“No.”
“No one suspicious looking hanging around the entrance?”
“What? No.”
Smyth considers this for a moment, before nodding and turning towards McNally properly.
“Sorry, Detective. It’s just if I’m ever caught passing on information to a peeler… I mean, you know the stories.”
McNally nods. He’s heard, and worked on, plenty of cases. Pissed off underground lords fuming that they were backstabbed, or the wool pulled over their eyes. These days, the number of layers in these organisations and what you have to do to climb the ladder of trust is shocking. Betrayal isn’t accepted.
“I understand. Am I right in thinking that you have some information for me?”
Smyth nods, looking around one last time.
“So, word has spread about that politician Parker’s body being found. Some of the lads were talking in the Bull’s Horn last night, and were reminiscing. Nothing much was said, but apparently Boyle caught wind that Taylor was looking to recruit Parker. Make a sort of coalition government. To push Ardóimid out altogether, by the looks of it. He couldn’t have that. As you know, Parker was getting the youths, unreligious and apolitical on his side. Boyle was worried about losing voters and being kicked out of office. He was assured that Parker wouldn’t bite, he didn’t have the same views as the Jacks, but he couldn’t take any chances. So, he organised for someone to throw a brick through their living room window. They said something about a sectarian slur message tied around a brick. I understand the wife is a catholic? And the wains went to the catholic grammars?”
McNally nods.
“Aye, sounds about right then. They said it near killed them to write the words, but they wanted to put Parker off the track of joining the Jacks, and it was as good of an attempt as any. Any message with those words written on it… They’d automatically assume the Jacks were behind it.”
“That would explain why, when questioned, they said they had nothing to do with it.”
These underground organisations would have so much below their belts. A measly brick through a window is child’s play.
“But wasn’t that years ago?” McNally ponders, the station gossip revisiting him.
“Aye, so they said. But still thought it could be detrimental to the case.”
“It still could be, Smyth. Thanks… So, do you think that maybe things went further? Did they want Parker to join them?”
“Fuck no,” Smyth scoffs, “you know Boyle, he’d do the whole campaign by himself if he could.”
“But do you think he might’ve killed him to get rid of the competition? I mean, he was basically a one man show. No violent supporters to start a riot or civil war.”
Smyth shrugs and shakes his head.
“That’s all that was said. They brought it up and laughed about it because apparently one of the lads I was with thought it was a stupid idea. He’d never say that to the boss though…”
“Right, thanks… You’ve been a huge help. Keep safe and be sure to report anything else back.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven:
Stepping through into the kitchen to boil the kettle, Danielle leans back on the worktop and breathes out. As she listens to the water boil, she continues gazing out into the garden. As much as she appreciates Steph being here, something’s up. She’s twitchy, constantly looking at her phone and Danielle’s heard it vibrate on and off as if someone were trying to contact her more than a few times now. Why won’t she just answer? It would take two seconds to text back. She’s hiding something. Does she have a boyfriend she hasn’t shared? Not wanting to bring it up considering the way things are currently. She just wishes she would tell her the truth instead of walking on eggshells around her. She’s not some big scary monster, she’s her best friend. Nothing has changed… Has it?
As she fills two mugs, she forgets that Dermott is still in the dining room with Ma. Poking her head through, she asks if anyone would like some tea. Her mother is sitting with her head in her hands and Dermott smiles over to her.
“We’re okay, but DI McNally is coming back to talk to us all in a while. We’ll be out then.”
That can’t be good news. She nods before closing the door and retreats to the kitchen. Deliberating what it could be, she picks up the two mugs and turns around to see Richie standing in the doorway. He’d just been out for a run, and his grey t-shirt has a damp circle around the collar from perspiration.
“McNally’s coming back in a while.”
“Why?”
She shrugs.
“Dermott just told me.”
Nodding, Ritchie bites his lip before crossing to the newly piled clean laundry in the discarded basket. Extracting a blue towel from the pile, he slinks it over one shoulder and turns to leave.
“Wait…”
He gazes at Danielle, who is speechless. Deciding that actions speak louder than words, Danielle puts down the mugs and pads over, wrapping two arms around his neck and leaning in for a cuddle. Seemingly surprised, it takes Ritchie a few seconds to react. Snapping out of it, he wraps his own arms around his sister. She smells the musty stench of his sweat, but she doesn’t care, she buries her head in his chest anyway. This should be weird. Awkward. But instead, it just feels like the past few years haven’t happened. Like they were when they were younger. They used to be so close. Going to the same parties and having the same friends. Only a few years apart. They always got on so well. Until Chris had to ruin everything. Until she had to ruin everything. Seconds go by before they break apart, both not looking each other in the eye.
“Thanks…” Ritchie coughs before turning and opening the downstairs bathroom door.
Re-joining Steph in the living room, Danielle stares blankly at the TV. A re-run of some shit dating show Steph seems to love. The airhead American accents do her head in.
“Are you hiding something?”
Oh, fuck. Did
