by Bill Ward
Miller knew the son had followed in his father’s footsteps but by all accounts he was only a pale imitation of his father. For some years now, Miller had been spending most of his time behind a desk in London, so there was none of the personal animosity he felt for the father. However, young Murphy could still be a mine of information and whether there was a ceasefire or not Miller was intending to go digging in a big way.
There were many puzzles from the past that he might be able to help solve. In particular, Miller remembered all too well Brian Potter, a colleague who had been captured and terribly tortured. It was almost certainly an act of revenge for Potter killing a prominent Republican in a gun battle. Potter hadn’t died quickly and the memory of being first to find his body had stayed with Miller ever since and still sometimes Brian appeared in his dreams, blaming him for not finding him sooner. Miller felt guilty, though in rational analysis he knew he had done everything possible.
What nagged away at him was the belief Brian had been taken as the result of a betrayal by someone from within the force. Someone had known where Potter would be at a very specific time and passed on that information or otherwise the IRA had got very lucky. Miller knew which was most likely. He had wanted revenge for Brian’s death and in the immediate aftermath of finding his body, if they had found the culprits, he would have happily taken a literal eye for an eye. He had led one of the most thorough investigations he could ever recall but no one had been brought to justice. He would be able to retire a happy man if he could now find those responsible.
Melanie Adams had returned to her hotel suite suffering from complete physical and mental exhaustion. She had sat staring at the telephone for what seemed an eternity, trying to find the strength to call Carol’s sister Annie. They had met twice briefly, which wasn’t much of a basis for now having to tell her about the death of her sister. It had been the most difficult thing Melanie had ever done in her life and took the last of her strength. Carol had devoted a large part of her adult life to following Melanie everywhere and making life smooth for her. Melanie could only guess at the sacrifices that had entailed. She knew Carol had never found love and Melanie was feeling guilty that had partly been her fault for keeping her so busy and never spending very long in the same place. Their relationship may in theory have been that of employer and employee but over the years they had become friends as well. Carol was like family and would be sorely missed not just for her amazing organization skills but for the evenings they spent together, in various hotel rooms, watching old movies and pigging out on popcorn and chocolate.
Her sister had not surprisingly taken the news badly. At first not even believing what she was hearing. Then she was crying and kept wailing, “It can’t be.” Her husband Jack had taken the phone from her and Melanie had confirmed the news, filling in more of the details. She made him promise to call her if there was anything she could do to help and then left them to their grief.
Next Melanie had called Gerald, her agent, and related the night’s events. He had offered to take the next flight, which she deemed unnecessary but they did agree a statement for the press. He was also going to arrange for new and increased security though as she remarked, it seemed a bit bloody late for that! He made one last protestation that she shouldn’t be alone but that was exactly what she wanted.
When she put the phone down she realised she really had no one else she needed to call that mattered. It had been that way for a long time. She was an only child with no special man in her life, no close family and precious few real friends. Her father had died just after his fiftieth birthday, from lung cancer. She was twenty three at the time and couldn’t remember ever seeing him without a cigarette in his hand. Her mother had died five years later also of cancer but Melanie suspected her broken heart had played a part. Her parents had been inseparable and she had never really moved on from the loss of the love of her life. Melanie had no siblings and family consisted of just a few cousins she had barely seen since her childhood. It had been a happy childhood and she missed her parents terribly. The worst thing was that they weren’t around to enjoy the success she had achieved in the last ten years. She knew they would have been proud of her and she would have liked to have given them something back.
The press endlessly speculated about her private life, linking her romantically with every man she went within ten feet of but there had been no one serious for over a year now. Even that last relationship was barely deserving of the title. Less than a year spent with someone who owned a property empire and was continually pushing her, to introduce him to celebrity friends who might want to buy a house. She came to realize he was more interested in being known as the boyfriend of Melanie Adams and having his picture in the papers, rather than actually caring for her. It was about par for the course of her love life.
Her earlier flings with actors had not fared any better. They always seemed to put her second to their careers. Where were all the good honest guys? Or was it impossible for someone in her position to meet someone who could love her for the person she was, not for being a world famous actor who could further their career. It wasn’t as if she had unrealistically high expectations. Looks were nice to have but far more important was honesty and a sense of humour. Unfortunately her agent didn’t help matters by encouraging the stories about her and her leading men. He saw it as good publicity but she hated the lies that were printed in the celebrity columns of newspapers. She didn’t understand the fascination strangers had with reading about her imaginary love life. She was an optimist by nature but finding a true soulmate seemed a very long way off.
She rebuked herself for starting to feel sorry for herself. She may be alone but she was alive and still had a future. It was Carol and her bodyguard who deserved her sympathy. Melanie wasn’t very religious but she did think of herself as spiritual and believed there was something further after death. She was once again thinking what that something might be, when sleep eventually arrived with the help of a second pill. She had taken just one the night before to deal with the effects of jet lag but this night she knew at least two were required.
