'Next time, wait until I tell you to come in.' The implication was clear, McEvoy was lucky not to have received a different, less accommodating reaction. 'And go and get measured for a uniform some time today,' he added. 'You're going to need it. The world thinks we have a scarecrow heading up things. We need you to smarten up your act.' It was meant to sound humorous, trying to close the encounter with some light heartedness, but it came out flat.

McEvoy looked down at his ill-fitting suit, nodded and closed the door behind him. He apologised to the secretary and left Bishop's office. Bursting in there had been a stupid thing to do; something he'd never done before. No doubt it would come back to haunt him at some point. Bishop might have been reconciliatory, but he didn't forget misdemeanours.

McEvoy pushed opened the door and walked to the front of the room, refusing to make eye contact with its four inhabitants. 'So where was I?' he asked, as if all he had done was taken a quick break to go to the toilet. He sat on the edge of a desk and ran a hand across his thinning hair. 'We need to identify the man all in black in The White Horse,' he continued, 'and to cross-check his photofit with that from Maynooth. We'll also need to release the photofit to the media, see if anyone recognises him. Forensics will also need to go back through the samples and see if they can find any other matches across any of the five sites.

'The killer has, for some reason, targeted Dermot Brady. It must be someone that knows him pretty well, knows about his life history. That could be one of several hundred people by the sound of it, but it's a start. He's supplied a list of a number of people from Mountjoy that will need checking out. We need to track them down and to eliminate them from the enquiry. It'll need rigorous checks. We also need to get somebody to sit down with Brady and make a list of everyone he knows. Get him to put them into different categories people who were good friends, fair-weather friends, acquaintances, people he barely knew, and so on. Then get a team to start to work through that list starting with the good friends and people linked to DHC. This person also knew Laura Schmidt. Persuaded her to go out to Glencree. I want them all interviewed face-to-face. Draft in more people if you need to.

'Brady has also provided a list of 15 locations where the next murder might happen based on where the others have occurred. I've already organised that those places be put under 24-hour surveillance from midnight. Otherwise, it's just a case of carrying on with investigations, rattling people's cages and following any leads. Any questions?'

'Brady isn't working with anyone?' Deegan asked.

'I don't think so,' McEvoy said evenly, keeping his distaste in check. 'There's no evidence that he is he's a loner.'

Deegan nodded but didn't say anything else.

'Right, okay,' McEvoy said. 'Let's get back to it. Barney, you'd better get back down to The White Horse and find out what's going on. Make sure that photofit is distributed as soon as you're happy with it. Charlie, can I have a word.'

Plunkett, Flanagan and Cronin filed out the room casting inquisitive glances at McEvoy and Deegan.

McEvoy approached where Deegan was still sitting. He waited for the door to close.

'Well, it seems you were right,' McEvoy said. 'You're back on the case. I'm hoping that we can act professionally, put our differences behind us and work together to catch this bastard.'

Deegan didn't say anything, forcing McEvoy to continue.

'But that means working as a team. And it means keeping me informed of what's going on in your investigation. No solo runs. Is that clear?' He wanted to punch the smug bastard. 'We need to support each other if we're going to stop him killing again.'

Deegan nodded slowly. 'Sounds fair enough,' he conceded.

'Good. Right, well, you'd better get back to your team.'

Deegan pushed himself off the desk and left the room.

McEvoy watched the door swing shut behind him. Deegan was about as sorry as Goring was at the Nuremberg trials. He'd just have to hope that Grainger, Murphy and O'Keeffe would put a brake on some of his excesses and keep McEvoy in the loop. He looked at his watch and cursed. It was coming up to a quarter-past six. He pulled his mobile from his pocket.

'Hello?' Caroline answered.

'It's Colm. Look, I'm tied up at the minute. I promised Gemma I'd take her out for a meal and then go onto the cinema with a couple of her friends. I don't suppose ...'

'I'm already ahead of you,' Caroline interrupted. 'We're just getting ourselves ready. Mam and Dad are also here. They're coming out with us as well. Don't worry, everything will be fine. She knew you'd be tied up, she's been watching TV. It's just about the only thing they're showing on Sky News.'

