WOO!

It was another three days before we finally finished interveiwing the relatives and assoicates of the late Seamus Murphy. The only new insight we learned of the batchelours life was that: He was friends of a man by the name of Mirium, he owned three copys of the origain police accadumy movie and he owed his sister twenty euro. In some places that would have been enought to kill him. No one wanted to be remineded of the days that police accamumey movies were funny...
Of course Det. Walsh dissagred with that statement. Or at least i think he dissagreed, he was shaking his head when he mummbled the responce to me. Not for the first time i wondered about my compaion as we sat in the station. His filthy shoes tapped flecks of dirt onto my desk as he struggled to tap at text to his wife. Apperently my murderous glances at my suppiour didnt help him understand that my parents had brought me up to never put my feet above my hips.

Surrendering my clean desk to its new filthy appearal, i glanced arround the offices. The bright green carpet a call back from the birth our nations independence. It gave the room a more earthly look. The wooden desks added to this air. They seamed to sprout out of the ground like the stumps of once great trees. The light filtered thru the blinds and for a moment, i was lost in the illusion. Untill my colleages phone bleated a message recived and the phones and computers and wires and reports all flooded back and reminded me where i was.

mystery theate! But without the theater!

The last time Killarney had been witness to murder had been last year. But before that nearly none in its 250 year long existence. There was no expertise in the local guards to deal with murders like this. Which was why last week, Dublin had sent us Super Intendent Walsh from the homicide division up in Limerick. The man was towering over the dresser where the calling card sat proudly. He was from the old school of Irish policing, Tall and ganly. The better to look down at you and intimidate you into not throwing that empty bottle of calpol thank you very much. He had long artistic fingers that were, momentary shoved into his coat pockets. Despite the look of a man who spent hours of his life, drawing and redrawing upon a canvas he was actually quite unconcerned with the more cultured things in life. The closest he got to art was training a GAA team back in limerick, the crest of which adorned his coat brest.

'What ya think?' He mumbled, turning to me. Despite being a West-of-Ireland lad myself i had to strain to understand him in his much thicker dialect.
'I think he's dead.' I responded. Not knowing the correct answer to give the taller man. His azure blue eyes shot up to heaven and back. He stuck his chin out as if he could hit me with it. He mumbled something else which i ignored. I had learned from working for the last week with this man that it didn't matter what i said. he was always in a foul mood.

We exited the house and pushed past the news crews. None of them were forgin. But as soon as they were the town would be in trouble. Killarney reallied heavily on the tourist trade in the summer month's. In fact during those months the population actually doubled so many were the tourists. Myself and Waslh walked up the street past the Bank of Ireland building, the ugliest building (some said) in the whole country. I glanced at the horrid thing as we walked by and grimaced in disgust. The first cafe we came to was immediately vetoed by my taller companion. So we headed towards the Granary. They were still serving lunch (and alcohol) so we sat in one of the comfy leather chairs and ordered our food.