‘The woman and the kid?’

‘That’s right,’ Orla said. ‘Her and the wee girl are on a flight home. She’ll be in Belfast in an hour. You know what to do.’

Orla hung up.

The Traveller went to his bag and dug the file out from under the loose jumble of clothes. The key was taped inside the cover.

40

Lennon found Hewitt in the car park behind the main building, huddled between two Land Rovers, a phone pressed to his ear. Lost in his conversation, he didn’t see Lennon coming.

‘No,’ Hewitt said. ‘No, no way … I know … I know that … I can figure it out, trust me … I know … I know … I can’t do that … Jesus!’ Hewitt almost dropped the phone when he saw Lennon. ‘Listen, I’ll call you back.’ He put the phone away. ‘Shit, Jack, you scared me.’

‘What’s going on?’ Lennon asked.

‘What do you mean?’

Lennon pushed him against the Land Rover. ‘What the fuck is going on?’

‘Easy, Jack.’

‘Tell me what’s going on.’ Lennon pushed him again.

Hewitt held his hands up. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ He smiled. ‘Tell me what you want to know, and I’ll tell you if I can.’

‘Declan Quigley and Patsy Toner,’ Lennon said. ‘Kevin Malloy before them.’

‘Patsy Toner slipped and hit his head when he was piss drunk and fell into a bathtub. It was an accident.’

‘You and me both know that’s not true,’ Lennon said.

‘Declan Quigley got knifed in a burglary that went wrong. One suspect is dead and the other’s in custody.’

‘Bullshit.’ Lennon pushed him one more time. ‘I interviewed that kid. He saw someone else there.’

‘Oh, come on, Jack. You know what those wee shit-bags are like. They couldn’t tell the truth if their lives depended on it.’

Lennon stepped back. ‘I know about Gerry Fegan.’

Hewitt couldn’t hide the surprise. Too late, his face hardened again. ‘Who?’

‘No more lies,’ Lennon said. ‘Not now. I know about Gerry Fegan, the shit-storm he started in Belfast and finished in Middletown. I know about Michael McKenna and Vincie Caffola. I know about Paul McGinty. I know Marie McKenna and my daughter were there. I know someone is tying up loose ends.’

Hewitt’s Adam’s apple bobbed above his collar. ‘Fuck me, Jack, you’ve some imagination.’

‘Don’t,’ Lennon said, putting a finger on Hewitt’s chest. ‘I’m warning you, don’t laugh this off. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.’

Hewitt squeezed past him. ‘I don’t have time for this. You’re losing it, Jack. Everyone’s talking about it. You should’ve got out five years ago when you had the chance.’

Lennon grabbed his wrist. ‘Don’t walk away from me.’

Hewitt looked down at Lennon’s hand, then up to meet his gaze. ‘Let go of me, Jack. You’d do well to remember I’m still your superior officer.’

Lennon pulled him close. You used to be my friend.’

‘True.’ Hewitt’s lips curled in a facsimile of a smile. ‘But you can be a hard man to like.’

‘Look, I don’t give a shit about what happened to McGinty and his cronies. Declan Quigley and Patsy Toner were both scumbags. We’re no worse off without them. But Marie and Ellen. They never hurt anybody. I just want them to be safe. That’s all. Please, Dan. Help me.’

Hewitt closed his eyes for a moment. He sighed and opened them again.

‘Please, Dan.’

‘All right,’ Hewitt said. ‘I’ll give you one thing. I don’t know anything about any Gerry Fegan. What happened with McGinty’s faction was a feud. The inquiry found as much. There’s no conspiracy here, Jack. Now, if I give you this one thing, promise me you’ll stop this nonsense.’

‘Tell me,’ Lennon said, squeezing Hewitt’s wrist tighter.

‘Promise, Jack. Promise me you’ll leave it alone. Will you do that?’

‘All right,’ Lennon said. He released Hewitt’s wrist.

Hewitt smoothed his jacket and straightened his tie. ‘Marie McKenna and your daughter are on their way home.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Her father’s been ill. She’s coming back to see him. They’ll be flying in from Birmingham, landing at the City Airport. If you’re quick you’ll meet them off the plane. They land any—’

Lennon ran.

41

The Traveller sat alone in the darkened room. It was cold, smelled of disuse, like the houses of dead people. As he waited he ran his eyes across the different surfaces, imagining the life that had once been here.

Dust hazed a television set in the corner. A colouring book and various pencils and pens lay on the table beneath the window. A dead pot plant lay on its side at the foot of the fireplace, loose compost spilt across the hearth.

He mopped his eye with a tissue, winced at the sting. It burned, throbbing in time with his shoulder. He’d rinsed the eye with water before coming over to the woman’s flat. His vision in that eye faded, blurring until he had to blink hard to clear it. His left arm had stiffened. That little fucker Toner had twisted in the bathtub, wrenching the shoulder and aggravating the wound.

His phone rang.

‘Change of plan,’ Orla O’Kane said. ‘The woman and the kid will have company.’

‘Who?’

‘That cop,’ Orla said. ‘He’s going to meet them at the City Airport. Get over there and keep a watch on them. He’s too smart to take her to the flat. My guess is the woman will want to go see her father at the hospital.’

‘And what do you want me to do with the cop?’

‘He knows too much. You’ll have to take care of him as well. You’ll be doing a friend of ours a favour. You’ll get a bonus for your trouble.’

‘Bonus?’ The Traveller’s eye dribbled as he smiled. ‘Don’t need a bonus. It’ll be my pleasure.’

42

Lennon searched the crowd gathered around the baggage carousel. He checked the video screen above it yet again to make sure it said Birmingham. People stood shoulder to shoulder, jostling with each other to get a good view of the conveyor belt even though it hadn’t started to turn yet.

A buzzer sounded, and the crowd tightened. Lennon used his height to scan the heads, looking for a flash of blonde.

There, on the other side of the carousel. She stood taller than any of the women around her, the length and paleness of her almost alien. Strips of grey streaked her blonde hair now; her eyes had darkened.

And there was Ellen. The yellow of her hair stood out against the black of her mother’s clothing. A naked plastic doll hung from her fingers, the kind of doll little girls dressed in grown-up clothes, with long limbs and an impossibly small waist. Ellen sniffed and rubbed her nose on her sleeve. Marie scolded her and bent down with a tissue. She pressed it to the child’s nose, and Ellen’s eyes screwed shut as she blew.

Lennon worked his way through the shoulders and bags and trolleys. He kept Marie in his sight as he rounded the carousel. People pushed and shoved as they went for their luggage. He pushed back until he found her stuffing tissues into her handbag.

He stood for a moment, wondering what to say. Her name was all he could think of. ‘Marie,’ he said.

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