The next two days passed painfully slow at work.  His life felt like it was falling apart.  Now to add to his problem he found himself arguing with Aimee, who had been up to this point, a rock of comfort that he could depend on.   

He knew in his more lucid moments that it was mostly him to blame for this.  He had been taking out his foul mood on her.  Sometimes, it was her mere chirpiness and positive attitude that he found bothersome. 

Or perhaps it was feelings of guilt, knowing that at any time his mistakes could come to light and her life would be shattered.  Some of the shame would surely end up with her and how would she cope with it for the rest of her days? 

Sean wasn’t exactly sure what Billy wanted, but he knew it wouldn’t be good.  He had thought about doing some work before their meeting but he found it too hard to concentrate. 

Then at quarter-past-two and just as he was about to leave, Laura entered the office.  This was the last thing Sean needed as Laura liked to talk. 

“How come you missed tea?  Not like you?” she asked inquisitively. 

“Oh, I just had a lot of work on.  Actually, I’m just on the way to a medical appointment.” 

He realized the mistake once he said it.  She immediately asked was something wrong and he struggled to think of anything to say.  So, he told her that he would tell her about it tomorrow, to give him some time to think of something. 

“Actually, there was something else that I wanted.   I was thinking last night about the pathologist not finding anything.  Maybe the struggle that was involved; made the killer change from his usual routine.  He panicked or something like that.” 

It was an intriguing possibility, Sean thought to himself and for a moment he really wanted to stop and think about it.  But he had to go or risk Billy’s ire.  So, he told her that he would keep an open mind and continue to look into the possibility that there was a link. 

With that, he bid her farewell and went out to his car.  It was of course not permissible for police just to head off on a personal matter, but sometimes his disability came in handy.  It could be used as an excuse for all sorts of things. 

So, off he went to the designated location to meet Billy.  “Kindergarten”, was of course, a code word for waste ground on the outskirts of Dublin.  Billy always liked using codewords as he believed the added layer of complexity would make it that bit more difficult for the Gardai to ever prosecute him. 

As Sean had expected, Billy was there waiting for him.  Sean hated this place; the muck made it difficult for him to push his wheelchair around and it brought forth all the memories of the times he had betrayed his colleagues. 

On this occasion, Billy was more anxious than usual, nervously pulling on a cigarette; normally he was just angry.  He had bad news for them both.  He was certain that informers had Infiltrated his gang and that it was known that he had a mole in the Gardai. 

He wanted Sean to uncover who they were and fast, so he could personally shoot them on the spot.  Sean tried to explain that there was little he could do, especially if Special Branch had gotten involved.  But Billy was having none of it; having grown tired of Sean’s endless excuses.  So, he threw down an ultimatum and left.   

“Either you find who these cretins are or it will be you getting the bullet.” 

A threat from Billy was not something to be taken lightly but there really was little he could do.  With that, he wheeled back over the muck and stones to his car to head back to work. 

He should have been petrified, but strangely a calm came over him.  There was nothing more he could do having been metaphorically surrounded on all sides except await his fate. 

In ways Billy putting a bullet in his head wouldn’t be the worst way to go, in fact, it would be far preferable to his sins coming to public attention; at least this way there would be tears shed at his funeral. 

So, back to work he went and started to tidy his desk; removing all those files that had been languishing on his desk so that at least his desk would be tidy when the end came; he couldn’t have people saying that he was messy. 

He didn’t bother working late; there was just no point.  Instead, he wanted to spend as much as he could with Aimee, without alarming her.  She should have some positive moments to remember when he was gone, he thought. 

They had been working hard on their relationship, and she was thrilled with the flowers he had bought for her on his way home.   

“What are these for?” she asked lovingly, gazing into his eyes. 

“Just felt like getting you a little something,” he replied in earnest.   

That night, they watched a romantic film before retiring to the bedroom where they kissed passionately and fondled each other’s bodies, into the early hours.  Sean knew now that Aimee was the love of his life and they both knew how to maximize the pleasure of their partner. 

Sean particularly liked having his nipples gently licked and sucked; Aimee loved liked her neck being kissed.  It was like the erogenous areas on their bodies had moved after their paralysis from their lower bodies.  For hours, they lost themselves in each other before falling asleep exhausted. 

Sean heard the alarm the following morning but quickly switched it off; he didn’t care anymore if he was late for work.  It was about an hour or so later that eventually decided to rise; there was no rushing or fretting now.  He decided to turn on his radio while having his breakfast; it was just ads. 

Then just as he was pouring some milk onto his cereal, the following report blared from the radio. 

“Breaking news –  

The serial killer, infamously known as the Irish Ripper has apparently struck again.  This time the victims are from gangland and have been named locally as Billy Sullivan and a woman called Annette Cortez.” 

Sean couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  Immediately he went to check his mobile phone and there they were; five missed calls from the Station.  Sean’s serene morning had been shattered and now he was in a frenzy to get to his desk as quickly as possible. 

As he drove, his mind meandered from one thought to the next.  Surely, it couldn’t be mere coincidence, that it was Billy that was murdered by The Ripper.  The odds must be astronomical against that occurring.  But if there was a link, what could it be? 

The only link that Sean could think of was himself, but “The Ripper” wouldn’t know anything about him – surely?  All Sean really knew was that he had to get to his office as soon as possible to try to make sense of what had happened. 

Reality hit when Sean arrived back in Dublin.  With the task force now more or less defunct, nobody of importance was interested in what he has to say.  There had been no further murders in quite some time and despite the pleas of the victims’ families, other priorities had taken precedence, such as trying to infiltrate criminal gangs and dissident republican groupings. 

The only other Gardai that took what he thought seriously were Laura and Jack during their daily coffee break.  Sean wondered whether he would be taken more seriously if he was still able to walk.  It was always nagging at him at the back of his mind.   

Sean had other troubles though and, in many ways, The Ripper was now a nice distraction.  Billy had become a permanent thorn on his side.  Unfortunately, Sean had little leave remaining and couldn’t escape to another country again. 

