A June of Ordinary Murders Read Online Free

Guinness’s brewery at St James’s Gate. He got the faint, sweet aroma of roasting barley and hops on the air.
    There was no way of knowing how the man and the boy had come to this place. Had they walked or ridden? Had they been driven? Had they come from the city during the night, along the wide expanse of Chesterfield Avenue, or had they entered the park through the gate nearby? If they had come through the village of Chapelizod there was a better probability of witnesses. Perhaps even of identification.
    Swallow glumly told himself the chances were slim. The dead man and child were no villagers. The light clothing and the soft hands suggested a city type. Other questions followed. What time had they come? Were they alone? Why had they come to this remote, out-of-the-way corner of the great park? And what motive could there be for such brutal killings? Robbery might be a possibility, given the absence of any money, a watch or a wallet. Could there be some motive of revenge? Or some set of relationships gone violently wrong? Until he had identification the lives of the man and boy would be unknowable.
    He gave instructions to Doolan.
    â€˜Get every man you can collect, Stephen. Have them search the ground thoroughly from here to the road beyond. Collect anything they find, buttons, coins, clay pipes, cigarette ends. I want anything that looks like a good footprint or a wheel-track to be marked out for plaster-casting. How many men can you raise?’
    â€˜We’ll pull them off the regular beats on the A Division. I can get a dozen.’
    Swallow nodded. ‘You’ll need more. You’ll have to preserve the scene until Dr Lafeyre is done and the photographer too. Contact D Division too. Get them to send everyone they have as well.’
    He pointed towards the end of the track where it exited the park at the Chapelizod Gate.
    â€˜Get a party to follow the road right down to the gate. You’ll need a line of men across the grass, three feet apart, six men each side. Then go the other direction and follow the road up to Chesterfield Avenue. If there’s a gun or cartridges or anything discarded they’ll probably be somewhere along the track.’
    Doolan hurriedly noted the instructions in his pocketbook.
    â€˜That’s all understood. I’ll send down to the city for more men, but it’ll take a while to cover all the ground. I’ll have both ends of the road closed and we’ll the seal off the extended scene.’
    He gestured to where the white-haired friar was standing patiently beside the road, clutching his box of holy oils.
    â€˜We asked Father Laurence from the Merchants’ Quay friary to come out with us earlier. God bless him, he’s been standing there for more than an hour. Are you happy to let him up there to give them their last rites?’
    Swallow glanced over at the priest in his brown habit. He had forgotten about him and felt momentarily guilty. ‘That’s fine as long as he doesn’t interfere with anything. Send a constable up with him to make sure.’
    Doolan went to deploy his men and Swallow walked over to where the park-keeper stood with his gun and dog.
    The man was perhaps 40 years of age, thin and wiry. He was agitated, his eyes darting around as if expecting some new catastrophe to descend, but he offered a consistent account of what he had seen and found.
    Swallow thought he might have been mildly hysterical. That would not rule him out as a suspect. He had experienced cases of violence where the criminal, confronted with a full realisation of what he had done, had gone into shock.
    â€˜I want to see your hands and to examine your clothes,’ Swallow told him. ‘Have you any objection?’
    The man seemed startled. He shrugged and stammered, ‘No … no.’
    â€˜Take off your jacket,’ Swallow commanded, ‘and put your hands out in front of you with the palms up.’
    He gave Swallow the