today. For the first time in five years, I talked to my own daughter. She has no notion who I am, but it doesn’t matter. I have a chance to make it right. I have a chance to get her back. And you sell her out to some piece of shit.’
Roscoe uncurled. He tried to haul himself away, but the pain creased his face. ‘You’re wrong. I never—’
‘You sold her out to the other side. You, the big Loyalist, you sold a child to the Republicans. It’s like Patsy Toner said. The collusion, it goes all ways, all directions. All the likes of you ever cared about was lining your own pockets. You didn’t give a shit about any cause, did you? Just so long as you were making money.’
‘You’re losing it,’ Roscoe said. ‘You’re fucking off your—’
Lennon drew his Glock and pressed the muzzle to Roscoe’s forehead. ‘You’ve got one last chance,’ Lennon said. ‘Someone will have reported the gunshot. The moment I hear the sirens, I’ll pull the trigger and blow your brains out. It’ll be self-defence, a known career criminal against a cop. The Ombudsman’s office won’t care. No one’s going to give a fuck about a piece of shit like you. Do you understand?’
Roscoe blinked at him, his nostrils flared.
‘The only way you live is if you tell me who you talked to,’ Lennon said. ‘That’s all there is. No other choices. Now tell me.’
Roscoe squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Fuck,’ he said. His face went slack, his eyelids fluttered. ‘Dan Hewitt,’ he said. ‘That Special Branch fucker. He’s the one you want. He’s the one put the word out. He wanted to know what you were up to, if anyone saw you around, if you came at anyone looking favours. I called him up. Told him you wanted the flat.’
Roscoe opened his eyes and smiled. ‘What? You think you’re the only cop I’m mates with? Like you said: all ways, all directions.’
Lennon stood upright and holstered the Glock. ‘You breathe a word of this, I’ll tell anyone who’ll listen that you’re a tout.’
‘Fuck you,’ Roscoe said.
‘You know what they do to touts,’ Lennon said. ‘You come near me, or anyone I know, I’ll tell every last fucker in this city you’re a tout. You won’t be able to show your ugly face on the street. You understand me?’
‘Fuck you,’ Roscoe said.
Lennon kicked him hard in the groin. Roscoe curled into a tight ball, blood dripping from his lips. He vomited onto the tiled floor.
The smell of it hit Lennon hard, and he went for the door, swallowing against his own bile until the night air cooled his skin.
He didn’t see the tall man coming, only felt the hard hands on his throat before he hit the ground.
78
‘Where are they?’ Fegan asked, his face inches from the cop’s.
Lennon struggled beneath him, his shoulders twisting as Fegan fought for balance.
‘I don’t know,’ the cop said.
Fegan tightened his grip on Lennon’s throat, tried to find the windpipe with his fingers. ‘You should’ve kept them safe.’
The cop reached up, going for Fegan’s eyes. Fegan pulled back, twisting his face away. His balance left him, and he lost his grip on Lennon’s throat. Another push and his back hit the pavement, a heavy body on his, a Glock against his cheek.
‘Gerry Fegan,’ the cop said.
‘Why did you leave them?’ Fegan asked.
‘I had to,’ Lennon said, panting. ‘No one knew where they were.’
‘But he found them.’
The Glock pressed harder on Fegan’s cheek. ‘I fucking know he did,’ Lennon said. ‘They were sold out.
‘No,’ Fegan said. He pushed up with his elbows, ignoring the pressure of the pistol’s muzzle against his cheekbone. ‘Not until I know where they are.’
‘Why?’ Lennon pushed him back down. ‘You caused all this. They’d be safe if it wasn’t for you. You started this whole thing, you crazy bastard.’
‘I know,’ Fegan said, strength draining from his body into the cold ground. He closed his eyes. ‘I know.’
The muzzle lifted from his cheek, and the other man’s weight left his chest. He opened his eyes. The cop stood over him, the Glock still aimed at his forehead.
‘How did you find me?’ Lennon asked.
‘I talked to the man who has them,’ Fegan said. ‘On Marie’s phone. He said he was in Carrickfergus. I drove around till I saw a cop car. I knew that was it. Then I followed you.’
Lennon stood back and waved the pistol at the empty street. ‘Get out of here. Go on, disappear, or I’ll turn you in.’
Fegan sat up. ‘I can’t. Not till they’re safe.’
‘They’ll never be safe while you’re around,’ Lennon said. ‘Can’t you see that? Christ, there’s no time for this.’
The cop stepped over Fegan’s legs and headed for the Audi.
‘Where are they?’ Fegan got to his feet. ‘What did you find out in there?’
‘Nothing that concerns you,’ Lennon said as he opened the Audi’s door. ‘Just go and don’t come back.’
‘Tell me,’ Fegan said, fighting the anger that swelled in his chest.
Lennon raised the pistol again. His hand shook. ‘Get out of here or so help me I’ll shoot you dead.’
Fegan went for the pub’s door.
‘Don’t,’ Lennon called after him.
Fegan turned to face him. ‘Then tell me.’
‘He doesn’t know where they went,’ Lennon said, his shoulders sagging. ‘But he told me someone who might. The one who sold them out.’
‘Who is it?’
‘An old friend,’ Lennon said. A cop.’
Fegan stepped closer. ‘Take me to him.’
‘No,’ Lennon said. ‘Christ, no. Are you crazy? What am I talking about, of course you’re crazy.’
The cop holstered his weapon and lowered himself into the car. Fegan ran to it and grabbed the door before Lennon could pull it closed.
Lennon glowered up at him from the driver’s seat. ‘Let go.’
‘Will he tell you where they are?’ Fegan asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Lennon said. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. Let go of the door.’
Fegan leaned into the car, smelled the cop’s sweat and fear. ‘Take me to him.’ ‘Why?’
‘Because he’ll tell me.’
‘If he won’t tell me, why in God’s name would he tell you?’ Fegan said, ‘Because I’ll ask harder.’
79
The Traveller drove the Volkswagen up to the gate of the convalescent home Bull O’Kane had taken over. A man emerged from the shadows and shone a torch into the car, picking out the woman and child.
The man tapped the window. The Traveller lowered it.
‘Who the fuck are they?’ the man asked.
The Traveller could just make out a dark jacket and jeans. Something bulged in the man’s pocket. ‘They’re old friends of your boss,’ he said. ‘Now open up.’
The man scratched his stubbly chin for a few seconds before waving the torch at someone. The gate opened, the keeper unseen, and the Traveller drove through.
The old house stood black against the deep blue of the coming morning. It grew as the car approached. Headlights reflected on sash windows. Gravel crunched beneath the tyres. The Traveller’s head throbbed with