Using a wheelchair also made him particularly easy to corner.  It was impossible for him to walk quickly away or take a side street.  Sean wished he could just shoot him but that wasn’t an option, at least for now. 

So instead Sean found himself feeding Billy information.  He could no longer sneakily look at the physical folders but the folders on the Garda intranet system were a totally different matter.  Due to his work on “The Ripper”, he had been given the maximum-security clearance.  Almost certainly it should have been revoked but he just failed to notify his IT section and nobody seemed to notice. 

BIlly was becoming a big-time boss on the back of the information Sean was supplying him.  Suspicions in the station were growing that something wasn’t quite right especially after two drug busts went awry and an informer went “missing”.   

Sean knew that things were now getting way out of hand but he couldn’t bring himself to confess his wrongdoings.  It just wouldn’t happen.  The more interactions he had with Billy the more despicable he found him to be.  There was no moral compass or anything that would even remotely be considered a redeemable trait.  It was also clear that he had a long-running vendetta against the Gardai and took pleasure in making Sean squirm. 

The only light at the end of the tunnel was Aimee who was now staying most nights at his house.  Each night, the dinner would be ready when he arrived home and then they would spend their evenings wrapped together on the sofa.  The only night it differed was when training for wheelchair basketball beckoned. 

Still, even Aimee could not stop the sleepless nights that were now plaguing him.  It was a manifestation of the feeling of dread he felt throughout the day but he couldn’t admit that to her.  Instead, he blamed it fictional tablets that he was supposed to be taking, although he wasn’t quite sure if she believed him. 

The nightmare was always the same.  His colleagues and the community at large had discovered what he had been up to.  Their disgust was evident in their eyes.  Sean tried to explain in vain that it wasn’t his fault, however erroneously but nobody said anything to him.  It’s the shunning that terrified him.  A world where nobody would have anything to do with him again. 

One night was particularly bad, he woke up in a panic sweating, with what feels like a heavy weight on his chest, Aimee’s concerned eyes looking down wondering if he would survive the night.  Just like every other night he shrugs off her concerns and tells her to go back asleep. 

Previously, he too would quickly go back to sleep but not tonight, no matter how much he tossed and turned.  Feelings of his imminent demise would not diffuse and there was nothing he could do about it.  Instead, he just waited for the alarm clock to go off that would signal it was time to get up till it finally did. 

The dark, dreary morning was the perfect match for his somber mood.  He was beginning to think there was little point in carrying on but found the courage from somewhere to get into his car and drive to the station. 

Most days he would turn on the radio to find out what was the news of the day but this time, he just couldn’t be bothered.  There was never anything of interest on it anyway, he would think to himself.  Just the same tired nonsense about house prices and the weather; little else seemed to matter to Irish people. 

In fact, he didn’t talk to anybody on entering the station either – just went straight to his desk to begin the daily drudgery of data entry. 

It was with somewhat of a fright when Garda Mulhern burst into his office. 

“What are ya doing here?  The meeting is about to start!” she exclaimed in a panicked voice. 

She knew by the blank stare that she received in response that he had no idea what she was on about. 

“Did you check your emails, listen to the news, anything??  What world do you live in?  I know about the meeting and I’m not even on the bloody taskforce.” 

Nothing more needed to be said, The Ripper was back.  Sean immediately followed her to the meeting room.  On the way, she explained that the victims were very well known this time: they were a TD and his wife. 

Sean couldn’t believe that the one morning something like this happened, was the same morning he didn’t turn on the radio.  He quickly followed Laura to the lift so they could go up to the top floor where the meeting was being held.  All along she reiterated that he must mention his theory about The Ripper being from England, especially since he had now mentioned so many times during tea break.  He assured her that he would.  With that she opened the door and in he went. 

The meeting had already started, Superintendent DeRossa was at the front presiding over it.  The mood was somber.  There was nowhere for Sean to park so he was forced to go conspicuously to the front.   He expected a warm glance in his direction but none was forthcoming.  Instead, it felt frosty, so different from the past.  For over an hour they reviewed the previous murders assiduously before finally getting to the latest ones. 

There was still only preliminary information available.  The bodies were found in the couples’ holiday home just outside Donegal Town.  Once more, there was no sign of forced entry.  But this time things didn’t seem to have gone quite so well for the attacker.  It appears that the couple put up a serious fight for their lives – perhaps because of previous media attention, they knew what awaited them if they didn’t. 

It appeared that both died from multiple stab wounds and it looked like the wife may have been raped quite some time after she had died.  This time the Gardai were confident that at least some of the blood at the scene was from the attacker so they were hopeful of finally getting DNA evidence.  This would prove crucial to any future prosecution. 

The victims were a well-known, TD from County Meath, and her husband.  They were the parents of a five-year-old girl and a ten-year-old boy, who were being looked after by their grandmother at the time.  At this point, it was unknown if they were specifically targeted or simply unfortunate to be chosen at random.  She was similar to previous female victims, being of a slender build, quite attractive and in her early thirties. 

The mood at the meeting remained downcast throughout with not a word being said out of turn.  Eventually, the Superintendent asked the room if there were any questions.  Sean knew that Laura would never forgive him if he didn’t speak now, so that’s what he did. 

“Actually Sir, I was wondering if I could officially contact the Met in England about a potential connection…” 

The Superintendent stopped him before he could finish. 

“Yes, I read your correspondences.  At this stage we need to try everything so fire ahead,” he said matter-of-factly.  

Not quite the ringing endorsement Sean had expected but it would have to do.  The Superintendent may have been sour due to the recent murders and being under a lot of pressure, he thought to himself. 

With that, the meeting was over and everyone filed back to their desks or wherever they had to go.  For Sean that meant going back down the lift and straight on the phone to England; he had made sure to keep Jim’s number.  

As he rang, he quickly browsed through his emails, but there was nothing about the meeting.  For some reason, he had not even been invited.  Just as well Laura had accidentally coerced him into going uninvited. 

At least Jim was happy to hear from him.  Even he had heard about the latest murder.  The fact a politician was involved had rocketed up the publicity. 

