Borderlands Read Free Page A

scent of decaying leaves and
I could think of nothing adequate to say.
     
    When
I returned to the station, Burgess, our Desk Sergeant, told me that I was
wanted immediately by the Superintendent. Costello - or Elvis to everyone who
spoke of him (though not to his face) - was famous in Lifford, having served
here, in and out of uniform, for almost thirty years. It was suspected that he
knew many of the family secrets that most people preferred to keep buried. It
meant that, in the village, he was universally admired but secretly mistrusted.
However, he never knowingly used the information he had gathered unless
absolutely necessary, and he excused many ancient crimes on the grounds that if
they had not merited punishment at the time, how could they do so now? By
rights he should have been stationed in Letterkenny, which is the centre of the
Donegal division, but following his wife Emily's mastectomy several years
earlier, he had requested and been granted permission to use Lifford as his
headquarters.
    His
nickname came not only from his surname, but also his Christian name, Oily;
more than once, Gardai called to public-order disturbances had been greeted
with a drunken chorus of "Oliver's
    Army",
despite the fact that his name was actually Alphonsus. The name stuck to the
force in Lifford in much the same way that Elvis stuck with Costello. He never
said it, but I think he was secretly pleased by the nickname, taking it as a
tacit sign of affection, recognition of his position as an institution of
sorts.
    "Cashell
is a Cork man," he said now, straightening his tie in the mirror hung
behind his office door. His position meant that he was the only person in the
station to have his own office, while the rest of us shared rooms. In fairness,
Elvis had been careful not to rub our faces in his perks: the furnishing was
perfunctory, not expensive.
    "Really?"
I asked, unsure of his point.
    "Yes.
Moved here when he was three. A lot of us suspected at the time that they were
travellers, but his family rented out towards St Johnston. He got placed in Clipton
Place after he got Sadie pregnant the first time. Didn't fit in too well to
begin with."
    "Apparently
not," I said. "Drove the neighbours on one side out with the noise,
drove the neighbours on the other side out with a claw hammer."
    "For
which he was cautioned. Still, this is a terrible thing to happen. How did he
take it?"
    "As
you would expect. He seemed shattered. I thought one of the daughters was going
to tell me something, but the rest of the family closed tight."
    "Years
of mistrust, Benedict, learnt at the dinner table." Costello is also the
only person I know who refers to me by my full Christian name, as if it would
be unmannerly of him to do otherwise. "Leave them a day or two and try
again. Maybe when fewer of them are about."
    "Yes,
sir."
    "Have
you a jacket?" he asked, nodding at the informality of my jeans and jumper
— one of the few perks of being a Detective.
    "Not
with me."
    "Nip
home and get changed. You're doing a press conference at five. RTE'll be here,
and the northern stations, so look sharp." I had reached the door when he
added, "They haven't found her clothes yet, Benedict. I've requested the
Water Unit to search the river in the morning. The PSNI have said they'll help.
It'll be an early start."
     
    The
press conference was the first that I had done and, while probably quite
low-key in comparison with other such events, it was daunting to face the banks
of lights, cameras and microphones. Costello read a prepared statement, then
invited questions. My role, I had been told, was to sit there so he could
identify me for the cameras. That way, justice would not be faceless, he said,
without a hint of irony. I was also to handle any operational questions which
Costello couldn't answer, though I was told not to go into specifics. It was
strange hearing our voices echo back at us with a slight delay, almost mocking
the fact that, despite all that we said to