Quirke was still looking at the cloud. “Selling up?” he said.
“Getting rid of the house—the houses—and moving to South Africa. I believe it’s where she’s from, originally.” He paused again, coughed again. “A cool customer, that lady.”
Quirke said nothing. It was starting to rain; they felt the first stray drops.
“Well,” Hackett said, struggling up from the chair, “that’s three good pennies wasted.” He put on his hat. Quirke remained seated. He steepled his fingers and tapped them against his lips. “A bad business,” Hackett said.
“Yes,” Quirke answered.
The detective looked down at him, his head tilted. “Are you all right?” he asked. Quirke lifted his head.
“I’m all right,” he said. “I’m fine.”
Hackett nodded, smiled lopsidedly, and touched one finger to the brim of his hat. “I’ll be seeing you, then,” he said, and turned away.
Quirke stood up and walked off in the opposite direction. The rain was falling harder now.
* * *
It was a summer deluge. It beat on the roadway and drummed on the roofs of cars, and the gutters raced. By the time he found a phone box he was drenched—the water had even soaked through the shoulder pads of his jacket, and he could feel the chill damp on his skin. He took off his sodden hat, but there was nowhere to set it down so he put it back on. He lifted the receiver off the hook and fumbled in his pockets for change. The park attendant had taken his last coppers. He dialed zero and the operator came on, and he gave her Isabel Galloway’s number. “I’m sorry, caller,” the woman said, not sounding sorry at all, “please insert three pennies or I can’t connect you.” He told her it was an emergency, that he was a doctor and that she must put him through. “I’m sorry, caller,” she said again, in her singsong voice. “Look,” Quirke said, thumping his fist softly against the phone’s big black metal box, “please, I’m telling you, it’s an emergency—it’s life or death.” But it was no good, the operator did not believe him, and broke the connection.
He stood for a long time listening to the pips sounding on the empty line. The rain beat against the small glass panes all around him. He hung up the phone and blundered out into the storm.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My warmest thanks to Gregory Page and Fiona Ruane.
ALSO BY BENJAMIN BLACK
A Death in Summer
Elegy for April
The Silver Swan
Christine Falls
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BENJAMIN BLACK is the pen name of the Man Booker Prize–winning novelist John Banville. The author of the bestselling and critically acclaimed series of Quirke novels—Christine Falls, The Silver Swan, Elegy for April, and A Death in Summer—he lives in Dublin.
Henry Holt and Company, LLC
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Henry Holt® and ® are registered trademarks of Henry Holt and Company, LLC.
Copyright © 2012 by Benjamin Black
All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Black, Benjamin, 1945–
Vengeance : a novel / Benjamin Black. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-8050-9439-8
1. Police—Ireland—Fiction. 2. Pathologists—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6052.A57V46 2012
823'.914—dc23 2012001842
eISBN 978-1-4299-4772-5
First Edition 2012
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Part Two
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Acknowledgments
Also by Benjamin Black
About the Author
Copyright
Vengeance: A Novel (Quirke) Page 26