“Great to hear from you Sean!  I was just thinking about you when I heard about the politician being murdered.  In truth, I had expected to hear from you some time ago.” 

Sean explained that it had taken some time to get the required authorization and gave him the details of what he knew about the latest killings.  Jim was intrigued and said that he would forward all the information he had about the Reading Rapist. 

Finally, Sean felt that he was making some sort of process.  But the hard part of definitely linking the rapist to the murderer was still to be done.  Jim emailed him everything later that day. 

The Reading Rapist was everything that Jim had said he was and more.  At his peak, he was insatiably carrying out multiple attacks within a week.  It was not just the extreme violence that marked him out but also the callousness.  As Jim had said, he would cruelly tell his victims during the rape that he would always watch over them and then ring his them months later to remind them, groaning down the phone line. 

It was all about power and exerting continuing control over his victims.  This was something he had in common with “The Ripper” but had it grown or evolved to him becoming a killer and if so, were they the one and the same or was there a further madman on the loose? 

A clear sign that they were indeed one and the same perpetrator would be if genital hair had been removed from the latest female victim.  Sean immediately started typing up an email to the Superintendent requesting permission to contact the State Pathologist. 

All too soon, it came to time for Sean to go home.  Well, it was that or get locked in for the night.  It did cross his mind but he thought the better of it; it would not look good if he was disheveled at work the following day. 

“It was him, wasn’t it?” Aimee said jokingly but with a touch of scorn. 

She knew there was only one person that could keep her beloved away from her and that person was a faceless monster, at least for now.  Often, she wished that she just had a normal boring boyfriend but there was little point in trying to change him.  Instead, she knew he would be galvanized once she heard about the murders earlier in the day. 

The dinner was long gone cold but that bothered Sean little as he excitedly told Aimee about the latest developments while he ate.   

“He’s struck again.  He’s not going to stop killing till we stop him.  Why is it so hard for those idiots to understand?” 

Indeed, she was somewhat interested, at least at first.  But after a while, the grizzly details of the murders became too much; that was when she enticed him to her bed to make use of his renewed vigor. 

The Superintendent confirmed that Sean could contact the State Pathologist the following morning and he quickly phoned him to tell him what to look for based on cases from the Reading Rapist. 

Then the anxious wait to hear back began.  Either fame if there was a link between the two ghastly characters or infamy if it was not as someone who peddled a preposterous theory to his colleagues. 

In vain, he tried to concentrate on some of his other work.  Instead, he found himself staring blankly at the screen thinking of little else.  Every minute, then hour, was counted as he waited for the pathologist to get back to him. 

Then midway through the afternoon, the phone rang in his small office.  Sean suddenly felt nervous.  Unfortunately, it was a short conversation and not the news that Sean wanted to hear.  No pubic hair had been removed from the female victim’s vagina.  His heart sank; no link was established.  All that time and energy was spent for nothing.  Worse still, all of the blood was from the victims. 

He sank into the back of his wheelchair and stared at the white ceiling.  Perhaps he had become overly invested in the investigation.  Then Laura popped her head around the door wondering if there had been any update. 

The last thing Sean wanted to do was talk to someone but he tried to put up a brave face on it.  She could tell how disappointed he was that there was no link and told him that you just never know when a new clue might appear.  He nodded in agreement, even if he didn’t think it at the time. 

Little did he know then, but a few hours later things were to get much worse.  As Sean was leaving out the back of the Garda Station, there was Billy waiting by his car, covertly holding up a newspaper over his face, presumably so he couldn’t be identified by any of the surveillance cameras. 

Sean’s heart thumped knowing that he was in all sorts of danger. 

“Eh what the fuck are you doing here?” he said angrily, but quietly all the same. 

“I’ve been looking for you and I don’t like having to look for people,” he replied. 

It was true, Sean had been ignoring his calls for him and the occasional note left at his house for weeks, blindly hoping that Billy would just go away.  Alas, he was not to have such luck. 

“You work for me pig, don’t ever forget that.  Now I have a little mission for you, cripple.  Meet me at the Kindergarten 3 pm Thursday or you’ll live to regret it,” he said sternly before walking slowly away. 

Sean became teary-eyed; the realization that he would never be done with Billy was now really hitting him.  Maybe he should just turn his wheelchair around and hand himself in, telling his colleagues everything. No, things had just gone too far for that; he pulled himself together and got into the car. 

Sean did contact her the next day and the day after.  Their love quickly blossomed.  It wasn’t long before she was spending the odd night at his house.  The sex was different but good and satisfying. 

It was kind, considerate and long.  With time and attention, they learned how to pleasure one another; whether it was the sensitive spot on Aimee’s neck or Sean getting his nipples sucked; they found ways to bring each other to an unconventional kind of orgasm. 

If only everything else in Sean’s life could have been so rosy.  The Ripper, although now quiet for what seemed a very long time was still at large.  The task force had been somewhat downgraded and he was mostly doing other work.  Yet, none of it could hold his interest the way The Ripper did. 

Billy was sniffing around again looking for more information.  Sean had tried to fob him off but he was becoming increasingly insistent and had enough on Sean to put him away for many years.  The last thing Sean wanted was to leave the force in public humiliation. 

So, it with great positivity that he embraced Aimee’s suggestion that they go on a holiday together.  She had intended they go somewhere in Ireland but Sean scoffed at that suggestion, thinking silently to himself that would be too close and Billy could still contact him. 

Somewhere in England for a week would be much better and they should go very soon.  At first, Aimee protested that she needed time to save up for such a trip.  But Sean insisted that he would be a good boyfriend and pay for it.  After all, he had told her that he was very serious about her and this was not just a frivolous relationship.  In any event, it was now early Autumn and the weather was predicted to be good, it could be their last opportunity to get away for some time. 

That night the internet research began.  They both liked the idea of a road trip; Sean had always wanted to drive through the United Kingdom so he quickly got quite excited at the prospect.  Aimee suggested going to Liverpool for the week but Sean wanted to go further.  However, they both agreed it could be one of the stops. 

