Colin had been very sleepy and weak but at times conscious when they visited him that morning. He had a room to himself because of the seriousness of his injuries. Nurses came and went very regularly, checking the various machines to which he was connected and updating the notes at the bottom of his bed.
Colin’s eyes appeared to light up in recognition when he noticed Melanie was with Tom. He had blinked and Tom felt sure his brother was making sure Melanie was indeed in his hospital room and he wasn’t dreaming. He managed a whispered rather hoarse hello but that was it as far as conversation. Although he was definitely on the road to recovery, he would be spending several further weeks in hospital and there was still no definite prognosis about any long term physical injuries. He had not yet been well enough to ask what he remembered of the actual shooting and not been told of John’s role in probably saving his life, while forfeiting his own.
Liz had been surprisingly welcoming, especially given she couldn’t have had much sleep, having been parked permanently and dutifully at Colin’s bedside since first arriving at the hospital. She revealed they were moving Colin next day to a London hospital, more experienced with trauma such as he had experienced, which would also make it easier for her to visit. Tom put her friendliness down to this news and the presence of Melanie and suspected had she not been there he wouldn’t have been made so welcome. They all agreed that if the doctors considered it safe to move Colin then he must indeed be improving.
Sam was stretched out on the large hotel bed with Eduardo when she heard the newsflash. She sat bolt upright, focusing on the screen and pictures of a wrecked and smouldering van. She covered her face with her hand and let out an exclamation that quickly turned to an anguished cry. Eduardo took a few seconds longer to understand the reason. Then he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her reassuringly into his large chest. He held her close for a minute then she pulled away and looked up into his eyes.
“I bet it was that bastard Connor,” she said with venom.
“Might well have been,” Eduardo soothed, stroking her hair. “But don’t worry about him. I promised he would be dead and I am a man of my word.”
“He was a good brother. Why did Connor do that? He wouldn’t have talked. Christ we are all meant to be on the same side.” The words came with a rush. “I should call home, speak to Ma and Da.”
“Of course but not from here,” Eduardo suggested.
“I want to pull the trigger,” she suddenly threw out. “I want to look him in the eyes just before I squeeze the trigger.”
“It may not have been Connor,” Eduardo responded, hastily retreating on his earlier encouragement it had possibly been him. “For all we know he could have already skipped the country. I would have in his place.”
Sam didn’t look convinced. “I’m sure it’s him and I’m going to make him regret what he did to both of us.”
Sam’s reaction worried Eduardo. He understood some of how she was feeling but had learned that personal feelings clouded judgment and where such serious matters were concerned, it would be vital to keep a clear and unemotional focus. That Sam could act on impulse and be very emotional was beyond doubt. She had wanted drugs to implicate Ashdown but then on impulse had asked Connor to kill Ashdown instead. The result had been bad for her. Eduardo liked Sam and wanted to help her. They had agreed that her original plan for the drugs and his reason for being in England was no longer a good idea. It seemed Connor would now replace Ashdown as the focus of her hate.
“I have an idea,” he said. “I am going to take you to dinner and over a nice Rioja we will drink to your brother and then I will explain why I am going to call the Chief.”
Miller purchased two large coffees and joined Simpson on a bench by the river. After brief pleasantries Miller jumped to the reason he had asked to meet. “Is it just me or are you boys also wondering how the hell they managed to hit Murphy? The Court and timings were a closely guarded secret.”
“We’re actively looking for scapegoats to blame! I assume you are running checks on everybody in the know? Someone must have tipped them off.”
“What about your end. There are a few names on the list that I can’t check.”
“Not likely to be one of us,” Simpson answered dismissively. “Most likely someone in the prison.”
“Nobody inside the prison knew the full details, only the time he was being collected. The officers accompanying Murphy were only briefed ten minutes before they left.”
“Where are you going with this?” Simpson enquired. “It could be anyone directly or indirectly giving the location away. Maybe someone has a bug in their office they don’t know about. It’s hardly a first.”
“True, but we’re missing something here.” Miller took a sip of his coffee and looked out across the river. “It doesn’t make sense. We have a sudden rush of Irish associated murders and attempted kidnaps but who is behind it?”
“My guess would be the Real IRA. They recruited Murphy and Maguire and let them loose on London.”
“But if Bancroft was their target why were they also trying to kidnap Melanie Adams? It doesn’t make sense. And why haven’t they claimed responsibility at least for the murder of Bancroft? They might not want to admit to trying to kidnap Melanie Adams but Bancroft is an entirely different matter. They would claim he is a legitimate target and want the kudos for his death. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Perhaps they don’t want to claim credit for Bancroft because they know they will automatically
