When You Wake up and Scream

Conán paced around the room distractedly, cursing himself for being so stupid.

"Of course," he muttered angrily to himself. "If it had been anyone else, I would have probably gotten away with it. But it happened to be Naoise, who knows everything there is to know and more about freakin' serial killers! She should write a book on them, the stuff she knows! Why did you have to be so stupid? You're a complete idiot, Conán Connolly! If I had half a mind I'd ban you from drink, but that probably wouldn't benefit anyone, apart from the poor souls we kill."

Conán caught a hold of himself.

"Who in Hell is, 'We'?" he muttered, stopping his pacing. "I'm a lone wolf, big man!" he added to his brain.

He shook his head and wondered why he was talking to his brain.

"What am I going to do?" he muttered to himself, beginning to pace again. "Perhaps I'm being stupid? Yeah, that's probably right. Perhaps she's already put it to the back of her mind? She probably has, it's just me being paranoid about her … I don't know if she's really thinking that. It's just because I've got something to worry about."

He decided to go out for a walk, and he dandered around Dublin, as it got darker and quieter. He had never seen the city so deserted. There was heightened police presence, too. He was stopped twice and asked where he was going, and warned against travelling alone. It took all of his strength not to laugh.

Conán nearly had a heart attack as he turned back onto his street a couple of hours later. There were two Garda cars parked directly outside the building his flat was in, and on top of that, an ambulance. He froze in his tracks. What if someone had seen him with one of he victims and identified him? And the ambulance was there for the two frozen heads sitting in his freezer?

He was about to just turn and run, but he saw that one of the Garda officers had already spotted him, so he forced himself to continue walking casually up the street with a vaguely interested expression on his face. Surely it was a good thing that they weren't all rushing at him and handcuffing him?

"Do you live here, sir?" he was asked by one of the officers as he caught up. Conán nodded.

"Yeah, why? Is anything wrong? Oh, God, I haven't been robbed or anything, have I?"

"No, no, nothing like that. Unfortunately the woman living in the ground floor flat's died. She's been there a couple of days, too. It's just procedure to ask other residents."

"That's awful," Conán frowned. Secretly, of course, he was relieved. "Was it natural causes?"

"It looks like a stroke, is what the paramedics are saying, but they're not sure yet. Have to keep an open mind in this job."

"I suppose you do. That's a shame. I didn't really talk to her often, but she seemed like a nice old lady. A bit batty, but nice."

"So, you live above her?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"What's your name, sir?"

"Conán Connolly."

"Mr. Connolly, eh? So, you got your rent sorted, I see."

Conán recognised the face. The officer was the same one who had told him he had to leave the flat what seemed like years ago.

"I thought I knew you from somewhere. Yeah, I'm all sorted. Some family member died and I came into a bit of money, so I'm all sorted."

"You look a lot better for it. You still look slightly drunk, mind."

"Only a little."

"Well, Conán, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm afraid we need to have a little word with you again."

Conán's eyes narrowed. The officer thought he saw something uneasy flash through them, but by the time he had registered the look, it had vanished and Conán's dark brown eyes were warm again, though there was still a strange glitter to them that one wouldn't associate with such dark eyes.

"About what?" he asked calmly.

"Well, we'll need to take you to the station, mate."

"I'm not under arrest, am I?"

"No, no, nothing like that. It's just routine, I assure you."

Conán, inside becoming more and more petrified by the minute, reluctantly got into the back of the car. He thought that the best thing to do was be cooperative. If they hadn’t arrested him, they couldn't suspect anything too much, and so his best bet was to be calm and behave himself and give them no reason to be suspicious. What was it a cop had said on one of his police shows he had watched once? Innocent people don't run.

With this in mind, Conán happily made small talk on the way to the police station and was very obliging when it came to giving his details when he got there, all the while keeping the correct and normal amount of curiosity in his features.

Although Conán knew that it didn’t show on his face, he felt his panic heighten when he saw who it was who was going to be speaking with him. As this person happened to be the face he recognised off of the news, Cillian McAfee, he knew without a doubt that somehow he had been linked to the current cases.

Calm down, he told himself mentally. You're probably not the only one he's spoken to today, and even if you are, just play it cool. You're not getting caught out this easily.

"Just have a seat, there, Mr. Connolly," the detective told him, and he sounded perfectly friendly. Cillian McAfee had plenty of years experience in his field, and was well known for always getting his man, no matter how impossible the odds seemed to be. He had the patience of a saint and determination that couldn’t be rivalled, and as the young man sat down in front of him he was already surveying his behaviour closely, looking for any signs that could arouse suspicion. However, the young man seemed to be quite calm and relaxed, though there was a glint in his eyes that could either mean he was simply curious, or something more sinister.