It was after that agreement that Sean brought up the fact that he had always wanted to go to London; there was something mythical about the place – the history, monuments and great places to visit.  In particular, Sean had always wanted to see the London Eye. 

Aimee required some convincing though; it would be such a long trip.  But eventually, over a few days, Sean convinced her it was a good idea or at least, she went along with it, anyway. 

The internet proved to be an invaluable resource in planning the trip.  Surprisingly, they were able to organize everything to leave the following Monday.  The ferry, hotels they would be staying in and even the London Eye were all booked in quick succession.   

It was with some relief when the following Monday finally came along.  Billy had wanted to meet but Sean was able to tell him that he would be out of the country.  So, it was with a sense of glee that Sean set off on the trip with Aimee by his side. 

The first stop destination was Dublin port to get the ferry to Hollyhead.  Neither of them had been on the ferry previously so it was a new experience for both.  Unfortunately, there were quite big waves on the sea and Aimee quickly became unwell. 

Sean had more of a head for it though and relished the experience.  He left Aimee for a time to have a look at the amenities on the ship.  In one location you could take a seat and watch the latest film; in another, you could play games consoles or even go out the back of the ship to look at the sea. 

It was a short trip taking just shy of two hours to cross the sea to Wales.  That was the real beginning of the holiday.  The next few days were some of the best Sean ever had.  It wasn’t the trip though that made it special, it was Aimee.  There was nothing that matched waking up in the morning and looking into her beautiful eyes; to feel her soft skin pressed against his body; he never thought he would enjoy life so much. 

The London Eye was as special as he thought it would be.  It never came to a complete halt so you just had to wheel onto it at exactly the right time.  The view when the pod reached its maximum height was fantastically panoramic.  Sean and Aimee were able to look over the bustling city in perfect bliss.  The sound of the French students, who got on at the same time chatting away only added to the experience. 

Sean suggested they go for a few pints when they got back to the hotel, which was in the heart of the city.  Aimee quickly agreed; a few pints were needed after another busy day and they were both exhausted from pushing their wheelchairs around all day. 

The bar, which was on the ground floor of a six-story hotel and looking onto the street was busy but they managed to find a nice corner for themselves.   It was too crowded to move much, so they waited for a staff member to come their way.  This took a few minutes, but they didn’t mind as they were both happy just to relax for a while. 

Then the pints began to flow.  The staff were pleasant and made sure to check if they needed another one every so often.  Originally, they were supposed to be taking it easy but it quickly turned into a session. 

After Sean had his third pint, his tongue began to loosen and he started to strike up random conversations with those around him.  Being mostly tourists themselves, they were happy to chat away too. 

There were the students from Australia, the couple from Scotland and a group of South Africans.  Sean was in his element but Aimee being a much more reserved type retired back to their room after the first two hours to rest.  She told Sean that there was no need for him to rush back and to enjoy himself.    It was music to his ears. 

As he was talking to the group of South Africans, a man with a strong Yorkshire accent at another table interjected. 

“Sorry Sir, did you say you were a police officer from Ireland?” 

If someone asked him that question in a pub back in Ireland, it would make Sean nervous.  The conversation would quickly take a nasty turn to speeding fines or the like.   But Sean felt comfortable enough about it in London. 

He turned around to face the man who was having dinner with a woman, then smiled and said that he was. 

“Do you hear that Maggie, imagine that!  This guy’s a copper from Ireland.  I’m a police officer too, from here in London.  Just having dinner and some pints here with the wife.  My name is Jim,” he replied in a jolly tone. 

Police officers always have a great affinity for one another even when they’re from different countries.  There’s a sense of brotherhood about fighting crime, no matter where or when it is.  But it turned out they were both detectives making it all the greater. 

For the next few hours, they became engrossed in conversation with Maggie saying she would pick up her husband later in their car.  There was just so much to discuss.  The differing staffing and crime levels between the two jurisdictions, not to mention the details of how Sean came to be in a wheelchair. 

Inevitably though the topic of the “Irish Ripper” came to the fore.  Sean was surprised that Jim had heard very little about him, save for remembering a brief mention on the news one night. 

Sean slowly brought him up to speed about the murders and their savagery as well as the different theories about who might be behind them.  Jim was surprised that there was not more about them on this side of the pond. 

But Sean told him that there was very little talk about Ireland in the UK full stop.  It might as well be on the other side of the globe.  If you wanted to know what was happening in Ireland, you had to buy an Irish paper as if it was some curious special interest. 

Sean then told Jim that what really fascinated him was how the Ripper just suddenly appeared from nowhere, and yet was in so proficient at what he did.    Nobody in Ireland could quite figure it out.  It seemed like he could break into anyone’s house without leaving any clues. 

Jim stopped and looked into space for the moment as if he had suddenly become lost in his thoughts.  After a moment, Sean quizzed him about what was on his mind. 

“It’s just what you’re describing reminds me of a case here in England a few years ago.  Except, he was mostly a rapist.  He terrorized Reading and got the moniker of the Reading Rapist.  No matter what we did, we couldn’t stop him.  Then he just stopped the attacks.  To be honest, there was just a huge sense of relief. 

Maybe like what happens with many police operations, we merely moved him on to a different area,” he said in somewhat of a distraught tone. 

Although by now quite intoxicated, Sean suddenly became focused. 

“What do you mean by mostly a rapist?” 

Jim explained that a couple was murdered as the attacks came to an end but there were differing opinions about whether they were the same man as the rapist.  It might have just been a coincidence. 

For the next hour, nothing was discussed except “The Reading Rapist”.  It was obvious that he was a psychopath, but was he a killer? 

He was a ghoul with no understanding of the concept of remorse.  Of particular disgust he was known to phone his victims months after the attacks, taunting them on the phone and telling that he wasn’t quite finished them yet causing them further huge distress.  Jim had seen the aftermath once himself with a woman sobbing uncontrollably in his arms.  The local police had never encountered anything like it before.  The sheer nastiness of the fellow, he simply loved the despair of others. 