'I'll try and meet you at the cinema. Text me the details of what you're watching.'

'Don't worry about it, Colm. You've got more important things on your plate.'

'Jesus, the least I can do is show up for some of it,' McEvoy said, tiredness in his voice. 'What kind of a father is it that misses his own daughter's birthday? Especially the first one after her mother dies?'

'Look, I'll text you the details, but she's in good hands and she understands the kind of pressure you're under. If we see you, we see you, but don't worry otherwise. We'd all sooner you caught this Raven bastard.'

'Thanks. I'll talk to you later.' He ended the call and cursed again. He should have asked to talk to Gemma. Damn it, he'd just have to make sure he met up with them later.

The pub felt strange emptied of patrons, like a space waiting to happen. It was all set up to go the tables clear, the seats positioned, the halogen lights slightly dimmed, and the bottles all lined up behind the bar, but without people it felt pregnant with the expectation of what it could be; of being alive, humming to the sound of chatter and laughter and music. He was appreciating the silence, the stillness, standing where The Raven had sat watching the toilet door.

Barney Plunkett pushed open the outside door, letting in the sounds of the city, breaking the moment, and approached McEvoy. He was accompanied by Dr John. 'What the hell's the story with Charlie Deegan?' Plunkett asked to McEvoy's back. 'Is he really back on the case?'

McEvoy turned to face them. 'Look, Barney, direct your questions to Tony Bishop, okay?' he said evenly. 'He's back and that's it. We just have to live with it.'

'And there's nothing you can do?'

'No. Just drop it. Let's just concentrate on Peter,' he waved his hand.

'Killick,' Dr John prompted.

'Peter Killick's death. Have you got that photofit?'

Plunkett handed him a rolled-up sheet of paper which he flattened on the table. A nondescript face with shoulder-length hair and a beard stared back at him.

'That's the best they could come up with?' McEvoy asked, disappointed. 'He looks like he belongs in a computer game.'

'It was difficult to get agreement,' Plunkett conceded. 'He's kind of a composite picture.'

'Meaning he doesn't look like how anyone remembers him,' McEvoy stated. 'Did nobody get a decent look at him?'

'It doesn't seem like it. He chose the perfect spot. His back is to everyone except the toilet door.'

'And how about you, John? Did you manage to get anything useful?'

'Not really, no. Nothing from the questionnaires or the CCTV. We're appealing for witnesses to come forward.'

'Jesus,' McEvoy muttered.

Overhead they could hear shuffling feet and murmured conversation. Hannah Fallon and one of her assistants came into view, descending the stairs from the balcony above.

'There are still two other people we can't account for who left the bar when Killick's death was announced,' Dr John continued. 'We're still trying to track them down.'

Fallon and Carter joined them.

'How have you got on?' McEvoy asked.

'I think we're just about finished for now,' Hannah answered. 'We've thoroughly screened the toilet and this floor. We'll work through the other floors tomorrow, but I doubt we'll find anything. Nobody saw him go upstairs, nor Killick. He'd wiped this whole area down with a wet wipe, but we found a couple of hairs on the table and floor. Could be his, or could be somebody else's. Problem with this place is the same as Glencree dozens of people come here every day.'

'How about in the toilet?' McEvoy asked.

'Loads of blood, piss and pubic hairs. Every woman's fantasy,' she said sarcastically. 'We'll have to wait and see.'

'Well, it doesn't seem like there's too much for me to be doing here. I'm going back up to Harcourt Street, then I'm nipping home briefly. It's Gemma's birthday. She's 12. I've missed the whole bloody thing. Can you make sure this place is locked up tight and somebody keeps an eye on it?'

'I've already arranged it,' Plunkett said. 'Say happy birthday to her for me, will you.'

'For us,' Hannah added. 'You won't be missed for an hour or so. Don't worry about rushing back.'

'Yeah, thanks. An hour is more than enough. I need to work through today's case notes.'