When she awoke there was the glimmer of a possibility it had all been a bad nightmare but turning on the television dispelled that hope. She moved about her room not knowing what to do. There was no Carol to go through the day’s timetable. No Carol to tell her where she had to be and at what time. She recognised she lived a privileged life. One where a team of people worked endlessly to ensure everything in her life went smoothly. But even so and despite all her wealth, the previous evening had seen her life torn apart.
She felt no sympathy for the man she had shot and whom the police informed her had died in the ambulance on the way to hospital. He had fully deserved his end and she felt no remorse for her actions. She was just pleased that her upbringing had included being taught how to use guns by her father and hunting had been a regular summer escape when she was young.
She was born in Pittsburgh but her family had a cabin in the mountains of northern Pennsylvania and it was there her father had taught her about guns. He would hunt deer in particular and though her appetite for the sport dwindled as she left her teenage years behind, the familiarity with weapons remained.
In one film a couple of years earlier, she had played an FBI agent and the film’s young Director had insisted she spent some time at a shooting range, so she looked like she knew how to handle a gun, for the various shooting scenes. She had surprised herself and the Director by how much she remembered and the film had been another great success.
She still owned the cabin but hadn’t been up there for several years. She had gone once since her parents died to sort out effects and one other time with a casual boyfriend for the weekend. It had seemed wrong to be there without her parents and the weekend hadn’t gone well. He had expected a fun filled wild time. She had been moody and thoughtful and shortly after, their brief relationship had fizzled out.
Melanie was in London to promote her new film and
knew there was an endless round of meetings with the press arranged but they now seemed incredibly unimportant. Especially as those meetings would inevitably require her to recount time and again the previous night’s events, which would make for a groundhog style nightmare. She wanted to get out of London as soon as possible. She wanted to be home in Malibu with familiar sights and sounds. She wanted to walk along the sandy beach and feel the warm sea wash up on her feet. She snapped back to reality. She needed to focus. The one appointment she knew she did have to keep was with the police inspector, to give a more detailed statement. She realized that shooting someone dead, even a low life kidnapper, required thorough investigation. He was sending a police car to pick her up at eleven. She told the desk not to put through any phone calls and ordered coffee and newspapers from room service.
Melanie wondered what would have happened if the guy who had introduced himself as Tom hadn’t come along. Would she now be tied up and locked away somewhere terrible. Maybe even buried in a coffin, she remembered that happening to one kidnap victim. Would they have cut off an ear or a finger to prove they had her captive? Her imagination ran riot until finally she told herself to get a grip. Tom had come along and fortunately for her he had been willing to get involved. She knew that back home most people would have thought first of self-preservation and stayed clear of the danger. Maybe it was different over here?
Though she had employed security and bodyguards for several years now, she had never contemplated having to deal with anything more serious than over enthusiastic fans, likely to crush her in their desire for an autograph. She’d been lucky and she had a life to live. In fact she had three lives to live. She needed to think about others not herself. She started to make phone calls. A good start would be to find out about the bodyguard who had been killed. She’d only known him twenty-four hours but it was her fault he was dead and the least she could do was help his family.
It was late Sunday evening when Brendan Connor received his instructions from the Chief. He wasn’t surprised to receive the orders. He’d heard about the fuck up across the water and it was at such times he was often called for by the Chief. It had been that way for many years now. The bigger the problem the more likely he was to be needed. He was known to be reliable. He got the job done, whatever it was. At forty six years of age he knew it wouldn’t be that way for ever. He didn’t have the same speed of his youth and he’d given up going to gyms many years ago. He was just over six feet tall and had an average build. His skin was blotchy and his nose a red colour that pointed to years of excessive drinking. He wasn’t by any means an alcoholic, as he never fancied it early in the morning but he liked a regular drink.
His reputation deterred most people from ever thinking of crossing him or lying to him. When he asked a question he expected to receive an honest answer. He was ruthless and the passing of years had made him even more so. Strike first was his motto. He allowed nothing and no one to get in his way. He knew that was what the Chief liked about him and why he entrusted him with the most important tasks.
He packed a few clothes and bought a cheap airline ticket over the Internet. He was used to living out of suitcases and making trips at short notice. It had been the case for over twenty years, ever since he’d left the family home in Turf Lodge. He wouldn’t be able to say when he first started hating the Brit soldiers and everything they represented. He’d inherited the appropriate gene from his father and his father before him. Hatred and food were served up in equal proportions at the Connor dining table as he was growing up. While he was still in short trousers he’d joined the other kids from the estate, in throwing stones at the soldiers and shouting for them to piss off back where they came from. He had little interest in schooling. He learnt all he needed at his father’s knee.
A little older and he was running messages before progressing to keeping watch while others pulled the trigger. He’d been a good learner and barely past his twentieth birthday they’d let him shoot his first soldier. He remembered the feeling of pride reading about it next day in the paper. He’d been told not to tell his Da or anyone because of the constant fear of touts but over breakfast, when his Ma was in the kitchen, he’d given a hint and seen the look of pride and approval in his Da’s eyes.