They had little knowledge of what the rapist looked like, he always wore a ski mask and gloves.  Some of the women stated that he had a small penis, though that did nothing to alleviate their suffering.  There was one peculiar thing about him though, he took pubic hair from his victims as some sort of trophy. 

Sean seized on this information; this is something that could have been missed on the autopsies of victims in Ireland.  He needed to take this information back home.  It could help to crack the case. 

For a brief alcohol-infused moment Sean felt like he had special powers, that he could see things that others just couldn’t; imagining his future appearance on the RTE news explaining how he had caught “The Irish Ripper”. 

A fellow drunk then interrupted the conversation and the topic changed to rugby and which country had the best team.  It would last a further hour before all finally agreed that it was time for bed.  Well, that and the fact that no further alcohol was going to be served. 

Jim rang his wife for the lift home but not before sticking a calling card into Sean’s pocket; Sean then began the long, arduous process of heading up to his room and into bed.  The wheelchair felt so much harder to push over the hallway carpet after a few drinks.  Fortunately, he just about managed to open the door of his room and get into the bed. 

The next morning came far too quickly for Sean.  Aimee, who for the first time on the trip was less than impressed with him insisted on drawing the curtains once she was up in a passive-aggressive manner.  It was the first time he had seen this side of her. 

“Is there something wrong?” he innocently asked, before regretting it almost instantaneously. 

She was disgusted with him coming into the room so drunk.  This was supposed to be a romantic holiday, not a booze-up.  Sean apologized but she abruptly left the room.  He would have to do a lot of sweet-talking later. 

As he lay on the bed thinking about the night before, trying to remember what had happened, he suddenly remembered meeting Jim and their long conversation about the Reading Rapist and The Irish Ripper.  It gave him a sudden burst of energy to get up and write down all the important points into his notes.  They would be so interested to hear all about this back in Dublin, he was sure of it. 

A few weeks after the latest murders and theories about the identity of the killer abounded on the radio, television and the internet.  Some thought that he worked in construction.  They speculated that this was the reason for the significant distance between the murder sites; perhaps he was a bricklayer or a plasterer. 

Others thought that maybe he worked in the medical field perhaps as a doctor or nurse, as he may have targeted women he worked with and it chimed with the victims. 

Perhaps the most worrying theory was that he was a Garda.  Being in law enforcement may even be aiding him in his crimes.  Most people join the Gardai for good and noble reasons, such as wanting to help and serve their communities. 

However, if a person with abusive tendencies joins, the tools and authority that come with being a Garda would make them even more dangerous.  The lack of evidence left behind at the scenes was worrying.  It was either someone on the inside or someone who had researched assiduously. 

Everybody presumed it was a male but it was still even possible that a vibrator was used on the female victims.  That’s how much they really knew about the killer. 

Sean was now watching and listening to every theory as well as working long hours so he could review the evidence time and time again after his normal work was completed.  So much so that; those around him grew worried about his well-being. 

Even his colleagues berated him for spending so long in the office.  It was obvious to all except him that he was using the chase for the killer as a crutch rather than facing his new life head-on.   

Eventually, his occupational therapist had had enough and told him that he needed to focus on something else, at least for some part of the week.   Wheelchair basketball was a good option to take his mind off things.  It catered for people of differing abilities and it would help him meet people from different backgrounds.  The training was every Wednesday at seven besides the Central Remedial Clinic in Clontarf and they had already been told to expect him. 

She saw the displeasure on his face but told him he also needed to keep fit, knowing the different buttons to press.  So, eventually, he conceded and promised to go.  But if he didn’t like it, he wouldn’t be back.  She smiled and told him it was exactly what he needed. 

The following Wednesday Sean found himself waiting in the car outside the gym.  He had arrived ten minutes early but he should have known not to.  Sean was rare for an Irish-man; he liked to be places ahead of time.  Irish people generally are usually ten minutes late and this group was no exception.  

Sure enough, ten minutes later, the place started to become a hive of activity.  The first sign of life was an elderly man who started to unlock the door, which Sean took as a sign to get out of the car and into his wheelchair.   

By the time he had completed the maneuver, others had already made it inside.  He began to feel nervous now, wondering would the new group accept him when he went in.   

Up the ramp and in the door, he went, where he was met a wall of noise and excitement.  The middle-aged man he had seen opening the door immediately came over to him and introduced himself. 

“You must be Sean; I was told to expect you.  My name is Terence Naughton, people call me Terry.  I’m afraid you’ll have to get a different chair.  That one won’t suit” he said emphatically as he reached out to shake his hand. 

Sean shook it, nodding in the affirmative and then Terry clapped his hands loudly, which reverberated around the gym to get everyone’s attention and then motioned for them to approach him.  They formed a semi-circle and then Terry told them to introduce themselves, once he said that this is Sean. 

One by one, they did so but there were too many names to remember.  It was a mixed group with more women than men; each with a varying degree of disability.  This didn’t surprise Sean as he had done his research and knew it was an inclusive sport. 

This is due to a unique classification system used ostensibly to maximize participation.  Classification is an international regulation for playing wheelchair basketball to harmonize players’ different levels of disabilities. All teams which compete above a recreational level use the classification system to evaluate the functional abilities of players on a point scale of 1 to 4.5. Minimally disabled athletes are classified as a 4.5, and an individual with the highest degree of disability (such as a paraplegic with a complete injury below the chest) would be classified as a 1.0, this is where Sean expected to fit in. Competitions restrict the number of points allowable on the court at one time. The five players from each team on the court during play may not exceed a total of 14 points.  It was even possible for able-bodied people to compete.  People with disabilities apparently didn’t believe in discrimination. 

It was also immediately apparent that Sean was indeed in the wrong sort of wheelchair.  He had an inkling that this might be the case but wasn’t sure how seriously things would be taken.  But now he had his answer, very seriously. 

Their wheelchairs were sleek and designed for stability.  Sean now found himself getting quite embarrassed about the yoke he had shown up in.  It won’t happen again, he thought to himself. 

