The gifts brought to the altar suggest an ordinary, kindly grandfather; a TV remote, a Liverpool jersey and photographs of family. The reality is a far different tale.
I'm rushing across town on a busy Friday late afternoon. I'm late, as always, delayed in the office recording podcasts about criminals and their antics in the ever-changing underworld.
I cross through the traffic on the bottom of O'Connell Street, my bag, heavy with chargers, recorders and laptops, around my shoulder.
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