‘No,’ Orla said. ‘You have a go at a cop, even if he’s bent, you’ll fuck everything up.’
‘I’ll do it right,’ the Traveller said. ‘There’ll be nothing to connect him—’
‘No, I said. Look, certain people are indulging us by letting you clean up this mess. You tackle a cop, they won’t indulge us any more. You understand?’
‘Whatever you say, love,’ the Traveller said.
Hard silence for a moment, then she said, ‘What about Patsy Toner?’
‘I’ll call with him tonight.’
‘Good,’ Orla said. ‘You’re stretching my patience. Just do what we’re paying you to do.’
‘All right,’ the Traveller said.
He hung up and pocketed the phone. ‘Grumpy auld pishmire,’ he said. He started the Merc and went looking for Patsy Toner.
28
Lennon found him in the Crown Bar of all places. Despite the snugs, the Crown was the last pub in Belfast to drink in if you wanted privacy. Patsy Toner sat at the far end of the bar, staring at the red granite. Lennon could just see him beyond the wood and glass panels that divided the bar up.
The hubbub of locals and tourists combined to make a hearty rumble of laughter and raised voices. Lennon realised this was the perfect place for a frightened man to drink. Patsy Toner was probably safer here than in any bar in the city.
Lennon edged his way through the early evening drinkers towards Toner. Holidaymakers and office workers stood in clusters, the tourists with their pints of Guinness, the locals with their WKD and Magners cider.
He sidled up behind Toner and waved for the barman’s attention. ‘Stella,’ he called over the lawyer’s shoulder.
Toner turned his head a little to the side, to see who stood so close. Lennon wondered if he’d be recognised. He had interviewed many of Toner’s clients. A good lawyer remembered the names and faces of the cops he met in his work.
Sure enough, Toner’s shoulders tensed.
The bartender set the pint on the raised drain tray, letting the foam slop over the rim. Lennon leaned across Toner and put the money in the bartender’s hand. He lifted the pint, but stayed pressed against Toner’s back.
‘How’ve you been, Patsy?’ he asked.
Toner stared ahead. ‘Do I know you?’
‘We’ve met in a professional capacity,’ Lennon said.
Toner turned his head. ‘I don’t remember your name.’
‘DI Jack Lennon.’
Did Toner flinch? The lawyer looked back to his drink. ‘What do you want?’
‘A word,’ Lennon said.
Toner spread his hands flat on the bar. The fingers of his left looked thin and waxy. His shoulders slumped.
Lennon looked back over his shoulder. ‘There’s a snug free,’ he said. ‘Bring your drink.’
They sat at a table walled by ornate wood and stained glass. Lennon closed the snug’s door.
A waitress opened it again, pointed to the sign. ‘Sir, this snug’s reserved.’
Lennon showed her his ID. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘The party should be here any minute,’ she said.
‘I’ll get out when they come,’ he said. He smiled. ‘Just a minute or two. You’d be doing me a big favour. Please?’
She hesitated, then smiled. ‘Okay, I’ll—’
Lennon closed the door and sat down. He stared at Toner across the table. Toner’s hands shook as he raised his glass.
‘How’s it going, Patsy?’ Lennon asked.
Toner grimaced as he swallowed. His glass clinked on the tabletop. ‘What do you want?’
‘Just to see how you’re doing these days,’ Lennon said. He took a sip of Stella and leaned forward. ‘I heard you weren’t doing so well. I heard you had something on your mind.’
Toner forced a laugh. ‘Who told you that?’
A couple of people,’ Lennon said. ‘Friends of yours.’
Toner laughed again, this time shrill and jagged. ‘Friends? You’re talking shite. I don’t have any friends. Not any more.’
‘No?’ Lennon feigned surprise. ‘You used to be a popular fella. All sorts of friends in all sorts of places.’
‘Used to be,’ Toner echoed. He wiped whiskey from his moustache. Two days’ stubble lined his jowls. ‘Friendship’s a funny thing. You think it’s solid, for life, but it can blow away just like that.’
Lennon nodded. ‘I know what you mean,’ he said, truthfully.
Toner stared back at him, something turning behind his eyes for a few seconds before dying away. ‘Look, get to the point,’ he said. ‘You’re not here just to pass the time.’
Lennon laced his fingers together on the tabletop. ‘I heard you’ve been acting strange lately, like you’re scared. I want to know what you’re afraid of.’
Toner sat back and folded his arms. ‘Who told you that?’
‘People,’ Lennon said.
‘What did they say?’
‘That you’ve gone downhill since Paul McGinty died. That you’re drinking like a fish. That you know more about what happened than you’re letting on, and it’s ripping you to pieces.’
‘No.’ Toner shook his head, slow, his eyes unfocused. ‘No, that’s not … It’s not … Who said that?’
‘You’ve been talking when you’re drunk,’ Lennon said. You said it’s not over, they’ll come for you, it’s only a matter of time.’
Toner’s cheeks reddened. ‘Who said that?’
‘A friend of yours,’ Lennon said. He thought about taunting the lawyer with the tales Roscoe had told him, that Toner was so scared he couldn’t get it up any more. He decided against it.
‘Bollocks,’ Toner said. His eyes glittered.
‘Maybe I can help,’ Lennon said.
‘Bollocks.’ Toner tried to stand, but his legs couldn’t hold him upright.
‘I can help,’ Lennon repeated. ‘We can help. I have contacts in Special Branch. They can protect you.’
Toner snorted. ‘Protect me? Jesus, I wouldn’t need protecting if it wasn’t for them cunts. You’re not here on official business, are you? If you’d told anyone you were talking to me they’d have warned you off.’
‘Who would?’
‘Who do you think?’ This time Toner’s legs held him. The table shook as his thighs squeezed past it. Your fucking bosses. Special Branch and the Brits. You want to know what’s happening, talk to them, not me.’
Lennon reached for his wrist. ‘Patsy, wait.’
Toner pulled his arm away and opened the door. ‘Talk to your own people, see what they’ll tell you.’
‘Marie McKenna,’ Lennon said. ‘Her daughter. My daughter.’
Toner froze. ‘Jesus, that’s who you are. You’re the cop Marie took up with.’
‘That’s right,’ Lennon said.
The waitress appeared over Toner’s shoulder, a group of young professional types behind her. ‘I need the snug,’ she said.
Toner ignored her. ‘You want to know where she is?’
Yes,’ Lennon said.
‘I don’t know,’ Toner said. ‘Nobody does. She’s better off out of it. So are you. Don’t go stirring things up. That’s all I’ll tell you, and that’s too much.’
‘Excuse me,’ the waitress called.
‘Just a second.’ Lennon took a card from his pocket and pressed it into Toner’s hand. ‘If you want to talk.’
‘I won’t,’ Toner said, handing the card back. ‘Leave it alone. Will you do that? Leave it alone. It’s best for everyone.’
Lennon lifted Toner’s lapel and tucked the card into his inside pocket. ‘Just in case,’ he said.
Toner suddenly looked very old. ‘Leave it alone,’ he said. He turned and headed towards the exit.
Lennon slipped the waitress a fiver and thanked her. He went for the door, taking his time to let Toner melt away. There was no sign of the lawyer when he shouldered his way out onto Great Victoria Street, taxis and cars and buses blaring horns at one another as they fought for space under the shadow of the Europa Hotel.