortunately, they were in a public place so he was pretty sure – or at least hoping – that there would be no violence.  If there was, he wouldn’t stand a chance.  His calculation would have been somewhat different if they were down a dark alley instead. 

“I now own quite a nice stake of this place.  Going up in the world you see.  Hope you enjoy your night, I mean that.” 

Billy then turned to the barman and signaled to get Sean another one.    

Then he patted Sean on his back before motioning towards him and whispering in his ear, 

“Thanks, by the way for Stephen Clarke.  Jessica told me when I paid her a visit.  She’s such a nice, sweet girl.  I’m sure none of your Garda buddies know about that.  If they did, all that sympathy for you being a cripple would evaporate very fucking fast.  Don’t worry, I’ll be in touch.” 

With that Billy and his henchman got up and left leaving Sean in a state of shock.  Nobody should have known about Stephen Clarke especially not the likes of Billy McManus.  Stephen had been shot dead many months ago.  This idea of going to the pub was probably the worst mistake Sean had ever made.  Now he would be beholden to a criminal – and one of the worst ones in the city at that. 

There was nothing for it except a few more whiskeys; nothing really mattered anymore.  Sean was now starting to get emotional with the odd tear slowly flowing down either side of his face.  He knew, even in his drunken state that he would be drawing unwanted attention towards himself so he headed to the disabled bathroom, needing to empty his bladder in any event.   

Fortunately, the bathroom was as large as he remembered and the wheelchair was easily able to fit in.  He then self-catheterized, before moving towards the mirror to wipe the tears from his eyes. 

Sean could hear a noise in the background and slowly opened his eyes.  Confused at first, he quickly realized that he was still in the toilet.  He quickly looked at his watch; over two hours had passed.  It was definitely time to go, he thought to himself.  At least his head had cleared somewhat as he remembered with a shudder the trouble he was now in with Billy. 

He opened the toilet door and pushed himself out hoping nobody would realize what had happened; more for his own dignity than any other reason.  Fortunately, the bar was now packed and nobody was paying him much attention, except maybe a bit of annoyance when he had to ask them to move out of his way. 

Soon he was out and hit by a refreshing cold breeze.  Making his way slowly back to his car he found himself constantly looking over his shoulder for fear that Billy or one of his cronies would be after him, though he probably had little to fear for all the wrong reasons.   

The parking spot for his car seemed far from ideal now; down a narrow, poorly lit side street.  So, it was with a sense of intense relief that he finally transferred back into his car and ignited the engine.  Now for the next problem. 

Sean knew he was certainly over the alcohol limit for driving.  His little sleep might have been a blessing in disguise as he would have almost definitely crashed the car on his way home otherwise.  He had perhaps undeservedly been given a chance to fight another day. 

Pausing for a few moments he considered the best route home to avoid being caught for drink driving by his colleagues.  Fortunately, when they did set up stops, they almost always picked the same spots.  If he went the back streets, he thought, he should be okay. 

Meanwhile, Billy could hardly believe his luck that he had seen Sean in the bar; it was like receiving the greatest gift in his life.  He had thought him dead, for otherwise, he would have sought him out already.  There was nothing an Irish criminal would want more than to have a dirty Garda but to have an Inspector on the side, would be a game-changer. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t have given Jessica such a vicious beating after all.  She had fallen behind on her money; that’s just not something that can be let go, otherwise, they’d all be at it.  Through her tears, she had offered a freebie but he was just after sex already.   

It was after the first hard punch to her stomach that she had told him about Sean. 

“What’s the fucking point telling me that ya stupid bitch?  He’s dead, I heard!” he roared before continuing his gratuitous assault. 

When he left, she was rolled up in a corner sobbing in a pool of blood.  He knew that he had gone overboard; her face was even a mess and that was bad for business no matter how good he felt afterward. 

Now it turned out, she really had given him valuable information.  Ah well, it wasn’t the kind of thing that Billy would dwell on for longer than a few seconds.  That was one of the reasons why he was so suited to this life; there was little use for things such as compassion and forgiveness. 

No, he had many more important things to consider like how he could use this new tool against his enemies.  It would take time though, it had to appear like he had lady luck on his side rather than playing a rigged game. 

It would mean that he could sleep a bit more soundly at night.  With that, he pondered his next move.  He could go home to his wife and three kids or pay a visit to his latest girlfriend; a leggy, Chechen girl called Nathalie.  She had promised him a good night after the expensive Gucci handbag he got her and now he was in the right kind of mood for it.