The Priest: A Novel
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Now in paperback, a gripping tale steeped in Ireland’s Catholic history—from the most riveting writer to come out of Ireland since John Connolly.
Struggling to find his feet back in Ireland after a lengthy posting with Europol in Spain, drug specialist Mike Mulcahy is plunged into unfamiliar territory when the daughter of a foreign politician suffers a horrific sex attack. Dragged into the case against his will, Mulcahy becomes convinced there is a more to it than a random, frenzied sexual assault, especially when he discovers that the weapon used by the attacker to “brand” his victim was a crucifix. But his know-it-all colleagues and politically motivated bosses, eager for a quick, uncontroversial result, ignore his belief that the attack had religious as well as sexual motivations. Sidelined and overruled, Mulcahy sets out on his own parallel investigation. But frustrations abound at every turn—until reporter Siobhan Fallon turns up asking awkward questions. As more young women are attacked, and assault turns to murder, Mulcahy and Fallon are drawn deeper into an uneasy alliance, as each step they take hurtles them ever closer to the monstrous killer known only as The Priest, and a final showdown that’s as explosive as it is unforgettable.
him in the eye. “I mean, I got a bit spooked all by myself in the office, you know? Somebody sent me … I mean, I wanted to show you something. See what you think, maybe?” “Sure,” he said. “What is it?” Siobhan leaned over to open the shoulder bag lying on the floor at her feet, then changed her mind. She sat up again and glared at him. “You needn’t think I’ve forgiven you, y’know,” she said. “You, forgive me?” He laughed, shocked. “Shouldn’t that be the other way around?” “Why?” She wasn’t
station would be a fate worse than death for most guards. But he doubted it was Garda tongues wagging that Healy needed to worry about. Hospitals were big places, and Healy could never control that side of things. “Of course, the Spanish embassy’s been informed as well. But they’re not very likely to go blabbing to the papers.” “Have they not been down here yet?” He was surprised about that. When it came to protecting one of their own, diplomats were usually even quicker off the mark than cops.
with it. Mulcahy imagined a hand gripping the chain, twisting it, breaking it. Had some of the gold flaked off on his hand? Mulcahy rubbed a hand across his face, massaging his tired eyes with forefinger and thumb. Nothing about this case made any sense. He patted his jacket pocket, feeling for the cigarette pack again, his subconscious reminding him that he’d been on his way out for a smoke. He looked out the window, to where the sunlight picked out the red and black gable end of the Bleeding
He looked up at the dark mass of the mountain above them, heard the babble of happy chatter coming from inside the pub. He felt happier and more unburdened than he’d felt in months. Whatever you might think about Catholicism generally, he decided, you couldn’t beat a good confession. “Look,” he said, “why don’t I go in and get us a bottle of this stuff, and see what’s happened to the food while I’m about it. Then I can tell you the rest when I get back.” “Okay, but remember I’m driving. You’ll
have to drink most of it on your own.” “You got me on the right night for that,” Mulcahy admitted, and headed in towards the bar. Brogan switched off her computer and bent her head forward, cupping her hands over her ears and massaging the nape of her neck with her thumbs. It was nine thirty P.M., and she’d waited not one but two hours for Rafferty to come back with a preliminary on the van. And the news was disappointing: So far, they’d found nothing definite to link to Scully. But it wasn’t