Terry then clapped his hand once more and told them to get back to training.  Then he started explaining the sport in intricate detail to Sean.  The most important part was dribbling.  He explained that a player may wheel the chair and bounce the ball simultaneously, however, if the ball is picked up and/or placed on the player’s lap, he/she is only allowed to push twice before they are obligated to shoot, pass, or dribble the ball again. There is no double dribble rule in wheelchair basketball. A traveling violation occurs if the player takes more than two pushes while in possession of the ball without dribbling. A player is not allowed to touch the playing surface with his or her feet while in possession of the ball. 

A goal is credited to the team attacking the basket into which the ball has entered as follows: 

• A goal from a free throw, counts as one (1) point; 

• A goal from the two-point field goal area counts two (2) points; 
• A goal from the three-point field goal area counts three (3) points. 

Every team has 24 seconds to complete its attempt to score a basket. If the team with the ball exceeds this time limit, then the ball and the right of play is granted to the opposing team. 

Surprisingly to Sean, it was played on the same court with the basket at the same height as running basketball.  It was also a very physical sport with wheelchairs regularly whacking off one another. 

Terry explained that in this sport, the wheelchair was seen as an extension of the body and that this was important in establishing responsibility for contact on the court in the case of charging, blocking, going out of bounds, and other violations.   

There were other rules about how long you could stay in parts of the court but Sean had taken in as much as he could and was now anxious to give it a try.  But Terry told him there was too much risk of injury without the proper wheelchair.  Sean had to spend the rest of the session watching the others have fun.  But that night he resolved he would be ready for the next time.  The next day he had one of the specially designed wheelchairs ordered and bought himself a basketball.   

He found himself thinking less about work and more about his strategy for the game.  Fortunately, the wheelchair arrived on the fourth day so he got to have some time adjusting to his new equipment. 

He did have some problems though.  One was the lack of space in his house to practice the dribbling and he often found himself crashing into different parts of furniture.  Fortunately, there was no girlfriend there to scold him about trashing the place.  Although the Filippa cleaner he employed to come in every three days looked at him funny as if wondering had he lost the plot. 

The other problem was that he didn’t have any hoop so he had to imagine one as he bounced the ball back and forth up against the wall.  He hoped that this would help him with his accuracy when it came to the real thing. 

The week passed quickly and Sean found himself in a better mood even though there had been no breakthrough in the case.  Before he knew it, it was time for training again.  He still arrived early; it was just the way he liked to do things.  This time though, he found that he was nervous about how he would perform rather than any trepidation about who he might meet. 

Terry waved towards him as he went to unlock the door.  Sean made sure he was first in so he could practice a few hoops without too many watching.  Sure enough, despite a few hours of practice, his aim was way-off.  But he didn’t let it get to him. 

Soon enough everyone had arrived and there was an air of excitement in the gym.  Terry was soon dividing the group into two teams and Sean found himself in fierce competition. 

He was wheeling up and down the court as the attack would change back and forth to defense and back again.  It took a while for any one of his teammates to pass him the ball but it happened eventually.  Terry immediately yelled at him to shoot and Sean foolishly did so to much laughter.  It was a terrible shot and he cringed on the inside.  Next time he’d think first. 

Alas after just ten minutes Sean was feeling very tired.  It was definitely a good way to keep fit.  It was much to his own relief that soon he found himself being substituted.  The sweat was pouring over him. 

A fellow athlete had also been benched.  The game was an easy ice breaker and they were soon engrossed in conversation.  Her name was Aimee.   She had a similar level of injury to him, except for a bit more weakness in the hands.  She had curly hair tied in a bun and big brown eyes. 

Sean immediately liked her warm smile and congenial personality.  She was very impressed by the fact he was a detective and she quickly mentioned “The Ripper”.  Sean reassured her that they’d catch him in the end although he really wasn’t sure it was the truth. 

Then they were both called back onto the court for another go.  He didn’t get to talk to her again that night, but over the weeks they gradually grew closer.  Eventually, Sean plucked up the courage to ask her over to his house for dinner.  She said yes. 

It had been a long time since Sean had been so nervous about meeting a woman.  He felt like a teenager again.  Before his accident, he would have been more into random hooks ups than having date nights.  But that seemed like a long time ago now and he just hoped everything went okay.  He was a terrible cook though so he enlisted the help of his cleaner with the chicken enchiladas.  That and some soft classical music should do the trick, he thought to himself.   

They had arranged to meet at seven and sure enough, the bell rang on the dot.  Sean eagerly went to the door to let her in, but not before producing some flowers.  She blushed, giving Sean a tinge of enjoyment.  This time her hair was no longer tied up but flowed over her shoulders.  She was stylishly dressed in a black dress and top tank, which accentuated her slim body. 

Everything was laid out on the table; the lights were dimmed.  Sean hoped she would appreciate the romantic gesture and not cringe.  Fortunately, it was the latter.  He offered her some wine, but it was declined; she said she had to drive.  That would have been old Sean’s main tactic down the drain but this was no longer him.  No point him not having a glass, he reasoned. 

It didn’t take long for the banter to start over the basketball and who was the better player.  But then it turned into a deeper, more nuanced conversation.  The first alternative topic they discussed was how they both came to be in wheelchairs.  Sean explained that he had been involved in a car crash, a head-on collision though he did leave out where he was coming from.  She reached out and held his hand as he told his story.  It had been some time since he had talked about it with anyone.   

Her story was just as tragic.  It happened on her way home from work one very breezy morning five years previously.  She had a temporary contract in a place in town at the time.  There were some weather warnings in place but she hadn’t heard them after going early to bed the night before. 

She was going down the same back road as every other morning and then she remembers nothing, till she came around a few weeks later.  A large branch from an Ash tree by the roadside had finally given way and it had smashed into her car leaving her seriously injured. 

Her voice was raw with emotion and Sean told her she didn’t have to continue.  But she looked into his eyes and replied that it was therapeutic to talk and she wanted him to know what happened.   

Then just like Sean she had to spend months in a hospital and rehabilitation.  It was grueling and she hoped never to experience anything like it again.  They were now firmly holding hands as Sean trying to somewhat lighten the mood asked her about her hopes for the future. 

