Without thinking, Harry hailed him.
‘McCray!’
The name echoed around the courtyard and its owner froze in the act of opening the driver’s door.
McCray’s features might themselves have been put together by a Jerry-builder doing things on the cheap. His cheeks bore the red marks of broken blood vessels and his nose had probably gained its kink in a bar-room brawl. A Rolex glinted from his wrist, but money had not smoothed him. His fists were tightly clenched.
‘Who wants him?’
The hissed words carried a promise of danger. Too late, it occurred to Harry that if McCray was bent on murdering Finbar Rogan, an unrehearsed confrontation was scarcely a prudent way of tackling him. Harry sensed the labourers staring at him. He felt like an unarmed deputy who had chosen the wrong moment to go sightseeing at the OK Corral.
‘My name’s Devlin.’
A good Catholic name, but it did not seem to impress McCray. He slammed the car door shut and took a couple of paces towards Harry.
‘So?’
‘I’m a solicitor.’ Harry jerked a thumb towards his front door. ‘That’s my office.’
McCray glanced at the rusting nameplate.
‘Crusoe and Devlin? Never heard of ’em.’
‘One of my clients is Finbar Rogan.’
McCray spat on the ground. When, after a few moments, he spoke again, he did so slowly, as if straining to keep himself under control.
‘You ought to be more choosy about the company you keep.’
‘Someone’s trying to kill him,’ said Harry.
McCray gave him a long, hard look.
‘Good. Save me the trouble.’
‘Listen. You must…’
With two strides McCray was standing in front of Harry. He dropped a palm as big as a navvy’s shovel on Harry’s shoulder.
‘No, you listen to me, Mr Devlin.’ The voice was guttural. At close quarters, McCray’s face was even more ravaged; deep lines cut into the skin around his eyes and mouth.
‘Tell your client this. He ought to get out of this city and stay out. Because if he crosses my path once more, he’s a dead man. Understand?’
He gave the shoulder a powerful final squeeze, then released his grip, causing Harry to stagger like a punch-drunk boxer before tumbling to the ground. McCray gazed at him scornfully before getting into his car. It revved fiercely then swung back in reverse, coming within inches of Harry’s toes before accelerating out of the courtyard.
One of the workmen laughed, breaking the silence. Someone else joined in, then another. Their derision stung Harry, yet he thought he detected in it relief that McCray had not directed his wrath at them. He clambered to his feet and dusted himself down. Self-esteem damaged more than his scapula, he turned into the office and banged the door, angry with himself for succumbing to impulse. Challenging McCray had achieved nothing and Finbar would not thank him for it. Perhaps he should have opted for the soft life all those years ago and stayed safe and secure with Maher and Malcolm. He might even have learned how to make crime pay.
Chapter Eleven
The phone was ringing as Harry reached his desk. He wasn’t in the mood for more confrontation, whether with clients, opposing solicitors or barristers’ clerks chasing payment of inflated fees, and at first he paid no attention, hoping the call would go away. No chance. Suzanne had seen him slink in and, irked by his failure to check on calls received in his absence, would let him have no hiding place. Finally he surrendered.
‘Who is it?’
‘Mr Rogan,’ the girl said and put Finbar through before Harry could tell her to take a message.
‘Harry, at last! This is the third time I’ve called since midday. The lovely Suzanne said you’d gone to some lecture, but this is no time for swotting. Your clients need help.’
‘What can I do for you?’ asked Harry, not finding it difficult to restrain his enthusiasm.
‘Listen, that bloody Sladdin, you know what he’s done? He’s got a couple of fellers in a car down the road keeping an eye on me. When I went out to the newsagent to see what the Daily Post had to say about the bomb, they followed me down the road. Trying to be discreet, like, but I could tell what they were up to.’
After his humiliating encounter with Dermot McCray, Harry didn’t feel inclined to offer his shoulder for crying on. ‘What do you expect? You’re a Dubliner, there was a bomb under your car, you gave Sladdin the impression you were telling less than the whole truth…’
‘I’m a bloody victim! The bomb was meant for me!’
‘Look, you’re not dealing with a fool. Sladdin would be negligent if he didn’t set up some form of surveillance.’
At the other end of the line Finbar sighed. ‘Fat lot of comfort you are. How long is this likely to go on?’
‘Till Sladdin finds out who has it in for you. You could speed things up by coming clean.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Come on, Finbar, let’s not play games. People don’t have their premises burned down and their cars bombed simply for dropping litter in the street. Until you take me into your confidence, there isn’t much I can do to save your skin from Dermot McCray.’
‘What?’ Finbar sounded taken aback. ‘Why do you mention him?’
‘I had a brief encounter with him outside the office a couple of minutes ago. He’s not your number one fan. And if he’s mixed up with terrorists…’
‘Harry, for God’s sake, don’t keep on about bloody terrorists, will you? You’re as bad as Sladdin.’
‘You seriously expect me to believe it’s got nothing to do with that? I wasn’t born yesterday. Okay, I realise it isn’t policy to cross the people back in Ireland, far less go bleating to the boys in blue. I can see why you’re keeping mum while you try to straighten things out with someone who might be able to rein in McCray. But if you’re not prepared to let me into the secret…’
‘Ah, I told you not to act the detective. I know it’s your favourite game and you’ve had your successes, but leave this one alone, mate, for your sake as well as mine. I need a live Perry Mason, not a dead Sam Spade.’
‘All Perry’s clients were innocent. I should be so lucky.’
Down the line came Finbar’s familiar burst of laughter. He could never be out of temper for long.
‘Never mind. Even he would have had his work cut out if he’d practised in Liverpool. Listen, are you going to the exhibition in the Empire Hall tonight?’
‘I was meaning to avoid it. Jim had offered to take a turn at the local Legal Group’s stand, but I’ve had as much as I can take of Liverpool Business Day after listening to my old boss pontificate about Boom or Bust this lunchtime.’
‘Oh ye of little faith. It’s only a couple of minutes from your flat. Why don’t you show up, even if only to have a drink with me and Melissa? She’ll be on the Radio Liverpool stand for half an hour this evening.’
‘Are you two still together?’
‘Of course. Why ever not?’
‘I don’t know how you do it,’ Harry said, half grudging, half amused.
‘Well, she doesn’t know Sophie was with me in the Blue Moon. As far as she’s concerned, I’d just called for a chat with my old mate Reg when my car was blown to bits outside.’
‘Finbar, you’re less trustworthy than half the criminals I’ve ever met.’
‘Listen, I’m only a lad with a liking for the ladies. And you know what they say about sex in Dublin, don’t you? There it is, the loveliest little thing in the world and they had to go and make a sin out of it.’
‘So when does the lad finally get to grow up?’
‘Harry, I’m starting to think that at my age, I’m too old to grow up. So shall I see you tonight?’
‘If your enemies don’t beat me to it.’
As Harry rang off, his secretary came in bearing a thick brown envelope.
‘Hand delivery from Maher and Malcolm.’
‘Thanks.’ He slit it open and scanned the contents. ‘Can you fetch me the Graham-Brown sale file from Jim’s room, please?’