Toner reached into his jacket pocket with his right hand and retrieved his mobile. He kept his watery eyes on Fegan as he dialled.
“Hello, Brian? . . . It’s Patsy . . . Yeah, I know . . . I know . . . It’s important. I wouldn’t have called you otherwise, now would I? . . . Listen, I’ve got something for you . . . A bonus . . . But you have to come now . . . Now, Brian . . . In an hour . . . All right . . .”
Fegan listened to Toner give the cop directions as the rain pattered on the Jaguar’s roof. The RUC man stared at him through the spattered window, a soft smile curving his mouth.
39
“Her car’s not here,” Coyle said.
“Well observed, Sherlock.” Campbell opened the van door and stepped down, mindful of his injured thigh. A woman peered out at him from a cottage next to the hotel. He gave her a smile and a nod. She didn’t return the gesture.
Coyle came around from the other side of the van. He pointed to the hotel. “This is the place, isn’t it?”
“Looks like it.”
“So, how do we do this?” Coyle looked nervous.
“Quietly, if we can. We’ll find out if they’re here first.” Campbell limped out onto the road that ran across the front of the hotel. On the other side of the river mouth, past the old church, a long beach stretched into the distance where it met hills running down to the sea. On this side, the sun dipped towards the hilltop behind the hotel. It would be swallowed by the gathering clouds long before it reached the grass and rocks. Further along from the hotel and cottage, an ugly block of apartments scarred the cliff face. He couldn’t be sure if they or the crude basalt block at the edge of the water, some sort of memorial, looked more out of place.
“Wait here,” Campbell said. “I’ll go in and have a sniff around. The state of your face, you’ll scare the shit out of the customers.”
“You don’t look much better yourself.” Coyle dabbed at his chin with his handkerchief.
“Fair point,” Campbell said. “But still, wait here - all right?”
“What if Fegan’s in there?”
Campbell shrugged. “If you hear shooting, come running. Otherwise, just fucking stay here. Clear enough?”
Coyle sighed and leaned against the van. He folded his arms and gave Campbell the hard eye.
Campbell entered the hotel to find a large room that might once have been a dining area. It was filled with tables and chairs that looked like they hadn’t been used in years. A door led to another room from which Campbell could hear the crackling of a fire and the low throb of friendly conversation. He headed towards the sound, grimacing at the flames in his thigh and the sparks in his side.
It was a bar, with a grand fireplace at one end and a few drinkers perched on stools at the other. They all turned to look at him. Campbell walked towards them, and a bearded, white-haired man set aside his newspaper and stood up. Campbell beckoned him towards the far end of the bar, away from the handful of drinkers.
“Are you the owner?” he asked.
“Yes. Seamus Hopkirk. What can I do for you?”
Campbell lowered his voice and leaned in close. “You called us this morning.” He glanced over the owner’s shoulder. “About some guests of yours.”
Hopkirk’s eyes narrowed. “Are you the police?”
“That’s right.”
Hopkirk looked him up and down. “Can I see some identification?”
“Not just at the moment, sir. You see, this is a very delicate matter and we’d like to resolve it as quietly as possible. Now, if you could just tell me where I can find Miss McKenna and her friend, I’ll be out of your way.”
Hopkirk exhaled through his nose. “Listen, young man, don’t mistake me for some yokel. I’ve sat on Larne Council for more than twenty years, and the District Policing Partnership for the last three. You’re no more a policeman than I am. What I will tell you is they’re not here. If you want to know any more than that you’ll have to come back with some identification and a contact for the Duty Officer at your station. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have customers to attend to.”
Campbell took hold of Hopkirk’s wrist. “There’s no need to get in a strop, sir. Just tell me what I need to know and I’ll be no more trouble to you.”
Hopkirk cleared his throat and looked down at Campbell’s hand. “Young man,” he said loud enough to draw the attention of the drinkers, ‘please let go of my arm. They’re not here, and that’s all I can tell you.”
Campbell held Hopkirk’s gaze for a moment, then looked to the customers. The nearest of them, a large man, got to his feet.
“Everything all right, Hopkirk?”
“It’s fine, Albert. This young man was just leaving.”
Campbell weighed it up. He could either let him go and walk out, or . . . what? Tie them all up and beat it out of the old curmudgeon? He sighed and released Hopkirk’s wrist.
“Thanks for your help.” He smiled. Then he turned and limped out of the bar, through the old dining room, and into the thickening rain.
“Well?” Coyle asked. He had taken refuge in the van and wound the passenger window down when he saw Campbell emerge.