“A job!” she said jokingly. 

She hadn’t worked full-time since her accident and also wanted something permanent.  Just to give her something to do, she didn’t really mind what it was despite having an advanced degree.  It was just so difficult to find something with a disability.  She was offered a good job six months ago but crushingly it was up two flights of stairs. 

Sean replied that he was fortunate that the Gardai had been so good to him, they had the job open for him while he was in rehabilitation and then set him up in an accessible location.  He would have hated having to look for a job in a wheelchair. 

She was only half-listening to him now though; she was lost gazing into his eyes.  He knew that he could not afford to lose the moment and gently caressed her face before kissing her.  It was deep, long and passionate.  When it was finished, they both giggled as if they were naughty teenagers.  After dinner, they retreated to the sitting room and watched a film. 

It was past midnight when she finally left.  There was a final kiss and a promise from Sean to contact her the next day.  There was no chance he would let this slip away. 

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. 

There’s nothing quite like killing.  The ecstasy and the joy when all the planning comes to fruition.  For weeks afterward it plays repeatedly over in my mind.  Their screams turning into the most perfect of music to my ears.  Pleading for their lives as they realize things are about to get even worse; there can be no gain or pleasure without their pain. 

But then it gradually fades no matter how hard you try to keep it.  If only these were earlier times without the menace of CCTV, fingerprints and mobile phones; it would be all so much easier to quickly go on to the next kill.  Instead, the process must start all over again.   

A target has already been selected.   She is my type with a slim build with long, black flowing hair and barely over twenty.  It will be fun to corrupt her innocence.  Now it is just a matter of following her from work, understanding her day to day routine, checking out her residence and putting the tools in place.  Then will be waiting.  Waiting for the CCTV of my surveillance to be deleted in the supermarket and on the streets.  I do love privacy laws.  Only then is there a strike. 

There are many things that could yet go wrong.  Maybe she will sense being followed, perhaps her residence is inappropriate or there is more than one man in the house.  Often, the process must be restarted; a new target found.  The rules must be followed. 

The rules came from years of practice and they had proved to be invaluable.  They were hard-earned though, through extensive burglaries at first.  Amazingly, that’s where the thrill originally came from.  It wasn’t what was stolen but rather the fact of violating their space; exerting your control over them. 

The first was a neighbors’ house.  They were a troublesome household, albeit they had one beautiful gem.  Skinny with curly brown hair, her name was Alice, she had been an object of my affection for many years.  Every night I would touch myself while I thought of her.  That short school dress, she was seeking my attention.  Sometimes, she would unwittingly tease by going into a run.  I would follow her back and forth to school and any other opportunity that arose. 

Then one fine day and without any warning, her burly loutish father shouted at me from a distance to keep away from her.  Never before had I felt such rage as I stormed home.  Surely, I deserved so much more respect and that was when I swore vengeance.  He would pay for his intransigence, for not respecting me. 

Each night, I waited for an opportunity to reveal itself in bushes near the house.  It didn’t take many.  An open window when they were out and I was in.  But then there was confusion about what exactly to do, what would be a fitting punishment.  They had little to want so the place was trashed and the floor was defecated on.  But the true highpoint was repeatedly slamming the kitten against the wall till it moved no more.  It belonged to her and how she loved to cradle it. 

It was too close to home though.  Despite the lack of evidence people seemed to sense it was me.  As if they could feel the evil emanating from my direction.  The stares and finger-pointing, it was most regrettable.  The police never appeared at the door, at least.  In future, more thought would have to be put into such activities.  Hence, the formulation of the rules began. 

There were more than just a few rules required though.  Breaking and entering was a craft, that required study and time.  The internet and local library proved invaluable sources of knowledge but nothing compared to the first-hand experience.  So that’s what I set out to get.  There was a neighborhood full of bungalows a few miles away with easy entry and exit points, in case things did not go according to plan.    

It proved to be an invaluable training ground.  There was no lock that could not be unpicked or vulnerability that couldn’t be taken advantage of.  Increasingly drawn to female’s bedrooms, I would go through their underwear, sniffing them and taking whatever, I pleased.  Perhaps, not what you would imagine.  As a burglar, acquiring money or items of monetary value was never my objective. 

Gradually the confidence began to grow.  There was no longer a need to wait for houses to become unoccupied.  All that was required was the cover of darkness.  It magnified the excitement ten-fold.  Imagine how they felt the next morning knowing that I had been there right beside them; their terror and disgust. 

Of course, this was risky and eventually, something was going to go wrong.  It was a ten-year-old girl that almost led to my demise.  There I was looking at her pretty face when her eyes suddenly opened and she screamed.  For a split second, I froze but then I heard movement and a man’s voice in a nearby room and tried to exit the house as hastily as I could. 

But he caught up to me in the kitchen armed with what appeared to be a baseball bat in the shadows.  Then the burly man swung high hoping to hit my head but I ducked and plunged my knife into his mid-rift forcing him backward to the ground. 

Not waiting for a second longer I ran out the door and followed the planned emergency escape route to the sound of a woman shouting vigorously for help behind.  The heart only stopped racing when I was certain that I was out of danger. 

A few days later I read in the local paper that the man had died.  My wild stab had managed to sever a major artery.  There was no sense of remorse, quite the opposite.  It was only a pity that I had not stayed to watch the life force slowly fade from his eyes.  The paper also reported vigilantes were setting up groups to patrol the area.  A new playground would have to be found. 

After all that excitement though, burglaries would no longer be enough.  There were just too many women waiting for me in their beds untouched.  That was about to change. 

Four months back into the job, Sean was feeling somewhat down.  The job was just so boring, he needed something more.  There was none of the excitement of his old life.  Then as he was preparing his breakfast a news item on the radio piqued his interest.  It was short and was just after breaking but hinted at something more. 

• A dead man and woman were found in a remote house near Wicklow Town last night.  The Gardai have opened a murder investigation.  They are not releasing any further details as of yet.  

