Hewitt squeezed past him. ‘I don’t have time for this. You’re losing it, Jack. Everyone’s talking about it. You should’ve got out five years ago when you had the chance.’
Lennon grabbed his wrist. ‘Don’t walk away from me.’
Hewitt looked down at Lennon’s hand, then up to meet his gaze. ‘Let go of me, Jack. You’d do well to remember I’m still your superior officer.’
Lennon pulled him close. You used to be my friend.’
‘True.’ Hewitt’s lips curled in a facsimile of a smile. ‘But you can be a hard man to like.’
‘Look, I don’t give a shit about what happened to McGinty and his cronies. Declan Quigley and Patsy Toner were both scumbags. We’re no worse off without them. But Marie and Ellen. They never hurt anybody. I just want them to be safe. That’s all. Please, Dan. Help me.’
Hewitt closed his eyes for a moment. He sighed and opened them again.
‘Please, Dan.’
‘All right,’ Hewitt said. ‘I’ll give you one thing. I don’t know anything about any Gerry Fegan. What happened with McGinty’s faction was a feud. The inquiry found as much. There’s no conspiracy here, Jack. Now, if I give you this one thing, promise me you’ll stop this nonsense.’
‘Tell me,’ Lennon said, squeezing Hewitt’s wrist tighter.
‘Promise, Jack. Promise me you’ll leave it alone. Will you do that?’
‘All right,’ Lennon said. He released Hewitt’s wrist.
Hewitt smoothed his jacket and straightened his tie. ‘Marie McKenna and your daughter are on their way home.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Her father’s been ill. She’s coming back to see him. They’ll be flying in from Birmingham, landing at the City Airport. If you’re quick you’ll meet them off the plane. They land any—’
Lennon ran.
41
The Traveller sat alone in the darkened room. It was cold, smelled of disuse, like the houses of dead people. As he waited he ran his eyes across the different surfaces, imagining the life that had once been here.
Dust hazed a television set in the corner. A colouring book and various pencils and pens lay on the table beneath the window. A dead pot plant lay on its side at the foot of the fireplace, loose compost spilt across the hearth.
He mopped his eye with a tissue, winced at the sting. It burned, throbbing in time with his shoulder. He’d rinsed the eye with water before coming over to the woman’s flat. His vision in that eye faded, blurring until he had to blink hard to clear it. His left arm had stiffened. That little fucker Toner had twisted in the bathtub, wrenching the shoulder and aggravating the wound.
His phone rang.
‘Change of plan,’ Orla O’Kane said. ‘The woman and the kid will have company.’
‘Who?’
‘That cop,’ Orla said. ‘He’s going to meet them at the City Airport. Get over there and keep a watch on them. He’s too smart to take her to the flat. My guess is the woman will want to go see her father at the hospital.’
‘And what do you want me to do with the cop?’
‘He knows too much. You’ll have to take care of him as well. You’ll be doing a friend of ours a favour. You’ll get a bonus for your trouble.’
‘Bonus?’ The Traveller’s eye dribbled as he smiled. ‘Don’t need a bonus. It’ll be my pleasure.’
42
Lennon searched the crowd gathered around the baggage carousel. He checked the video screen above it yet again to make sure it said Birmingham. People stood shoulder to shoulder, jostling with each other to get a good view of the conveyor belt even though it hadn’t started to turn yet.
A buzzer sounded, and the crowd tightened. Lennon used his height to scan the heads, looking for a flash of blonde.
There, on the other side of the carousel. She stood taller than any of the women around her, the length and paleness of her almost alien. Strips of grey streaked her blonde hair now; her eyes had darkened.
And there was Ellen. The yellow of her hair stood out against the black of her mother’s clothing. A naked plastic doll hung from her fingers, the kind of doll little girls dressed in grown-up clothes, with long limbs and an impossibly small waist. Ellen sniffed and rubbed her nose on her sleeve. Marie scolded her and bent down with a tissue. She pressed it to the child’s nose, and Ellen’s eyes screwed shut as she blew.
Lennon worked his way through the shoulders and bags and trolleys. He kept Marie in his sight as he rounded the carousel. People pushed and shoved as they went for their luggage. He pushed back until he found her stuffing tissues into her handbag.
He stood for a moment, wondering what to say. Her name was all he could think of. ‘Marie,’ he said.
She lifted her head, her face blank. Frozen there, she stared at him. Ellen hugged her mother’s thigh.
Marie asked, ‘What are you doing here?’
It took some time to persuade her to come with him instead of getting a taxi. Even as they approached his car, she protested. He insisted and loaded her suitcases into the boot.
‘At least tell me what this is about,’ Marie said as she strapped Ellen into the back seat.
Lennon held the passenger door open for her. ‘Get in and I’ll tell you.’
Marie held his gaze as she ducked her head in and sat down. He closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. A small passenger jet roared along the runway beyond the fence. Lennon watched it leap skywards before he climbed into the driver’s seat.
‘I know about Gerry Fegan,’ he said for the second time in an hour.
Marie didn’t react.
‘I know what happened, that it wasn’t a feud. I know you and Ellen were there on the farm near Middletown.’
Marie examined the lines and veins of her hands.
‘Declan Quigley, McGinty’s driver, was killed this week.’
‘I know,’ Marie said, staring straight ahead. ‘I read it on the BBC News website. They said it was a burglary gone wrong.’
‘Patsy Toner was found dead this morning,’ Lennon said. He watched her for any sign of a reaction. There was none. ‘He drowned in a bathtub in a hotel not half a mile away from here. The official version is he was drunk. He slipped and hit his head.’
‘The official version?’
‘And Kevin Malloy was killed just outside Dundalk a few days ago. His wife too.’
‘Kevin Malloy? You mean—’
‘Yes, one of Bull O’Kane’s thugs.’
Her hands went to her mouth and her eyes brimmed. She sniffed hard, brought herself under control.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘They told me it was safe to come home. I’ve been trying for the last two weeks to get them to let me come home. My father had a stroke. He’s in the Royal. They said he could have another one any time. I wanted to see him while I still could. I’ve been sitting in that bloody awful flat in Birmingham, just waiting for word.’
‘Word from who?’ Lennon asked.
‘It’s always come through the Northern Ireland Office. An allowance for me and Ellen, word on my parents, that sort of thing. It was them told me about the stroke a fortnight back. Then they called two days ago, said someone would be in touch from MI5. Ten minutes later, I got another call. They said the situation was safe now. I could come home.’
She stared hard at Lennon. ‘Is it safe?’
‘No,’ he said.
Ellen giggled and whispered something to herself in the back seat as she moved the doll’s arms and legs into a walking pose.
‘So what’s going on?’ Marie asked, her face betraying no fear.
‘I think someone’s in Belfast cleaning up the mess. I think he killed Kevin Malloy, Declan Quigley and Patsy Toner. I think he also killed a kid called Brendan Houlihan and set it up to look like it was him who got Quigley.’