The babble of voices faded away again as Brogan prepared to wind up the evening briefing. Sitting on a desk behind the semicircle of animated cops, Mulcahy felt more than ever the outsider. Having slogged their arses off all day out on the streets, the team was floating on a cloud of satisfaction that, at close of play, their good work was about to yield a result. It was the best feeling any decent cop could experience and one that he hoped and prayed they were bloody right about. Because, before the briefing began, he’d made that call to Murtagh about the Southern Region job. He’d cut to the chase, making no assumptions about Dowling’s departure but letting his own interest be known. And, hallelujah, Murtagh had responded enthusiastically in kind, saying in effect that he really hoped Mulcahy would apply the minute the job became available, because it needed to be filled quickly. The implication being: he was in, but only if he was free to move. That thought had been playing on Mulcahy’s mind throughout the briefing.
