by Scott Hunter
Joe looked at him with something akin to admiration. ‘You’re too bright for your own good, Brendan, that’s your trouble. There’s Doherty with a stash of evidence in his possession for years, and you figure it out in a couple of hours.’
‘For most of those years he was inside.’
‘Legitimately.’
‘For some of that time, maybe, but not all. He was deliberately incarcerated, denied appeals.’
Another shrug. ‘Not my doing, Brendan. He was a bad lad after he left the army. He’d have ended up in jail, whatever.’
Moran felt a profound weariness creeping over him. ‘So what now? Is this where you say ‘Sorry, Brendan, but I can’t have you turning all this out into the public domain’?’
‘You’ll have heard that one already this morning, I imagine.’
‘Where is she? What have you done with her?’
The warning finger was up again. ‘People in glass houses, Brendan. And why so much concern? It sounds to me as if she pulled the wool right over your eyes. Down to your waist, actually.’
‘She’s a government official, for God’s sake. They’ll find you. They’ll figure it out.’
‘Thames House? No, they won’t be able to touch me, Brendan. I’m clean – clean as a whistle. But rest assured, she’s in competent hands for now. That’s all you need to know.’
Moran risked a glance outside. The grey van had gone, as had the black Audi – unless it was lurking nearby.
Moran rose slowly to his feet, went to the bay window and looked out. From the corner of his eye he noticed a tiny spot of watery blood clinging to the woodwork of the skirting board, just where the curtain fell to the carpet. Caught in its coagulation was a fine, blonde hair.
Gallagher followed his gaze, tutted. ‘An uncharacteristic oversight. I do apologise. I’ll arrange for its removal, of course.’
‘I repeat,’ Moran said slowly, ‘what have you done with her?’
Gallagher was unfazed. ‘Heard the one about the hunter, Brendan? So intent on its prey it forgot the most important rule of the jungle?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Forget her, Brendan. She’s out of the game.’
Moran clenched his teeth. He remembered Samantha’s words.
It’s a dirty business, Brendan …
He presented his next question. ‘So, tell me about your latest bedfellows, Joe. Real IRA? ONH?’
‘Ah, ah. Personal questions best avoided, Brendan. Listen–’ Gallagher lowered his voice, as though to inject maximum gravitas. ‘You’re a sensible man. Responsible. But you’re an Irishman still, in your heart, I know. If you’ve a shred of loyalty in you, you’ll carry on with your life, put this behind you. Let those who can, do.’
‘Zip up. Say nothing?’
Gallagher spread his hands. ‘What good would it do to rake all this up now?’
‘It might make the border a safer place to live, post Brexit.’
‘With me out of the way? The Thames House angle, no doubt.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, you’ll need evidence, Brendan. And I don’t see anything here.’ Gallagher made a play of examining the room, top to bottom.
There was no sign of Doherty’s plastic wallets, right enough, but Moran recalled a comment the ex-soldier had made. ‘Doherty contacted the relatives of those policemen. He sent them something. They’ll take it on.’ Clutching at straws, sure, but right now Moran felt angry enough to clutch at anything.
Gallagher shook his head sadly. ‘We were able to … intercept the items, Brendan. So I don’t think we’ll be troubled by any sabre-rattling from that direction.’
For a brief moment, Moran himself felt like a trapped animal. Nowhere to run. No way forward. Only one, final option.
‘Would it not serve your purposes better to expose MI5’s involvement in the murders? It was their operation, after all. If you could pin the atrocity on Thames House, the fallout would generate a vast amount of anti-British sentiment. Better for you, surely?’
Gallagher knitted his brow as he considered the question. ‘If I were to expose MI5’s underhand little plot, I would also be putting myself at risk, and I can’t have that, I’m afraid. My profile back in the day was low, and that’s how I intend to keep it. I have to be seen to be above suspicion, distanced from any suggestion of impropriety. Now, and then.’
‘Impropriety? People died and you talk about impropriety? Your IRA buddies were killed after they’d done the job – MI5 again, cleaning up, I’m assuming. Don’t you care about your own?’
‘They died for the cause. I didn’t know them well. It’s never wise to get too close, that’s always been my maxim.’
‘The cause?’ Moran shook his head angrily.
‘The war, Brendan. That’s what this is, after all.’
‘God help us. The war? Don’t you want peace? Don’t you think that ordinary folk have suffered enough?’ Moran was mad now, angry beyond words.
Gallagher leaned forward, matching Moran’s intensity with his own. ‘I. Want. A. United. Ireland.’
‘At any price?’
‘Whatever it takes, Brendan.’ He leaned back on the sofa, folded his arms. ‘Whatever.’
There was a long, poisonous silence.
‘And friendship?’ Moran broke it first. ‘Does that count for anything in your coda?’
‘Friendship? You and me?’ Gallagher gave a sad smile. ‘A long time ago, Brendan. We’ve both moved on.’ He paused, as though considering whether or not to expand on the subject. ‘Look, I’m walking away in a minute or two. And you’ll still be here. Maybe you should consider whether or not that counts for anything.’
‘So I’m getting off with a warning, is that what you mean?’
‘Take it whichever way you like. Let me spell it out again: leave well alone. It’s good advice.’
‘I could get forensics in here,’ Moran said. ‘There’ll be something I can hang on you, Joe. I could make something stick.’
‘I would advise strongly against it, Brendan.’
The doorbell rang.
‘That’s my cue.’ Gallagher was on his feet. ‘Nice to see you. I doubt we’ll meet again.’ He extended his hand.
Moran left his arms where they were, used his head to indicate the way out.
