“I can retire with a full pension in 1994. If we live in Scotland I can get the ferry over and do my seven days a month easily. The rest of the time I’ll be a stay-home dad and look after Emma.”
“Will you still be a detective?”
I shook my head. “No, that’s not going to be possible. You can’t be a part-time detective. But it won’t matter. Crabbie’s probably going to do the same thing. He wants to concentrate on his farming, so he’ll be moving to the part-time reserve too.”
“Who will run Carrick CID?”
“Lawson will do it. They’ll promote him to Detective Sergeant and maybe get him a DC. It’ll take me a while to train him up. Me and Crabbie. It’ll take us that year and then we can both jack it in for the reserves.”
Beth bit her lip and pushed a gorgeous line of golden hair from her face. “And we’ll be out of all of this in our house over the water.”
“We’ll be out of it in our house over the water.”
“And in the meantime?”
“Bobby Cameron is having the council install speed bumps and a one-way system on Coronation Road. No more drivebys. And the man who had the vendetta against me in the IRA is dead. Oh, and I think you’ll find the neighbours are a bit friendlier now too.”
“Is that everything?”
“One more thing.”
I started to get down on one knee.
“Let me put a stop to that straight away, mister,” she said, pulling me back up again.
“Don’t you wanna—”
“No!”
“But your dad …”
“Yeah, he’ll be annoyed, won’t he?” she said happily. “Can you cope with us just living in sin, you big Catholic weirdo?”
“I can cope with it,” I said.
She grabbed the ring box. “At least let me take a look at it to see if you’re a cheapo as well as a weirdo … Nope, not a cheapo. Very impressive.”
“You want to try it on?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Shall I return it?”
“Keep it in a safe place.”
30: O MASTERFUL BLEAK COP
A café just outside of Newry in the shadow of the Mourne Mountains. Thunder rumbling in from the Irish Sea. Rain lashing the windows. It’s early. The café is deserted but for a couple of long-distance lorry drivers wolfing down Ulster fries and mugs of tea.
I’ve got my back to the door, a cup of coffee and The Times cryptic crossword.
Fourteen down: “The rich and powerful fear you, o masterful bleak cop.”
Hmm. What can they mean by that?
The café door opens and a big heavyset man in a raincoat and a flat cap barges in. For a second he looks like trouble and I reach for the revolver in the pocket of my leather jacket.
“Some weather!” the man says, takes a table on the opposite side of the café and orders bacon and eggs.
I watch him for a minute but he’s soon lost in the football pages of the Sun. I leave the revolver alone and go back to the cryptic crossword.
I still can’t get the clue. My brain isn’t working this early in the morning.
The door opens again and Assistant Chief Constable Strong comes in looking harassed and afraid. His tie is askew and he hasn’t brushed his hair. He’s buttoned his anorak with the wrong buttons. This will never do.
I wave at him and he comes over to the table and sits down opposite me.
“Fix your coat and run a hand through your hair,” I tell him.
“I can’t do this, Duffy!” he wails.
I grab his knee under the table and squeeze it, hard.
“Lower your voice and calm down,” I tell him.
“I can’t do this,” he whispers.
The bored, sarky, pretty waitress comes over. “What can I get youse?”
“He’ll have the same as me. Toast and a coffee,” I tell her.
“Marmalade or jam?”
I look at Strong.
“Uhm, uhm …”
“He’ll take the marmalade, love,” I tell her.
“I can’t do this, Duffy, if they find the wire I’m a dead man,” Strong says when the waitress is gone.
Today is his first meeting with two members of the IRA Army Council in a pub in Newry. He’s wearing a mike and a tape recorder, both of which are in his no doubt very sweaty underpants. MI5 are watching his every move but I’m the last person he wanted to see before driving the last part of the journey in his Bentley. I’m his handler. He thinks if he can convince me that he’s not ready I’ll call the operation off.
But I won’t do that. I would never do that. One slip, one really thorough pat-down search and Elena Deauville and Maria McKeen will get the justice they deserve.
“They’re not going to search you. They trust you. And if they do search you they’ll never grab your bollocks – they’re far too shy for that,” I tell him.
“I can’t do this, Sean.”
“You can do it. It’s what you’ve been doing for years. Except now you’re going to be telling them what we want them to know.”
When the coffee comes I slip him an aspirin.
“This is a Valium, it will calm you down and give you confidence and make you more alert,” I lie.
He believes me and swallows the pill.
I spend the next ten minutes talking him down from the ledge. He doesn’t touch his toast.
I look at my watch.
“It’s time to go. Follow me to the loo in a minute and I’ll check your gear.”