Free The Doll's House by Louise Phillips

potential.
    Detectives Quigley and Patterson had pulled in a pal called Johnny Keegan. They had already set up shop in one of the interview rooms at the back, the video cameras hanging high in the corners of the room, recording every word, movement and change of expression. One of the lads would be sitting opposite Keegan, the other moving around. Keegan might keep them company for a while, but he wouldn’t be the only invited guest. Plenty would follow in his footsteps.
    Pushing open the double doors to the side of the building, O’Connor waved to the two uniformed officers stationed outside. Both wore their full Garda apparel, including luminous yellow-striped jackets and navy cloth hats. Striding through the corridors of Harcourt Street, the closer O’Connor got to the incident room, the more he felt he was being sucked into the centre of things. In perfect synchronicity, O’Connor and Chief Superintendent Mick Butler met outside the door.
    Butler had only a couple of months to go in the force. After fewer than half a dozen meetings with pension advisers and accountants, he’d made the decision to take the current early-retirement package, before those cowboys of politicians in Leinster House decided to cut his well-deserved salary even more. O’Connor heard Butler had set himself up with some media contacts. Rumour ran that he had a nice juicy income organised with one of the Irish tabloids for post-retirement. But there were two things O’Connor was sure of. Even with Butler’s imminent retirement, he would maintain his status, and with an unsolved murder from ten years ago still blighting his glorious career, he wasn’t about to add a second. That would be considered sloppy. The killer of Keith Jenkins was the highest thing on Butler’s agenda right now, so O’Connor and everyone else had better deliver.
    ‘O’Connor, fill me in on what’s happening.’
    ‘Quigley and Patterson have pulled in a Johnny Keegan, an ex-participant in Jenkins’s TV show. The two of them have history.’
    ‘What about the autopsy?’
    ‘Morrison will begin it this afternoon. That’s my next destination after here. Hopefully we’ll have a full update from the guys on the CCTV footage later as well. The briefing will cover whatever witness statements we have in so far, but I understand there’s a canary at the club in Kildare Street. It’s always good to have a talker.’
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘Mick French has been allocated as family liaison officer. He’s out in Malahide now.’
    ‘He’ll need help. The fucking media will be everywhere on this one.’
    O’Connor didn’t mention Butler’s prospective change of career. ‘I’ve put two crews operating around the clock at the victim’s residence.’
    ‘Matthews is the bookman on this one.’
    ‘Good choice.’ When it came to interactions in the incident room, the right bookman, O’Connor knew, was critical. He was the one person who saw everything worth seeing, and in allocating tasks, and shifting through material, could turn an investigation.
    ‘Your approval as the senior investigation officer pleases me,’ Butler’s tone loaded with sarcasm, ‘so make sure you keep it that way.’
    ‘I’ve every intention of it.’ O’Connor smiled at the puffed red face of his superior. Butler would want to watch that weight of his when he retired, or his heart, if it existed, might decide to stop beating.
    ‘Anything else, O’Connor, before we go in?’
    ‘We have a hotel receipt.’
    ‘Brilliant. I can’t wait to hear all about it.’ And with that he pushed open the incident-room door.
    All heads turned as the men walked towards the top table, and the sound of multiple voices lowered, as if the room had its own audio control button.
    The chief superintendent cleared his throat, then bellowed, ‘I’ll let you kick start the proceedings, Matthews. Let’s hear what everyone has to say.’
    Sitting beside Chief Superintendent Butler, Matthews’s frame looked like a