Conán looked back up at the man in front of him. He was one of those people who looked exactly the same on and off television, one that you would be able to point out and recognise instantly in the street. Conán thought that he gave off the odd combination of an army general and a grandfather. He had a air of authority around him that told Conán he was not he sort of man to be messed about with, but with his greying hair and twinkling blue eyes, he also looked as though he should be sitting by a fireplace with his grandchildren on his lap, reading them a bedtime story, even thought there was something about him which told Conán that the grey hairs were due to more stress than old age, and he probably wasn't quite yet a grandfather. His face was only slightly wrinkled, and there were plenty of laughter lines, though at the present moment, Conán couldn't picture him laughing.

"I take it you don't know why you're here, Mr. Connolly?" he asked Conán, and Conán chuckled.

"Well, it's pretty obvious, isn’t it? Though I don't know how I ended up of your list anyway."

"And why is it pretty obvious?"

"Well, you're the guy off the TV, aren’t you? You're in charge of the case involving all those killings and disappearances. That's why I'm confused as to why I'm here."

"I shouldn't worry, Mr. Connolly, it's merely a few routine questions as we've heard you were recently associated with one of the victims shortly before the murder."

"I was?" Conán repeated, expertly blank.

"Mary O'Connell?" Detective McAfee asked him, using his own expertise to survey Conán's face as he said the name. If Conán had decided to lie, he would have dropped himself in it, as the detective had already spotted the split-second flash of recognition that flashed across Conán's features.

"She was my girlfriend's best friend," Conán told him simply. "And I only met her once. It was a while before her murder, as well, if I remember correctly."

"Oh?"

"Wasn't there another murder before her?"

"Disappearance," Detective McAfee looked at Conán closely. "What makes you think it was a murder?"

Conán shrugged casually.

"It probably is, isn't it? If it's the same guy doing it? He's probably long gone."

"You know a lot about the case, Mr. Connolly."

"Tell me about it. My girlfriend is a psychology student at Trinity, and she's been following the case because she wants to go into something to do with criminal psychology. You never know, she might be helping you lot out a few years down the line. She's smart enough for it."

"And who is your girlfriend?"

"Naoise McCullough. She's in Cork at the moment."

"And you say she was good friends with Miss O'Connell?"

"Yeah, she was one of her best friends."

"And what about you? You say you met her once."

"Yes. Once and only once."

"And did you get along?"

"No, I can't say we did, to be honest."

"Why's that?"

"I found her a bit stuck up."

"Did you ever see her again after this? Just passing by in the street or anything?"

"No, I only ever laid eyes on her once. The next time I thought about her was when Naoise came round when she found out she'd been killed."

"I see."

There was a pause. Conán shifted in his chair slightly and looked up at the detective.

"Look, I know we didn’t get along but the whole thing upset my girlfriend greatly. If I knew anything, anything at all, I would tell you, so Naoise could have a bit of peace. But I know nothing."

Detective McAfee looked up and caught eye contact with Conán. The young man didn’t falter, he merely continued watching with an intense and blazing look. If Detective McAfee had been less experienced, he would have taken the look to be one of complete sincerity. However, there was something about the young man's body language that was still arousing suspicion in the back of his mind.

"I've been doing this job for quite some time, Mr. Connolly," he told the young man casually, placing down the clipboard upon which he had been taking notes. "And I have worked with many murderers, though never a serial killer. Most of the murderers I have worked with have shown remorse, but there is something different about the serial killer, something hauntingly special. It's the fact that they can do it again and again, and they can lie barefaced to anyone who questions them. Being in this job as long as I have, I'm good at spotting the liars, even the accomplished ones, and I think that there may be something that you're not telling me, Mr. Connolly."

Conán chuckled. It was a strange laugh, Detective McAfee thought. Almost the sort of laugh someone would expect from a person who had been caught out, but there was a hint of playfulness in it, too.

"I'm telling you all I know, Detective. So, I was seen with Mary? If she's the only one I was spotted with, I don't think you have much to go by."

There it was, Detective McAfee thought. The cockiness.

"It's amazing, how long serial killers can get away for, isn't it?" he asked. "But they always slip up, Connolly. Sometimes a victim gets away. Sometimes they leave a tiny scrap of evidence, and that's all we need. Sometimes, they get cocky, and start to play games with the police."

Conán stared back at the detective, expressionless.

"They can get away for as long as they want, Conán, but the law always catches up, always eventually. This guy will be the next in line of many. John Wayne Gacy, for example. He got away with it for six years, but the law caught up with him. Ted Bundy, he got away with it for five years. He even escaped, but the law got him again. Jeffrey Dahmer, thirteen years. It doesn’t matter, Conán, they'll always be caught."

Conán grinned and chuckled softly again.

"Why are you telling me this? Are you hoping I'll pass the message on?"

Detective McAfee laughed as well.

"You're certainly something, Mr. Connolly. Come on, I know as well as you do that you know something else. What is it, eh?"