“What did you want to tell me, Sean?”
Reilly finished his sandwich, took a long mouthful of tea. “I grew up in Ireland, as you well know. I had to learn the hard way, and I matured into an adult bloody fast, I can tell you. You had to be hard to survive. Me and my brothers were always caught up in street battles that started small and escalated into fucking wars before you knew it. It was always political.
“We moved to Portballintrae when I was seven, just off the coast, near the Giant’s Causeway. I met up with an old-timer there, Laura’s grandfather Seamus. He fascinated me. He was very wise, and he knew how to survive. Not just from the land, but almost every way you could think of. He used to take me fishing and we’d sit on the rocks for hours, listening to the water, staring out to sea. It was relaxing.
“Another thing he shared with me were the legends surrounding the Celtic people, and how they often helped him overcome his problems. Now, I’m not going to spend all morning boring you with those. So, I’m going to tell you about something that happened to Laura and myself. Something I’ve never told anyone else.”
Reilly finished his tea. “It happened a few summers back. Our daughter, Linda, had taken a train to Belfast to see a concert. An hour before it started, there was an explosion at a church on the opposite side of the street. Fair rocked the place, so it did.”
“Your daughter?”
Reilly nodded.
“I didn’t realize you had a daughter. You’ve never mentioned her.”
“Like I said, I’ve never told anyone.”
Gardener noticed, for possibly the first time since he’d known his partner, a concerned expression. Behind the stone-enhanced exterior, Sean Reilly really was capable of showing emotion. It was a rare experience. He was perhaps the only person whom Gardener knew that seemed able to keep his emotions in check.
“The building had to be evacuated,” he continued. “Hordes of people spilled out onto the street. Then another series of mini-explosions shook the place. A lot of people were killed and a lot more were hurt, I can tell you. You see, that’s the sheer senselessness of it all. Bombs are not the answer.”
“Where were you when it happened?” asked Gardener.
“I forget where I was now, but that’s not important. A political organization called Black Velvet claimed responsibility. Now Linda, God love her, she was a wee chip off the old block. When Black Velvet grabbed one of her friends as hostage, our Linda waded in and tried to save the girl.”
Reilly paused but Gardener said nothing.
Reilly’s eyes had dampened when he glanced at his partner. “She took a shotgun blast to the face at point-blank range. The coroner said afterwards it would have been instant, she wouldn’t have known anything. But we did. Laura was devastated. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, crying all the time. I was given leave from the RUC. Me being who I am, I decided no one was going to get away with doing this to me.
“I went underground with the sole ambition of carrying out a one-man vendetta. Through various contacts, I found the headquarters and persuaded a couple of dogshites to give me the information I wanted.”
Reilly paused, leaving his partner with the impression that he didn’t want to go any further.
“Suffice to say, before I left, I thanked them for their cooperation. The group responsible for the bombing took a number of hostages – Linda’s friend being one of them. They were keeping them in a derelict warehouse on the outskirts of the city. I rounded up a couple of friends and paid a visit. There were only three people supervising: one of them was the man who pulled the trigger, and he was mine – all mine. We freed the hostages, and I delivered the three personally. In bags. As you can imagine, my reward was my passport to the top man. The man who’d pulled the trigger was his brother. We had a meeting, ironed a few things out, and he let me go. Nothing more was said.”
Gardener shuddered when he thought of what his friend was capable of, despite having always suspected as much.
He made light of it. “Sounds like the Sean Reilly we’ve all come to know and love. Didn’t the RUC find out what you’d done?”
“They might have suspected something, but they couldn’t prove it. My point is this, my friend: you’re going to have to follow my example.”
“I’d gladly kill the bastard if I could find him.”
“No, for God’s sake.” Reilly waved his hands in the air. “I don’t want you to kill someone. I want you to go underground. Think back to the Thornwell killing. Who was sitting on a bench, waiting patiently to speak to us?”
“You mean Bob Crisp.”
“Exactly. I told you at the time he was worth listening to. I think he knows a lot more. There’s something in his past. And it wouldn’t surprise me if Summers is connected. And what’s more, I’ll bet he knows about that bastard Warthead.”
“But why not tell us at the time? If he had information which could have led to an arrest, why not tell us?”
“Who knows? Maybe he’s frightened. Perhaps Summers has a hold on him. It goes a hell of a lot deeper than what we think.”
Gardener considered the Irishman’s words. “If I go underground, what’s Briggs going to say?”
“He doesn’t need to know. You know as well as I do he’ll take you off the case anyway. Go home. Get some rest. Tonight, find your oldest clothes and go into the city and search out the vagrants. You have to find Bob Crisp. Find him, and I think you’ll find your adversary.”
Gardener stood up and made as if to leave. “I
