‘This isn’t a game, Bob. It’s not about brinkmanship.’
‘I know. It’s about the deaths of two boys, murdered and sealed in an oil drum for thirty-two years. It’s about them, and quite a few more boys like them, and the men who put them there.’
Greaves exhaled slowly and placed his folded hands on the blotter in front of him. His features were still as he spoke again. ‘Bob, it’s over now. Your suspect killed himself this morning.’
‘I was wondering when you were going to mention Garry Keirns,’ said Valentine. ‘Now that suicide might just turn out to be the most interesting case I’ve ever worked. You see, sir, I’ve never known a suicide victim to hoover down his hallway after he’s hanged himself.’
‘What are you saying to me, Bob? You don’t think Keirns killed himself?’
Valentine crossed his legs and brought a firm index finger down on the wooden arm of the chair. ‘I think it’ll take a few more like Keirns and Trevor Healey being sacrificed before this blows over.’
‘Oh really?’
‘Yes, sir. The tide has turned.’
CS Martin returned with brisk steps. The jug in her hand was still empty. She thumped it down on the desk and addressed the officers. ‘We have a big problem.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Valentine.
‘No, Bob, things have taken a serious shift since the word got out linking Fallon to Columba House. Protestors are rounding on his home.’
‘It’s bloody irresponsible reporting,’ yelled Greaves. He picked up a newspaper and shook it at Valentine. ‘This is insane.’
‘I’ll get down there right away, before it starts to turn nasty,’ said Valentine. The DI left Greaves scrunching the paper into a heap on the desk and headed for the door. When he clasped the handle, there was a knock on the other side.
‘Sylvia?’ he said.
‘Ah, hello, sir.’
‘What is it?’
She looked over his shoulder. ‘The chief super asked to see me.’
‘DS McCormack,’ called out Martin. ‘If you can just give us five minutes.’
Valentine left the DS standing in the doorway and sprinted to the incident room, calling out for McAlister and Donnelly.
‘Yes, sir,’ said McAlister. ‘What is it this time?’
‘If Dino’s to be believed it’s a march on Racecourse Road by cudgel-carrying protestors,’ said Valentine.
‘That would be one way of finding justice.’
‘Unfortunately, in our business, Ally, we’re expected to take a dim view of mob justice.’
They headed for the stairs. On the way out of the station a couple of photographers that had decamped to the rear entrance fired off a few shots in the officers’ direction. As the car sped towards the middle of town, one photographer stood staring at the small screen on the back of the camera. Neither man looked pleased with their haul.
Donnelly brought the car to a halt at the foot of the Sandgate, where the traffic had snagged up. As the officers sat at the lights, just shy of the bridge, the radio controller’s voice croaked into earshot.
‘Looks like a trainload more for the protest just in. Marching towards Miller Road now.’
‘They must be advertising this,’ said Valentine.
‘It’s on Facebook, sir,’ said McAlister, poring over his iPhone.
‘Christ, so is my daughter. I hope she doesn’t get any ideas.’
‘Quite a few already have, sir. There’s anti-capitalists jumping on the bandwagon now.’
‘Wait until rent-a-mob finds out Fallon’s one of the country types. We’ll have the hunt saboteurs next.’
The traffic eased and Donnelly flashed lights to keep a bus driver from pulling out in front of them. The rest of the journey was a stop-start process all the way to Racecourse Road, where a newly erected police cordon indicated a diversion was in progress. The uniformed officers on the cordon waved Donnelly through, towards the growing crowd that had spilled on to the road.
‘This is mental,’ said Valentine.
‘Democracy in action, sir,’ replied McAlister.
‘Ally, Fallon’s not even an elected member any more.’
‘I don’t think it matters. They’re pissed off with the system, and he’s a symbol of it.’
Valentine reluctantly conceded the point and ordered the others from the car. Outside Fallon’s house a uniformed sergeant approached. ‘Are you the backup?’ he said.
‘Do we look like the bloody riot squad?’ said Donnelly. The sight of more police on the scene provoked some rowdy chanting.
‘We can’t secure the boundary any longer. They’re spilling into the garden,’ said the sergeant.
‘It’s only going to get worse when the next trainload get here,’ said McAlister.
‘There’s more on the way?’
‘Afraid so, on Miller Road already.’
‘This is a bloody disaster waiting to happen.’ The sergeant reached for his radio. ‘We’re going to need all hands to the pump now. And they’ll probably have to throw in the canteen staff as well.’