‘I stayed with the money, inherited enough to live well, but Guy never touched any of it. He made his fortune through sweat and hard work.’
‘Any enemies?’
‘Our father was a ruthless businessman. He would have made enemies, but not Guy.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Dead and buried. A lifetime of smoking cigars, drinking whisky and burning the midnight oil. A driven man, he had a coronary at the age of seventy-one. Guy never went to the funeral, there was that much hatred between the two.’
‘Your brother was capable of anger and hate?’
‘Not towards any of us. It was our father he hated, almost as much as he hated his mother for deserting him.’
‘Is she still alive?’
‘She is. She’s old now and lives in the country. I’ll give you her address. I’ll let you form your opinion when you meet her.’
‘Your opinion?’
‘I’ve never formed a judgement against her, no more than I have against my own mother. She’s dead, by the way. Guy’s mother was a frail woman, even when she lived with our father. And with our father, you were either with him, or you were out, and totally.’
‘Are you saying she may have had no choice but to leave Guy with his father?’
‘I could understand the rationale at the time, but I was nine years older when she left that night. Guy was only eight, so he didn’t see these things in the same light. Whatever the reason, I don’t believe he has met his mother more than a few times in the years since. I wish my brother were still alive, but he isn’t, and we’ll have to deal with it. I just hope that you’re able to solve this horrendous crime as soon as possible and to bring whoever did it to justice.’
‘That’s our intention,’ Isaac said.
***
The unexpected visit of Nicolae Cojocaru to where Larry and Seamus Gaffney had been sitting in the pub had not been a pleasant encounter, and Larry, usually not a man to express his prejudices, could not act with indifference towards the man. Cojocaru, with his adroit manipulation, his money, and his henchmen had cut a swathe through the area. In the past, the villains had been English, then Irish, then from the Caribbean, Jamaicans mainly, and the last group had been vicious enough. But compared to the Romanian gangsters, they were as children.
‘Tough bastard,’ Seamus said.
‘He frightens me,’ Larry said. ‘He could have done it.’
‘Too close to home, he’s not responsible.’
Larry knew that while Cojocaru was capable of ordering violence, he was not a man who carried a gun or committed the acts personally. He was a godfather figure in his community, and there were those from the old country who looked to him for assistance; people not in a position morally or financially to condemn the man’s criminal activities.
That night, late as usual, Larry found his wife waiting for him when he arrived home, her typical stern look not apparent.
‘Busy night,’ she said with almost a touch of affection. Larry knew that she wished he’d leave the police and get a job that wasn’t so dangerous and didn’t come with the temptation of boozy nights. He knew she had been right on a previous case when the Homicide team were getting close to solving some murders, and he had ended up in hospital, severely beaten. If it hadn’t been that the hoodlums who had gone at him with baseball bats were ineffectual, he would have been dead. As it was, he had escaped with no more than severe bruising, a couple of broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder blade.
‘You’ve seen where I’ve been on the television,’ Larry said.
‘Guy Hendry. Why would anyone kill him?’
‘They killed his girlfriend and six others, a bloodbath.’
‘And you’re mixing with those who did it?’
‘Not this time. We don’t think it’s local-based, and Hendry was not the target. Never can be sure on that, though.’
‘He always seemed a charming man, but then on the television, these celebrities let us see what they want of them.’
‘DCI Cook and Wendy have met with his family, also Gillian Dickenson’s. According to them, Guy Hendry was a decent man. Gillian Dickenson came from a good home, as well. They had to tell the mother that her daughter was dead.’
‘Not you this time?’
‘Not this time, thankfully. Just hope there are no more villains out there with semi-automatic rifles.’
‘And you in the middle of it. You know I worry.’
‘I wouldn’t love you if you didn’t. Someone’s got to deal with this.’
‘But why you?’
‘Let’s not go there again. You know I’m not leaving.’
‘I know. Your dinner’s in the oven if you’re hungry.’
‘I’m starving. Any chance of sleeping upstairs tonight?’
‘Just make sure you brush your teeth and use some mouth freshener. I can’t be angry tonight, although I should be. Any suspects?’
‘I met Cojocaru.’
‘He gets as much publicity as Guy Hendry,’ Larry’s wife said as she walked out of the door to the kitchen.
‘Not good, though. He’s a man who frightens me.’
‘He frightens a lot of people. Don’t go getting yourself killed.’
‘I don’t intend to,’ Larry said.
‘But Cojocaru. He’s a killer.’
‘I’ll make sure to call him sir every time I meet him.’
‘Not you. You’re more than likely to have a beer with him.’
‘Reluctantly,’ Larry said, knowing that Cojocaru was a man who would know what was happening before anyone else, even the police.
Chapter 6
Giuseppe Briganti’s mother, an elderly woman, her back bent from years of working outside tending to the cattle and the vegetables that they grew for sale, sat in the corner of the farmhouse. In another corner, a television was on. For the woman, it was her only connection to the
