A couple of minutes later, Detective Sergeant Joan Tyler came in, stood just inside the doorway. ‘Bloody savages,’ she said.
Martin Pollard took his time finishing his notes, then he and Sergeant Tyler went outside to talk to Technical.
When they were finished eating, they lingered over what was left of the wine and Holly said, ‘You want the good news first, or the bad news?’
‘Christ,’ Bob Tidey said, ‘set me up, then knock me down.’
The restaurant was five minutes’ walk from Holly’s home. It was all it had to recommend it.
‘It’s about Grace.’
‘Pregnant?’
‘The good news is she’s got a job. Starts Monday week. The bad news – it’s in Leeds.’
A friend of Grace’s from UCD had a fledgling business there, funded by an uncle. She imported second-hand Japanese cars. Things were going well and she needed a bookkeeper.
Tidey said, ‘At least it’s not Australia or Canada.’
‘All the same, with Dylan in London – I always took it for granted the kids would live in their own country. Instead, it’s like the 1980s.’
‘It’s a hop and a skip to Leeds, and back.’
‘I suppose,’ Holly said. ‘There’s not much money in it, she says, but it’s work. She’s out celebrating tonight.’
‘Good for her.’
‘She’ll need help, she’ll have expenses starting off – rent, things like that.’
‘That’s what money’s for.’
They were halfway back to Holly’s place when Tidey’s phone rang.
‘Yeah?’
Martin Pollard said, ‘You heard about the shooting in Santry?’
‘It was on the radio – no names so far.’
‘Both victims shot twice in the head. One of them’s our lad. Naylor was done cleanly, the other guy looks like someone’s been using him for butchery practice.’
‘Jesus.’
Tidey stopped walking, stood in the street with the phone down by his side. He took a long breath.
Holly grabbed his arm and he shook his head. When he put the phone back to his ear, Pollard was in mid-sentence.
‘Sorry, I missed that.’
‘The second victim – his name’s Liam Delaney. We went to his place this evening. His sister was there, says she was visiting this morning and two men came for Delaney. He told her everything was fine, that he’d be back in a few hours. Told her she shouldn’t call the police.’
‘You got suspects?’
‘Naylor never worried much about who he pissed off. He might have been on anyone’s list.’
Tidey said, ‘Yeah.’
‘You’ll tell that old nun, let her know everything’s over, there’s nothing to worry about?’
‘I will, I will. Listen, thanks for calling.’
Holly said, ‘What is it?’
‘Work,’ he said, ‘just something at work.’
Bob Tidey leaned on the kitchen counter. He took the salt cellar and moved it a few inches to stand alongside the pepper grinder. He straightened the lid on the butter dish.
After the phone call, there had been no conversation on the walk back to Holly’s place. Now, she put an arm around his waist and pressed her face against his shoulder. ‘Talk when you can – or let it be, whichever.’
His voice was barely audible. ‘Later.’
‘I’ve done something.’
‘Can you say?’
‘No.’
They were in bed. He was lying on his back, her head resting on his arm. The sex had been brisk, and over quickly.
‘How bad?’
‘I’ve put people away for less.’
‘Is it a case?’
‘Just the way things came together.’
‘Bob—’
‘There was no right thing to do. But something had to be done.’ He said it like it was a mathematical formula he’d worked out.
‘It wasn’t – did you take something? What I mean is, was it crooked?’
‘I’ve never taken anything.’
‘Are you in trouble?’
He thought about that for a moment, then said, ‘No one can connect me to anything.’
‘Then—’
Tidey said nothing for a long time. Then he said, ‘I’m not who I set out to be – not any longer. And I don’t know where it goes from here.’
He came out of sleep abruptly, his breathing fast. He’d felt himself stepping off a cliff – plummeting feet first, then his upper body weight taking him over into a wild tumble, unable to get a fix on the sky or the earth, no control – then he was awake, Holly was sleeping beside him, the house was silent and Bob Tidey’s fingernails were digging into his palms.
He sat up, feet on the floor, poised on the edge of the bed, and heard again Martin Pollard’s words.
Naylor was done cleanly, the other guy looks like someone’s been using him for butchery practice.
Tidey took a long, deep breath, held it and let it out slowly.
This was one of those extreme events that fills the mind. It takes time for things like that to find their proper size, to become one more piece in a messy, never-finished jigsaw. Hang on long enough to get perspective, Bob Tidey told himself, and anything can be endured.
‘Bob?’ Holly’s head was raised from the pillow.
‘It’s OK,’ Tidey said.
Holly turned, looked at the clock. ‘Nearly one o’clock.’
Tidey said, ‘I’d better go – is Grace—’
Holly moved in the bed, reached up and put a hand on his shoulder.
‘You can have a chat with her in the morning.’
‘Are we—’ Tidey said, and he stopped because he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
Holly’s voice was drowsy. ‘Go to sleep,’ she said.
Acknowledgements
Julie Lordan, as always, was my first reader and advisor. She and Cathleen Kerrigan were supportive through the lost weekends and preoccupied holidays.
Publishing Director Liz Foley’s commentary on the first draft and Briony Everroad’s editing greatly improved the novel. Katherine Fry did the meticulous copy-edit. Thanks to all and special thanks, as always, to my friends Pat Brennan and Evelyn Bracken, for their fast and thorough appraisal and advice.
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