'There is one thing,' Dr John said, reaching into his coat pocket. 'I managed to get a couple of copies of that book, y'know, Cartographies of Murder. Got one from Easons, the other Waterstones.' He pulled the paperback free and offered it to McEvoy.

'Right, thanks.' McEvoy took it and stared at the cover a black and white map of city streets, six daggers thrust in as markers, small pools of blood where they pierced the paper. He shuffled towards the door, reading the back cover.

Every one of the murder investigations had reached a wall. Instead the teams were working through the phone calls and re-mining old ground in the hope of discovering some missed gem. Nobody seemed particularly hopeful.

McEvoy left the incident room and started down the stairs, heading for his car. His mobile phone rang.

'McEvoy.'

'Please tell me you've got something positive to report,' Tony Bishop said.

'Well, er, I, we're ...' McEvoy stuttered.

'I take it that's a no then?' Bishop interrupted.

'Yes. I mean no. I mean no, there's not been a breakthrough. Brady's given us a list of former inmates from Mountjoy who he thinks could be The Raven and places he thinks might be targets given where people have been attacked so far. We're checking the names out and the places will all be under surveillance from midnight.'

'Jesus, more overtime. This case is costing us a fortune. Bad press and high cost. The feckin' politicians are going to eat us alive.'

McEvoy stayed silent.

'The press conference was a disaster by the way,' Bishop continued, feeling the need to offload his problems onto somebody. 'The fifth murder and Brady's release has sent them into a flat spin. They've nothing to focus their attention on except us. We just had to sit there and take it. You'll need to be at the next one. I don't see why I should be the only poor bastard they're throwing darts at. It's at ten o'clock in the Burlington Hotel we've outgrown the Phoenix Park. Make sure you're there by 9.30.' Bishop paused.

'Look, Colm, one of the reasons I called is to let you know that the Assistant Commissioner has called in a profiler. Dr Kathy Jacobs. She's done a lot of work for Strathclyde and some of the other Scottish forces. Also for the Met. Seems she knows her stuff. Anyway, she arrives in tomorrow morning early from Prestwick. I've arranged someone to pick her up from the airport and bring her into Dublin. She should be with you around eight o'clock. I want full co-operation with her, okay? Full access to the files and crime scenes.'

'I'll meet with her, but I doubt she's going to be much help,' McEvoy said sceptically. 'What we need is a solid lead not speculation. She's not going to stop the next murder.'

'We need all the help we can get,' Bishop stated flatly. 'From what you're telling me we have no solid leads; we're chasing a ghost. At least she might be able to give us some ideas that might reveal solid leads. And it doesn't end with the last murders. We still have to catch him. It's not going to be a case of meeting her and fobbing her off. Understand? As of now she's a core member of the team.'

Bishop ended the call.

McEvoy shook his head and pushed open the door. Off to his right a couple of flashbulbs popped and journalists started calling out to him, looking for information. He hurried to his car and made for the exit. Running the gauntlet of journalists and cameramen was beginning to wear thin. There were hundreds of them now in Dublin from every nation, all covering The Raven and his killings.

McEvoy pulled into a parking space at the Santry Omniplex. He glanced over at the entrance and then down at his watch. 9.30. He wasn't sure how long the film would last but it had to be over soon. God knows what Caroline had taken them to see. He hoped it was something like The Princess Diaries, but was probably more like Die Hard 12 or Mission Impossible 8, or whatever bloody number they were up to now.

He tipped his back against the headrest. The first tear fell from his right eye, rolling slowly down between his cheek and nose to his lips. After that they wouldn't stop coming. He didn't know whether he was crying for Maggie or Gemma, or for Laura, David, Grainne, Billy or Peter, or for Grainne's lost baby, or for their families, or for himself. It didn't matter and he didn't care. His body shook with the grief and guilt, the pent-up tension and stress, the feelings of helplessness and hopelessness. He wiped at his face with his sleeves and hands, sucking in breaths as the tears flowed.

There were a series of very bright flashes to his right, blinding him. Instinctively he threw up his hand to shield his face and turned his head left. Flashes popped into the car through the passenger window.

'Fuck!'

