‘Are they all right? The little girl, is she okay?’
‘Far as I know.’
‘Did they say where she is now?’
‘No.’
‘Is she with that cop?’
The boy stopped. He looked north towards the university, then back along the Malone Road. ‘What cop? Listen, who are you?’
Fegan’s cheeks grew hot. ‘No one. I was having something to eat in the cafe at the other end of the road. The waitress said there’d been trouble. I was just curious.’
The boy started walking, but kept his gaze on Fegan. ‘I don’t know where she is. It’s nothing to do with me. Look, why don’t you ask those cops? I need to go. I’m late for class.’
Fegan watched the boy walk away, caution and desperation fighting within him. He followed. ‘Were they hurt?’
The boy quickened his pace. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. Look, I really need to go.’
‘What about—’
‘I told you, I don’t know anything about it.’
Fegan slowed, let the boy leave him behind. ‘Thanks,’ he called after him.
The boy looked over his shoulder once, but said nothing. He broke into a run when he reached the traffic lights at the end of the road.
64
The pale cop let himself into the Traveller’s cell, closed the door behind him, and stood there, sweating. The Traveller lay on the thin mattress, one hand behind his head, the other resting on his stomach. The skin itched beneath the strapping.
‘Do you know who I am?’ the cop asked.
The Traveller could make no sense of the tag that dangled from the cop’s breast pocket. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Should I?’
‘No, you shouldn’t.’
The Traveller sniffed. ‘Fair play, then.’
The cop stepped closer. ‘You’ve been a good boy so far,’ he said. ‘You’ve kept your mouth shut.’
The Traveller went to sit up. ‘I’m not—’
‘Be quiet and listen.’
The Traveller eased himself back down.
‘We have a mutual friend,’ the cop said. ‘He is very displeased. He considered arranging for you to have an accident in this cell. Maybe you couldn’t cope with the fear, the guilt and finally being caught. You’re not on suicide watch, so it could happen quite easily. Nobody would be watching you. Nobody would expect it.’
The Traveller picked at loose threads of elasticated bandage. ‘Tell our mutual friend to make his threats in person, if he’s got the balls.’
The cop moved closer still and leaned forward. ‘Don’t play the big man with me, you piece of shit, or you’ll be swinging by your neck before midnight.’
The Traveller sat up. The cop stood back and paled a shade closer to white. He pulled a small canister from his trouser pocket and shook it.
‘You stay there or I’ll spray you.’
The Traveller smiled. ‘You’ll have to explain why you had that. You shouldn’t carry CS spray unless you’re on the beat.’
‘I’m in a cell with a suspect known to be violent. It’s a sensible precaution.’
The Traveller stood. You’ve only got one eye to aim at, so you better aim good.’
‘Sit down,’ the cop said, the canister held in front of him.
The Traveller grinned. ‘Fuck you, you black—’
The spray hit like hot needles in his one good eye. He sucked in air to scream, but the burning swamped his throat and nostrils. The scream came out as a strangled hiss. A hand on his chest pushed him back. He sat down hard. Even though he knew better, his sleeve went to his eye.
‘Don’t rub it,’ the cop said. ‘You’ll only make it worse. Let your eye water to flush it out.’
‘Bastard fucking shit-eating cunt of a whore.’ He would have cursed more, cursed the cop to hell and back, but his throat closed against the burning. He coughed and spat as every part of his head and chest that could excrete a fluid kicked into action.
‘Shut up and listen,’ the cop said.
The Traveller hissed through his teeth. He stamped his feet on the floor.
You listening? I’ll get you a wet cloth just as soon as you’ve listened to me. Are you listening?’
The Traveller stilled himself. He nodded, his eyes screwed shut.
‘Good,’ the cop said. The Traveller could barely make out his shape in the fiery blur as he hunkered down. ‘Now, our mutual friend is a very generous man. That’s why you’re not going to have any accidents in your cell tonight, just so long as you do as I say. There’s a way to make things right. A way to get your little project back on track, and help me out of a fix at the same time. Now, have I got your attention?’
The Traveller exhaled through his nose, felt the snot bubble and dribble across his lips. ‘Talk,’ he said.
65
‘He’s giving me nothing,’ DCI Gordon said.
Lennon watched Ellen play from the kitchenette. He cradled the phone between his shoulder and his ear. Gordon sounded tired. ‘Fingerprints throw anything up?’ Lennon asked.
‘Not a thing,’ Gordon said. ‘DNA swabs have been sent off, but I’m not holding my breath. Every name and address he’s given us has checked out to a real person, a male around his age. He must’ve rhymed off a dozen. He had them all memorised. He’s wearing cheap clothes from Dunnes and Primark, all new. His wallet had nothing but cash, sterling and euro, and a keycard for a hotel on University Street. We’re trying to get consent for a search of the room from management. Shouldn’t be long. I may need you to handle that.’
‘No,’ Lennon said. ‘I can’t leave Marie and Ellen.’
‘Where are they?’ Gordon asked. ‘Where are you, for that matter?’
‘I can’t tell you. I won’t until we know who he is, and who sent him.’
‘I understand,’ Gordon said. ‘We have him now and they’re safe, but I understand. I’ll see if I can get someone else to search the hotel room, but I’d rather it was you.’
‘I thought I was on leave,’ Lennon said. ‘By your orders, no less.’
Well, things have changed. I’m not hopeful a search will turn anything up, mind you. A man as careful as this wouldn’t leave anything around for a cleaning lady to find.’
‘What about his car?’ Lennon asked.
We found a Mercedes estate in the hospital car park and towed it to Ladas Drive. It’s still being pulled apart, but all we’ve got so far is empty water bottles, stained tissues and assorted litter. It’s got Meath plates, but the Garda Siochana tell us they belong to a Merc that was written off five years ago.’
‘No weapons?’
‘Just the Desert Eagle he had on him and a spare clip,’ Gordon said.
‘That’s all?’
‘That’s the lot.’
Lennon thought about it. ‘He might have a stash somewhere in Belfast. A place or a friend he can store things with.’
‘Possibly,’ Gordon said. ‘I’ll give him another go, try that line on him. I’ll let you know if it turns anything up.’
‘One more thing,’ Lennon said before Gordon could hang up.
‘What?’
