Seamus’s mother had wanted O’Rourke to be prosecuted, but Seamus had pleaded with her not to do it as he would be ostracised from his friends, and Father O’Rourke was right in what he had done to him.
In time, life in the small community moved on, and Seamus never defaced the church again, even stopping every time he passed the place to enter and offer a prayer to be forgiven, and to apologise to the Almighty for what he had done.
England was the only place for Seamus Gaffney after he left prison, and although he had tried his hand at labouring, and then serving in a shop, he was a restless man. He was, however, reliable, and those in Notting Hill and the adjoining suburbs recognised that. He always had his ear to the ground, and he knew how to set up activities on the edge of illegality. Gambling on fighting dogs, bare-knuckle fighting, although there wasn’t much of that in the last few years, and arranging a cheap car for someone: stolen, resprayed, the engine markings removed on more than a few occasions. He had spoken out of turn once and had inadvertently given a clue to the police; the outcome of that an arrest, and a man had spent two years in jail. On his release, he had grabbed Seamus by the collar, marched him up to the pub.
‘You owe me a skinful of beer,’ the released prisoner said.
‘Why’s that?’
‘They never found out about the other crime. The money’s safe from that one, and later tonight you’re going to drive me to the airport. I’ve got plenty, and after two years that I spent inside courtesy of Her Majesty, I’m well ahead.’
Seamus had been relieved when the man had boarded the flight to Thailand, and a life of bargirls, cheap alcohol and drugs. The word came through six months later that for all his luck the man had been on the receiving end of a beating in a bar in Phuket and had died of his wounds.
‘Seamus,’ Larry said, having visited the bar in the Wellington Arms to order another pint of beer for the man, one for himself. ‘What can you tell me?’
‘You’ve been talking to Becali.’
‘Why not? The man knows more than you do, or does he? He’s a vicious bastard, so’s Antonescu, but we need to find out who shot up Briganti’s. Have you found out any more?’
Seamus took a drink, downing almost half the contents of the glass in one gulp. ‘The rumour mill is working overtime. Everyone’s got a theory. Most think it’s the Romanians aiming to tighten their grip.’
‘Their grip is already tight. Are there any dissenters?’
‘Some of the gangs are in discussion.’
‘To form an alliance against the threat?’
‘If it’s not the Romanians, then they need to be ready. There’s talk of bringing in more weapons. It could get nasty.’
‘That’s why we need to meet with Cojocaru, the other criminal syndicates, the gangs.’
‘We! Count me out. I’ll talk to you here for a few pints and some of your money, but don’t ask me to meet with any of them.’
‘Seamus, you’re letting your mind get away with you. It’s the police who’ll be talking with them. You can help with letting me know who’s talking to who, or I can find out from them direct.’
‘They’ll not talk openly to you, not yet. Another incident and they may do.’
‘Another incident planned?’
‘That’s the problem, just rumours. There are some that say the hit on Briganti’s was aimed at the man himself, others say it was the hot-shot banker, others reckon it was Guy Hendry or the woman he was with, even the Maynard woman. Myself, I think they’re all wrong.’
‘What do you reckon?’
‘I read that they shoot up places overseas.’
‘It’s not part of our culture.’
‘You may be right,’ Gaffney said. ‘I’ve heard there is a shipment of weapons coming in.’
‘A rumour?’
‘It could be, but if it’s correct, they’ll be available to the highest bidder. You’d better be prepared.’
‘We will be,’ Larry said as he downed his last pint. He had kept it to four; he would not be sleeping on the sofa that night.
Chapter 8
Pathology had completed the autopsies of those who had died at Briganti’s. Isaac read through the reports in his office. He had been joined by Bridget and Wendy; Larry was out on the street attempting to meet with the various gang members and villains, those that would talk to him.
‘According to the reports,’ Isaac said, ‘Abano had been drinking, nothing excessive, and Briganti was clean, as were the other two hairdressers that died, although one of them, Baz Haywood, was found to have traces of cocaine.’
‘Guy Hendry and Gillian Dickenson?’ Wendy said.
‘Nothing to report apart from Gillian Dickenson being two months pregnant. Paul Waverton, the banker, was heavily into cocaine. And as for Sal Maynard, her autopsy reveals that she was verging on obese, no sign of any other ailments. What do we have on her?’
‘The family has some criminal history, hardly enough to warrant execution,’ Wendy said. ‘I’m following up in detail with Bridget on all those in Briganti’s. We’re not excluding that one of them was targeted and that Cojocaru is not responsible.’
‘Correct,’ Isaac said, knowing that he had trained his team well. ‘We can’t assume anything. Larry’s out there trying to find out more details, and we’re meeting with Cojocaru.’
‘Be careful,’ Bridget said.
‘I’ve already run it past Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard. He’s given the go-ahead, and we’ll have armed backup not far away.’
‘So will Cojocaru,’ Wendy said.