He swung open his door angrily, slamming it into the side of the photographer, who yelped and jumped back, his camera still trained on McEvoy, it flashing as he levered himself up and out of the car.

'What the fuckin' hell do you think you're doing?' he demanded, his hands shielding his face.

'Superintendent McEvoy,' a voice said from the other side of the car, 'are you close to catching The Raven? Were you crying for all of the victims? Do you have anything to say to the victim's families?' The questions were fired at him quickly, not giving him time to answer. 'Do you know who is going to be next and are you satisfied that you're doing everything to protect them?'

The last questions were said to McEvoy's back as he half-walked, half-ran towards the entrance to the cinema. A stream of people had begun to exit, their progress slowing as they noticed him heading towards them, two people in pursuit. He could see the apprehension in their body language. The fear that he might be The Raven or some other equally deranged lunatic.

He spotted Caroline and Gemma, one of her friends at her side, off to the right, unaware of his presence. Behind them his mother and father came into view. What was he doing? He was leading the press straight to his family. He pulled to a stop. 'Shit!'

His father spotted him, smiled and waved, tapping Gemma's shoulder to redirect her attention to him. He motioned them to head back into the cinema, holding his hand up to indicate a phone.

The journalist had caught back up to him. 'Would you like to give your side of the story, Superintendent? Is he really that good or is it just police incompetence? You can name your price for the story.' The photographer had his camera trained on the front of the cinema, which lit up with a series of bright flashes, sending people scurrying either out onto the car park or back into the complex. His family hesitated, frozen in the glare of the camera flash, before his father and Caroline bundled them back into the cinema.

McEvoy pushed the journalist out of the way and ran back to his car. He clambered in, started the engine and reversed quickly out of the space, nearly hitting the photographer. He headed for the exit, trying to find Caroline's number on his phone, as his pursuers headed for their own car.

'Colm?'

'Get out of there now, before they come back to find you,' he instructed.

'What?'

'I said get out of that cinema now before the press come and find you. Do it now! I'll talk to you in five minutes.'

The journalist and his photographer would never make it to their car in time to catch up with him. As soon as they realised that they'd go in pursuit of whoever he'd been signalling to. He exited onto the main road and headed away, a slow rage building inside of him.

He slotted his key in the front door and pushed it open. Gemma burst from the kitchen and ran up to him jumping up to his chest. He clutched her to him and tried to smile. 'Happy birthday, pumpkin. How'd you get on?'

'It was great. We went to the Chinese and I had prawn crackers and spare ribs and sweet and sour chicken.' He stepped into the hall, closed the front door and carried her towards the kitchen passing a new garda uniform hanging in the hall, a note pinned to the front. 'And Katie had chicken chow mein. Then we went to the cinema to see Harry Potter. It was brilliant! And Nana and Granddad came as well.'

Caroline, his mother and father were sitting at the kitchen table, cups of tea in front of them, solemn expressions on their faces. He let Gemma down and straightened his back. 'You're getting big. And heavy.'

'Which is more than can be said for you,' his mother said. 'Jesus, Colm, look at the state of you. You look like one of them camp survivors. Y'know, Auschwitz or wherever.' She pushed her chair back and headed for the kitchen counter. 'You need to eat something.'

'It's good to see you as well,' McEvoy replied sardonically. 'Will you sit down, Mam, I'm fine.'

His mother pulled a loaf of bread from a cupboard and headed for the fridge.

'Jesus,' he muttered. 'Look, I'm sorry about before, the press must have followed me. I hope they didn't startle you too much. They're a pack of vultures.'

'No, they just scared the shit out of us,' Caroline said tetchily.

'Language, Caroline,' his mother said.

'Close your ears, Gemma,' McEvoy said, trying to bring some light-heartedness to the conversation.

'We say shit all the time at school,' she replied, smiling, confident she could get away with it on her birthday, straying over and standing next to her granddad.

'Don't be cheeky,' her nana said. 'It's not how a lady be-haves.'

'Did your friends have a good time?' McEvoy asked Gemma, realising that he was going to have to leave again soon.

'Only Katie came. But she thought it was great. Especially at the end with the photographer and the chase.'