O’Kane sighed and placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Please, Martin. Your father was a friend of mine. Don’t do this.”
“These aren’t the old days. It doesn’t work like that any more. I can go to the police.” Martin looked up at him. He looked just like his father.
O’Kane closed his eyes and shook his head for a moment. He turned towards the door. When he reached it he looked back and said, “All right, lads.”
He stepped out into the night and raised the collar of his coat to keep the rain from the back of his neck. Padraig passed him a cigarette, then cupped his hands around it. The match stayed lit just long enough to catch the tobacco. O’Kane pulled deep, feeling the gritty heat fill his chest. Sixty years he’d been smoking and all he had to show for it was a drop of phlegm in the mornings.
, he thought.
“You all right, Da?” Padraig asked, his gormless face shiny and wet in the glow from the barn.
“Ah, grand, son. Just tired, that’s all.”
The walkie-talkie crackled in Padraig’s pocket. He pulled it out and thumbed the button on its side. “Yeah?”
A stream of static and hiss mixed with the sound of cheering and snarling from the barn. Dull thuds came from the house behind them, followed by small cries.
“Aye, we’re expecting him. Let him through.”
Padraig returned the radio to his pocket. “It’s McGinty.”
O’Kane looked beyond the barn and saw headlights approaching from the lane. “Go and keep an eye on the fight. Make sure Sean isn’t slipping his hand.”
“Right, Da.” Padraig waddled across the yard, waving at the rusting Peugeot as it passed. Its wheels hissed on the wet concrete as it drew to a halt. The passenger door opened and Paul McGinty climbed out. He extended his hand.
“How’re ya, Paul?” O’Kane squeezed the politician’s fingers between his. Hard.
“I’ve been better,” McGinty said.
“Where’s your fancy limo tonight?”
“I was trying to be low-key.” McGinty flashed his white teeth.
“Just right.” O’Kane released his hand. “It’s all arranged?”
McGinty’s eyes darted to the farmhouse at the sound of a scream. “What’s that?”
“Local problem. Nothing to worry about.”
McGinty smoothed his jacket. “Yeah, it’s taken care of. They should be here soon. Marie has a number for Fegan. We’ll phone him then.”
“The woman.” O’Kane pointed a thick finger at McGinty’s groin. “Don’t let your cock get in the way. You do what needs doing, never mind the past.”
McGinty tilted his head.
“Didn’t think I knew about that, did you?” O’Kane’s belly shook as he laughed. “You boys in Belfast think I’m too deep in cow shit down here to know what’s going on. I know everything.”
“That’s ancient history.”
“Good, good. But, here. There’s another wee thing I know about. Something you don’t.”
A crease appeared on McGinty’s brow. “What’s that?”
A long, loud shriek came from the house. O’Kane glanced over his shoulder, and then back to McGinty. “Your wee pal, Davy Campbell. He’s got a surprise up his sleeve.”
“What sort of surprise?”
“Well, we’ll have to have a word with him when he gets this length.”
The door to the farmhouse kitchen opened and Tommy Downey stepped out. O’Kane turned to face him.
“Martin accepts the offer,” Downey said.
42
“For the love of Christ, what now?”
Edward Hargreaves saw the vein on his forehead pulse in the dressing-table mirror.
“It’s urgent, Minister,” the Chief Constable said. “I wouldn’t have called you so late otherwise.”
“Just a moment.” Hargreaves pressed the phone’s mouthpiece to his robed shoulder, covered his eyes, and breathed deep. The bedroom was strewn with the contents of the drawers, as well as the bedding - anything a wallet could hide under. That bitch. That sneaky, conniving whore. He brought the phone back to his ear.
“Go on.”
“It’s bad, sir.”
“Oh, God.” He steeled himself. “Tell me.”
“One of my officers was found dead on an industrial estate just outside the city about thirty minutes ago.
