Gunner Kelly

Not a chance, they had: they went away thinking her senile—and she’d run twenty rings round them!”

Audley swayed forwards. “So how did you get her to talk to you?”

“Aargh! She knew my mother—and my grandmother before her.

And she knows where I stand.” The Irishman gave Audley an uncompromising look. “And I told her that Aloysius was dead, and that Michael was on the run because of it. . . And not a postcard she’s had from him, these four years. But I said I’d maybe pass on the word, if I could.” The look softened suddenly. “Is that something I can do—with a clear conscience?”

Audley compressed his lips into a thin line. “To be honest. . . I don’t know.” He considered the Irishman. “But I’ll put it to him, and he can choose for himself. That’s a promise I’ll include with my word, if you like.”

The Irishman gave him back the same consideration. “She would take that as a kindness, for she set great store by him. And . . . and I would take it kindly, too.”

Audley shook his head. “Better not say that, Mr Smith. Better say a debt repaid, and the slate clean—since we have never met.”

The Irishman looked at Audley for another moment, and then turned to his American. “I think it is time for my other appointment. And I’m thinking I would not like to miss it, now, more than ever.”

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“Okay.” The CIA man looked at his watch, and then at Audley.

“David .. . ?” But there was something in the question that was looking for more than mere permission to withdraw.

“Hail and farewell, trusted ally.” Audley lifted a hand. “I’ll be seeing you . . . very soon ... Is that soon enough?”

“Okay.” The American gave Benedikt a nod. “And I guess I’ll be seeing you too, Captain . . . Let’s go, Jim.”

The Irishman started to move, and then paused suddenly, twisting back towards them in mid-step. “Michael. . . Michael was the easy one, and that’s the truth. But that was a long time ago, Dr Audley, and there’s things that a long time teaches.” He closed his eyes for a second. “And if he’s been running . . . running changes a man.

And . . . most of all ... whatever Aloysius touched— don’t you be trusting it not to turn in your hand, Dr Audley. That’s all I’m saying.”

Benedikt watched the two men weave between the tanks until Audley’s voice recalled him.

“Well . . . coming from ‘Jim Smith’, that was a gipsy’s warning, and no mistake!” Audley spoke wonderingly.

“You knew him?”

“I think maybe I do ... by reputation.” Audley half-shrugged. “Not my field, though. But our loyal ally certainly did us proud, no doubt about that, by golly!”

Benedikt frowned. “But he only gave you a connection between . . . Aloysius Kelly and Michael Kelly that was years ago

—ten years?”

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Audley gave him a sidelong look. “He didn’t bother telling me what we both knew. Waste of time, don’t you know!”

That was far enough, decided Benedikt. “No, I do not know. So you need to tell me, I think. And preferably without patronising me.”

The Englishman’s ugly face broke up quite surprisingly. “My God!

I’m sorry, Benedikt! I was, wasn’t I! And quite without justification too. In fact. . . in fact, I wouldn’t like you to put it down to damned insufferable British delusions of superiority—

quite the opposite, rather. . . More like butterflies in the stomach making me nervous.” He grimaced.

“About Aloysius Kelly?”

“About Aloysius Kelly—right.”

“And . . . Debreczen?” It was hard to stay angry with him, even allowing for the certainty that he was also a clever man. “Is it that important?”

“Aloysius Kelly and Debreczen!” Audley drew a breath. “You feed either of them into your computer, and the little red lights will start flashing.” He looked at Benedikt. “I don’t know why . . . but I had this pricking of the thumbs that I was on to something here.” He looked around. “Only . . . I’m not really intuitive—I like little sharp facts, like diamonds—or juicy soft ones, like currants and raisins in a suet pudding.” He came back to Benedikt again. “And now I’ve got something I can’t wear and I can’t swallow, by Christ!”

Benedikt made a disturbing discovery: the disadvantage of playing dummy1

second fiddle to David Audley was that the man’s confidence and omniscience was irritating. But David Audley suddenly nervous was rather frightening.

Audley seemed to sense his disquiet. “Not to worry, though. We’ve maybe got a bit of time . . . The point is that he knew I’d know where Aloysius was killed.” He gave Benedikt an evil grin. “Car bomb in his garage. Spread him like strawberry jam.”

“Where?”

“Airedale. Little cottage on the far side of the valley from Keighley . . . lovely country. Just down the road from Bingley.