It was very unusual to have multiple murders in one incident in Ireland.  It could have a gangland hit but the location seemed odd.  Sean put these thoughts to the back of mind and went off to work. 

The station was buzzing when he got there.  There were rumors that these murders were truly extraordinary in how horrific they were.  The bodies had been cut to pieces and left strewn around the house.  But Sean laughed, he knew to be wary of rumors he heard around the station.  Some Gardai had fascinating imagination. 

It was perhaps a strange twist of fate that Sean had by now become good friends with Garda Laura Mulhern and met her for his tea break whenever she was not on patrol.  Perhaps she felt guilty over what had happened but Sean who had never been that popular was happy to have someone to chat with whatever the reason.    

In truth, Sean thought she had felt sorry for him at first.  He had probably seemed lost.  But never guilt, he would have picked it up.  Then after chatting to him a few times she found herself looking forward to seeing him perhaps.  The chair had taken away some of his rougher edges and he was sure he seemed more agreeable and less cocky now.  She wasn’t the only one who probably thought so. 

Garda Jack Halpenny would also sometimes join them.  He could be outspoken at times and Sean was still trying to warm to him.  Previously they would have had no time for each other at all so it was also somewhat an improvement. 

That morning there was only one topic of discussion, the murders.   Jack was adamant, almost salivating that it must be linked to the gang warfare going on at the time. 

“A message is being sent to the wider population – Don’t cross us.  I’ve seen this kind of thing before on tv.   It has happened In Italy and Brazil. It’s not uncommon for whole families to be wiped out; in Italy, a young boy was kidnapped, tortured, murdered and then had his body dissolved in acid,” he said excitedly. 

“Well, I think it is just awful!  Imagine what those poor people went through, especially if it’s anything like the rumors suggests.  I shudder to even just think about it,” Laura interjected. 

Sean, for the most part, stayed silent, intrigued by what had happened and wanting to know more.  His old investigative instinct was awakening. 

The case was outside the jurisdiction of their station so ultimately, they would have to wait for the news that night on television like the rest of the country or at least that’s what they thought.  But a copy of the murder report came across Sean’s desk later that day due to his data entry role and relatively high rank.  It was marked “urgent”. 

It made for very disturbing reading and it was clear to Sean that this was no gangland hit but rather something else again and much worse.  The rumors were far more accurate than previously.  It had indeed been a bloodbath.  The pathologist still had to complete her examination but her preliminary notes stated that the male had his throat slit, while the woman had been stabbed multiple times and had her right breast removed and left on the kitchen table. 

Sean could barely believe what he was reading but he diligently entered it into the database.  He thought about how disgusted and paranoid the public would be when the details were reported.   

“Who would do such a thing?” he thought to himself. 

Really there was only one kind of person who would do it – a serial killer, he had read about them previously.  They were very rare in Ireland though.  But Sean knew there were officers already dealing with it.  There was no point him getting too hung up on it all; he just wished he was one of them. 

Once the clock hit five Sean rushed home from work anxious to see what was reported on the RTE news, only just about making it back in time.  But he was disappointed, it was only allocated a brief mention of two bodies, a murder investigation and nothing about the heinous nature of the murders was mentioned. 

He struggled to sleep that night.  Different thoughts kept racing through his head as if he could solve the murders by just lying there in his bed if he just tried hard enough.  Then he wondered why so much punishment was meted out to the woman but the man just had his throat slit.  Eventually, he managed to think about something else and fell asleep.  Little did he know what awaited him the next day. 

He had only wheeled into his office a few minutes when he was informed that the Superintendent wanted to see him in his office.  This was most unusual; he had only spoken to him a few times since his return and had never officially been requested to go to his office before.  He thought it better not to keep his superior waiting so off he went. 

He was immediately waved in and his superior closed the door behind them.  What followed was brief but to the point.   

“I’m guessing you have heard about the double homicide just outside Wicklow Town.  They had no records Sean, not even a parking ticket.  There is nothing to suggest that these people are anything other than totally innocent victims.  It appears that they were selected at random.  I’ve never seen anything like this before; the poor woman was butchered.  The Gardai will do everything possible to apprehend whatever monster is responsible as quickly as possible,” said the Superintendent sternly, his face grimacing. 

“Due to your rank and your familiarity with the National Criminal Database; I’ve been told your something of a dab hand you are being given a key role in keeping it updated with new information about the case and setting the correct security clearances for each piece.  Although the murders had been in Wicklow, the next murders if any could be in another county and it is important that the Gardai are able to link them.” 

Sean then stated that he had already begun to do so, with the first document arriving the previous day.  The Superintendent nodded saying it must have been sent right after he received the phone call.  He then said it was important to keep his role quiet, that he didn’t want other personnel in the station becoming distracted to which Sean nodded in agreement. 

Three days later Sean received the full report from the pathologist.  By now more details had been circulated in the news media about the victims.  They were husband and wife, both in their late twenties.  The news stated that the details of their murders were too gruesome to report.  He was an engineer and she a nurse. 

Dutifully Sean scanned the report and uploaded it on to the database with the highest-level clearance required to read it.  It made for somber reading.  The man had been constrained with rope in a chair for up to two hours prior to death and died about an hour after his wife.  She had endured the most brutality.   She had been raped `multiple times prior to her death for up to two hours.  The cause of death was multiple stab wounds with her body mutilated afterward.  Of note, some of her genital hair had been removed as well as her right breast.  Unfortunately, no fingerprints had been left at the scene.  This killer was very meticulous. 

Sean almost got sick looking at the photos.  They were unlike anything he had seen previously and he wondered if he would need counseling by the end of the Investigation.  But mostly, he felt pity for what the two people had gone through; the pain and terror they endured. 

He wanted to share what he knew with his colleagues especially Laura but he remembered what his superior had told him.  It was a lonely experience but he resigned himself to it.  At least he felt that he was close to being at the heart of things again. 

After a few weeks, the case slowly faded from the news and as a topic of general conversation.  There was a hope that it was just a gruesome once-off event.  Instead, the crime news was saturated by the gang warfare in Dublin.  A bullet in the head here and a knifing over there.