Then came the news from Gibraltar. The murdering SAS bastards had shot his friends dead in cold blood without any warning and them not even being armed at the time. Operation Flavius they’d called it and the papers had made the SAS bastards sound like bloody heroes. He had never forgotten or forgiven them for that. Any opportunity to strike at the SAS was particularly welcome. One time he’d had the chance to be part of a team that interrogated a captured Brit. He was Special Branch not SAS but there was little difference. They had made him suffer big time. He’d squealed for his mother like a baby.
After Gibraltar, even worse had followed, when the bloody loyalist Stone burst into the funeral and killed three more friends and injured dozens of others. From then onwards his mind had been set and he’d grown over the years to become the Chief’s most trusted man. His expertise nowadays was in cleaning up messes. He couldn’t go shooting Brit soldiers any longer but there was still plenty to keep him busy.
He knew the Murphy boy a bit. Knew his father better. They weren’t friends. Paid not to have too many friends in his line of work. If it was possible to silence the kid then he was confident he was the best man for the job. He wouldn’t particularly enjoy it because the kid’s only crime was aimed at the Brits and Connor hated the Brits. He didn’t like politics and he wasn’t really into the new ways of doing things. Hitting at the Brits on the mainland was good news as far as he was concerned but orders were orders. He understood you had to follow orders. Couldn’t just do whatever you bloody wanted. After his work was done he’d be taking a trip to the sun. He looked forward to that. He could do with a holiday. He’d chase some skirt and drink too much Guinness. The thought sent him to bed a happy man.
CHAPTER THREE
Samantha Murphy, or Sam as she was known to everyone except her parents, was lying in bed thinking about the previous twenty-four hours. The terrible news had been followed by an uncontrollable desire to get smashed, which in turn had led to ending up in this bed. She’d had a blazing row with her Da when she announced she was going to go see her brother. He’d warned her to keep well away from him. She’d been around long enough to know her brother was now as popular as a pigeon crapping on your car. He’d gone out on a limb with that bloody Maguire and the boys would be after him. The Brits would make his life shit and his Da wasn’t willing to get off his arse to help his only son. To her way of thinking that meant she was all he had.
She turned to look at the man asleep beside her. She felt nothing for him, and was shocked not by that realisation but by the knowledge that it had been irrelevant to the enjoyment she’d had last night. She wasn’t the world’s most experienced lover but she’d sampled enough to know when it was good and it had been bloody good. Not least because unlike so many men she had known he wasn’t just focused on his own cock and actually cared about what she wanted. They had been at it for hours and when he finally let her sleep, she was exhausted but also completely satisfied in a way she had rarely experienced before. Perhaps the difference was he was just a little older and more a man than the usual boys she played with. Or perhaps it was the line of coke he’d taken in the bathroom when they arrived back at his house. She had declined his offer to share but only because she knew mixed with the drink, it would leave her feeling completely wasted the next day and she didn’t want that.
She certainly didn't make a habit of picking up strangers and screwing the hell out of them but she might rethink her ideas in future. The large bed and empty house helped. At home you too often spent most of your time being a contortionist in the back of cars. Either that or you snatched a quickie while everyone was out the house, hoping your Ma or Da wouldn't return early.
It confirmed again she was going to have to get a place of he
r own. Twenty five was too old to still be living with your parents. Problem was, it was all very well behaving like this so far from home but back in Belfast she'd soon get a name as a slut. Everyone knew everybody and in particular most people knew her Da. He wasn’t what she would call a modern thinking father. He was a hard man to please. She didn’t doubt he loved her but he still often treated her like a child and boyfriends were never taken home. It would be all right if it was someone her Da approved of but it was her view that anyone he approved of, she wouldn’t want to go out with.
She definitely didn’t share her parents definition of what made a good catholic girl! She wondered what Father Thomas would say next time she went to confession. She enjoyed shocking the good Father and even an edited description of this was definitely a ten on the Richter scale for shocks.
She glanced at the bedside clock. It was early but time to be going. She gently extricated herself from under his arm and slid from beneath the sheet.
“Where're you going?” the man asked sleepily.
She leaned back and kissed him surprisingly tenderly on his forehead. "Go back to sleep. I have a plane to catch.”
He turned on his side and pulled the blankets up around him. She kissed him again on the cheek before quietly making her way out of the bedroom, her bare feet sinking deeply into the luxuriously thick, soft pile of the carpet. For once he hadn’t just been another bloke trying to impress her with a load of bullshit and really must have had his own IT business to support such a great house. Another time and she would have given him her number and hoped to see him again. He was even decent looking! He was definitely boyfriend material but right now she didn’t have time in her life for a boyfriend. Anyway, she knew where he lived and liked to drink. She could always find him.