Mrs Perkins was full of apologies. ‘Sorry to disturb you, Inspector Moran – I didn’t know you still had company.’ She nodded appreciatively in Joe Gallagher’s direction as the politician closed the gate and raised a hand in farewell.
‘Not at all, Mrs P – it was my request, wasn’t it?’
‘So it was. Nice-looking gentleman, though. Irish, by the sound of him? Very smart, too.’ Her eyes continued to track Gallagher as he walked away from them along the street.
‘An old friend, Mrs P.’
‘How lovely. So nice to catch up with old friends.’ She handed him Archie’s lead, at the end of which the spaniel was panting with excitement. ‘He’s a bit wet, I’m afraid. We went for a little walk. He loves the ducks, doesn’t he?’
‘He does indeed, Mrs P.’ Moran narrowed his eyes as the Audi swung into view, slowed and stopped. A door opened and Gallagher got in.
‘Oh, I did take a few photographs by the river – near the car park – while we were out. It was a little quiet, but we did spot some interesting activity, didn’t we, Archie?’ Mrs Perkins beamed at the spaniel.
‘Local wildlife,’ Moran smiled. ‘Always something going on.’
‘Indeed there is. We saw two drakes escorting a female, didn’t we, Archie? She looked rather dishevelled, I must say. I thought perhaps they’d had some kind of disagreement.’
Mrs Perkins’ expression was entirely innocent, but something in her tone arrested Moran’s attention. His took his eyes off the departing Audi.
‘What was that, Mrs P?’
‘Well, they didn’t look much like local drakes to me. I thought perhaps they’d flown in from afar.’
‘Bit early for spring migration, isn’t it?’ Mora
n took a firmer hold of Archie’s lead as the spaniel caught sight of a neighbour coming down the road with a white Labrador in tow.
‘Well, yes, but there are always one or two … exceptions, you know.’ The reply was delivered poker-faced as Mrs Perkins bent to ruffle Archie’s head.
‘And did the female seem distressed in any way, Mrs P?’
‘I’d say reluctant, rather than distressed, Inspector Moran. And perhaps a little sleepy.’
‘I see.’
‘If you’d like to get the photographs developed, Inspector Moran, please be my guest. Rather old-fashioned these days, I know, but still. I shan’t get to Boots for a few days, and I shan’t miss the camera in the meantime.’
Moran took the 35mm camera. ‘I’m much obliged, Mrs P. You’re very observant.’
‘I like to keep abreast of local developments, Inspector Moran. But equally, I don’t want to be a nuisance – that’s my maxim, darling, always has been. Anyway, do let me know if I can help with anything else. Enjoy your day, Inspector Moran.’
Mrs Perkins smiled through the layers of hastily-applied makeup and stepped across to her own front garden.
‘Thanks again, Mrs P.’
‘Anytime, darling.’
The Audi turned the corner and was lost from view.
Moran sat quietly for a long time, thinking, as the day drew slowly to a close.
The phone rang.
He made himself get up, went through to the hall. His head still ached from where he’d banged it during Doherty’s forced entry, but it didn’t feel like there was any lasting damage. Not physically, anyway.
‘Moran.’
‘Guv? George here. Sorry it took us so long – we traced your vehicle.’
‘And?’
‘Bit of an odd one. It’s registered to the Russian Embassy – and get this, it’s a generic registration document. Special sign-off, and all that kind of carry-on.’
‘So, no name?’
‘Exactly.’
Moran could hear the frustration in the Detective-Sergeant’s tone. ‘It’s all right, George. I appreciate your efforts.’
‘Want me to follow it up, guv?’
‘No, I’ll be in in the morning. I’ll talk to you about it then.’
‘Well, if you’re sure.’
‘I’m sure, George.’
‘One thing, guv…’
‘Yes?’
‘Was that a call box you called from earlier?’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘Right. Just wondering.’ A pause. ‘So, nothing else then?’
‘No, get yourself home, George.’
‘Righto. Night, guv.’ George sounded disappointed, like a dog who’d been promised a walk only to have the offer retracted at the last minute. ‘I’m popping in to see Tess this evening. I’ll give her your regards.’
‘Yes, do that. Good night, George.’
Moran replaced the receiver, and stood for a few moments, deep in thought. Gallagher’s words were still ringing in his ears. Joe Gallagher’s words. His old friend.
Leave well alone…
The grandfather clock struck seven, its sonorous chimes echoing in the bare hallway. Still he did not move. Which way to go? Right or left?
Or down the middle?
He picked up Mrs Perkins’ camera from the telephone table.
Two drakes escorting a female …
Friendship, loyalty.
Integrity.
Whose side are you on, Brendan?
He dipped a hand into his jacket pocket, took out the clear plastic envelope, held it up to the light.
The wording on the side of the packet was clearly visible.
Player’s Number Six.
He lifted the receiver and began to dial.
Today our kids can run and skip
Although the rain still chills,
But, hand on heart, in coming days
Can we allow it still?
A shadow falls across our lives
As though from times gone by;
The dread and fear of bygone days,
Our thoughts now occupy.
Oh, border towns, dear souls, take heart,
Stay close and be as one,
For love and hope must bind you still
When all is said and done.
An unknown future lies ahead,
In none we may confide;
Always alert and searching for
The enemy inside.
—anon
The DCI Brendan Moran Crime Series
Black December
Creatures of Dust
Death Walks Behind You
The Irish Detective 1 (Omnibus)
A Crime for all Seasons (Short Stories)
Silent as the Dead
Gone Too Soon
The Enemy Inside (Novella)
The Irish Detective 2 (Omnibus)
Standalone novels
The Trespass
The Serpent and the Slave
The Ley Lines of Lushbury
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