‘Couple of interesting things on the laptop, though,’ I say. ‘Don’t get too overexcited, but Aislinn read up on a couple of gang cases. Francie Hannon and the guy with the tongue.’
Steve’s face has whipped round to me. ‘They were Cueball Lanigan’s boys. Both of them.’ I feel him get caught up by the same roller-coaster surge that’s speeding me along the footpath, feel the buzzing of the thing in our minds build higher. ‘And they were both Breslin’s cases. If he ended up in Lanigan’s pocket, right, and if Aislinn was seeing one of the gang and it went wrong, the first thing Lanigan would do—’
‘I told you not to get overexcited. I’ve put out feelers. If Aislinn was seeing someone from Lanigan’s crew, I’ll know soon enough.’ Steve looks a little wounded that I’m not opening up, but he’ll have to live with that. ‘The other good thing on her laptop: there’s a password-protected folder of pictures that she created in September. It’s labelled “Mortgage—” ’ Steve laughs out loud, and I can’t help a grin. ‘Yeah, that’s obviously bullshit. Sophie and her lot are still trying to crack the password; she’ll keep us updated.’
‘Did she tell Breslin about it?’
‘Nah. Neither did I. And I’m not planning to.’
Steve says, ‘So since September, Aislinn’s been worried about someone going through her laptop. That’s not Rory. She only met him in December, and he’d never been over to her place before.’
‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘Or else the folder’s full of naked selfies, and Aislinn wasn’t worried about anyone specific: she just didn’t want some junkie robbing her laptop and uploading her full-frontals.’
‘Naked selfies for who?’
‘For kicks, for a little extra income, left over from one of the exes, for someday when she’s old and wrinkly and wants to remember what a babe she was. How would I know?’
‘Or,’ Steve says, ‘it’s photos of her with her secret fella. And she really, really didn’t want anyone – including him – knowing she had them. Yet, anyway.’
I’ve been thinking the same thing. ‘Blackmail.’
‘Or insurance. If she was with a gangster, maybe she had just enough sense to know this could turn dangerous.’
‘“If,” ’ I say. ‘From now on, every time you say “if” about this case, you owe me a quid. I’ll be rich by the weekend.’
‘I thought you liked a challenge,’ Steve says, grinning. ‘Admit it: you hope I’m right.’
‘I do, yeah. That’d make a nice change.’
‘You do.’
We’ve slowed down behind a pair of gabbing old ones. I say, ‘I’d only love this to come through.’
I’ve been trying not to say it out loud because I don’t want to jinx it. Like a dumb kid; like one of those moaners who believe the universe has it in for them and everything is just looking for an excuse to turn to shite. I’ve never been that. This is new, it’s stupid, it comes from the squad training me to look for booby traps everywhere – last week I left my coffee in the squad room while I went for a piss, came back and nearly had it to my mouth before I saw the floating gob of spit – and no way in hell am I gonna blab it to Steve. I don’t fucking like being what anyone trains me to be; I don’t like it at all. I keep walking and count tall guys in dark overcoats.
Steve says, ‘But?’
‘But nothing. I don’t want to get too attached to the idea till we’ve got some actual evidence, is all.’
He starts to say something, but I’m done with that. ‘Here’s the other thing,’ I say, dodging around the old ones and picking up the pace again. ‘Remember I said I had a word with Breslin about ringing Sophie?’
‘Oh, Jaysus. Will he live?’
‘Ah, yeah. His makeup’ll cover the bruises.’
‘You were nice to him, right? Tell me you were nice to him.’
‘Relax the kacks,’ I say. ‘Everything’s grand. That’s the interesting part. I wasn’t nice to him – I was busting his balls on purpose – but he just kept on being nice to me.’
‘So maybe he wasn’t bullshitting us, last night.’ Steve is trying on the idea for size and stretching hard to make it fit. ‘Maybe he genuinely does think we’re all right.’
‘You think? I called him a cheeky little bollix who was getting above himself, and I said while he’s on my investigation he needs to do what I tell him.’ Steve lets out a snort of horrified laughter. ‘Yeah, well, I wanted to see what he would do. I expected him to take my head off. But you know what he did? He sighed and said OK, grand, from now on he’ll run things past me.’
Steve has stopped laughing. I say, ‘Does that sound like Breslin to you?’
After a moment he says, ‘It sounds like Breslin really wants to stay on speaking terms with us. Like, badly.’
‘Exactly. And that’s so he can keep track of what we’re at; it’s not because he’s got faith in us to turn into lovely little team players, or whatever it was. When I found him, right? He was having a chat with McCann, and they shut up sharp when they saw me. Breslin gave me some crap about McCann’s marriage problems, but I’m pretty sure they were discussing the quickest way to get rid of me.’
Steve shoots me a look I can’t read. ‘You figure? What did they say?’
I lift one shoulder. ‘I didn’t give enough of a shit to memorise it. McCann wasn’t happy, Breslin was reassuring him that he’d have some woman sorted in no time and everything would go back to normal, McCann wanted him to hurry it up. That was the gist of it.’
‘And you’re positive it couldn’t actually have been about McCann’s wife?’
‘It could’ve been. But it wasn’t.’
Some wanker with a logo jacket and a clipboard bounds up to us, opens his mouth, takes a second look and backs off. I’m getting my mojo back. Two days ago he would probably have followed me down the street, badgering me for money to end Third World psoriasis and telling me to smile.
‘OK,’ Steve says. ‘We’ve been wondering if Breslin could be bent—’ Even this far from the job, both of us automatically glance over our shoulders. ‘What if it’s McCann?’
I didn’t even think of that. For a second I feel like a fool – letting paranoia distract me from the real stuff – but that blows away on the rising rush of excitement: that bad dare, growing bigger.
‘That could work.’ I’m skimming through what I know about McCann. From Drogheda. A wife and four teenage kids. Not from money, not like Breslin – I remember him saying something sour, once, about cutting the crime rate to zero by making all the spoilt brats with their smartphones go into apprenticeships at fourteen, the way his da did. No Bank of Mum and Dad to fall back on if the car dies, the house needs re-roofing, the kids need college fees and a D’s salary isn’t cutting it. A gang boss looking for a pet would like McCann a lot. ‘Or both of them.’
‘No wonder Breslin took everything you could dish out,’ Steve says. ‘He can’t afford to have us telling the gaffer we want rid of him.’
‘If,’ I say. ‘If any of this is real.’
‘If,’ Steve says. ‘How did you leave things with Breslin?’
‘I apologised. Told him I was too intimidated by his awesomeness to think straight. He liked that.’