to help in any way she could, but in fact all I needed her to do for now was baby-sit Natalia for an hour or two.
I met Helen at 6 p.m. in Lifford and we drove in two separate unmarked Garda cars to the house in Strabane where Karol Walshyk had brought me the previous week. The man who opened the door to us immediately tried to slam it shut again, perhaps thinking we were Northern police. With luck and speed, I managed to wedge my foot in the doorjamb, then used my considerable weight to force the door back. Realizing he was on to a loser, the man let go of the door and scuttled into the house shouting a warning. I, in turn, fell through the doorway and found myself sprawled on the floor.
I was aware of a number of people running to the kitchen to escape through the back door. A hand helped me to my feet and I turned, assuming it was Helen Gorman. Instead, Natalia Almurzayev stood before me.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
She nodded as if she understood, not just what I had said, but why I was there. I pointed to Helen. ‘Go with her,’ I said. Natalia looked at Helen who, in turn, smiled sheepishly and waved from the doorstep.
Natalia looked from Helen to me and spoke in Chechen, then rubbed her fingers together in a gesture of money, before pointing at her watch. She was referring to the money collector.
I pointed to my chest. ‘I’ll take care of it,’ I said. ‘Go with Helen.’
She looked doubtful still, but finally called to some of the others in the house and a few faces peered out from the kitchen. One woman called something back and, whatever Natalia’s response was, it seemed to placate them, for they began to move back into the body of the house again.
Natalia placed her hand on my arm as she walked past. She nodded and said something approximating ‘Thank you.’ She smiled sadly, then lowered her head and allowed Helen Gorman to guide her out to the car.
I followed them and watched as they drove away. In my turn I went over to my own car, broke open a new packet of cigarettes, and sat and waited.
At just after 8.15, a silver Ford Fiesta pulled up outside the house. From where I was sitting, I could make out two men in the car. The passenger door opened and Pony Tail climbed out and shuffled up towards the house. His accomplice, who wore a baseball cap, remained in the car. Exhaust fumes continued to escape from the back of the car – the engine was still running. The visibility of the fumes also suggested the engine was cold; the men had not driven far. Unfortunately, the driver was facing me, which made it difficult for me to watch him openly, not to mention follow them unnoticed. I could, however, jot down the registration number.
I slid down a little in the seat and stubbed out my smoke. I felt certain the driver was watching me watching him. Soon, though, he got bored and leant back to retrieve something from the back seat.
A few minutes later Pony Tail came out of the house and I got a proper look at him. He was wiry-framed with greying hair. His face was thin and lean and he chewed gum as he walked, blowing and popping a bubble as he reached the car.
The driver said something to him and he looked back at the house he had just left. Then, as he turned to get into the car, he glanced directly at me for a second.
As he closed the door I phoned Gorman, who had taken Natalia for a drive, patching the call through the hands-free set so that the two men in the car opposite would not see me using my phone. I explained the situation.
As the Fiesta drove off, I was aware that both men were looking across at me as they passed and I had to resist the compulsion to look back. I’d know Pony Tail if I saw him again but I’d no idea what the other man looked like, beyond the feeling that he had black hair beneath his cap.
When they turned the corner I started the car and drove after them in the same direction. They knew they were being followed, so it made no difference if they saw me behind them. I
I met Helen at 6 p.m. in Lifford and we drove in two separate unmarked Garda cars to the house in Strabane where Karol Walshyk had brought me the previous week. The man who opened the door to us immediately tried to slam it shut again, perhaps thinking we were Northern police. With luck and speed, I managed to wedge my foot in the doorjamb, then used my considerable weight to force the door back. Realizing he was on to a loser, the man let go of the door and scuttled into the house shouting a warning. I, in turn, fell through the doorway and found myself sprawled on the floor.
I was aware of a number of people running to the kitchen to escape through the back door. A hand helped me to my feet and I turned, assuming it was Helen Gorman. Instead, Natalia Almurzayev stood before me.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
She nodded as if she understood, not just what I had said, but why I was there. I pointed to Helen. ‘Go with her,’ I said. Natalia looked at Helen who, in turn, smiled sheepishly and waved from the doorstep.
Natalia looked from Helen to me and spoke in Chechen, then rubbed her fingers together in a gesture of money, before pointing at her watch. She was referring to the money collector.
I pointed to my chest. ‘I’ll take care of it,’ I said. ‘Go with Helen.’
She looked doubtful still, but finally called to some of the others in the house and a few faces peered out from the kitchen. One woman called something back and, whatever Natalia’s response was, it seemed to placate them, for they began to move back into the body of the house again.
Natalia placed her hand on my arm as she walked past. She nodded and said something approximating ‘Thank you.’ She smiled sadly, then lowered her head and allowed Helen Gorman to guide her out to the car.
I followed them and watched as they drove away. In my turn I went over to my own car, broke open a new packet of cigarettes, and sat and waited.
At just after 8.15, a silver Ford Fiesta pulled up outside the house. From where I was sitting, I could make out two men in the car. The passenger door opened and Pony Tail climbed out and shuffled up towards the house. His accomplice, who wore a baseball cap, remained in the car. Exhaust fumes continued to escape from the back of the car – the engine was still running. The visibility of the fumes also suggested the engine was cold; the men had not driven far. Unfortunately, the driver was facing me, which made it difficult for me to watch him openly, not to mention follow them unnoticed. I could, however, jot down the registration number.
I slid down a little in the seat and stubbed out my smoke. I felt certain the driver was watching me watching him. Soon, though, he got bored and leant back to retrieve something from the back seat.
A few minutes later Pony Tail came out of the house and I got a proper look at him. He was wiry-framed with greying hair. His face was thin and lean and he chewed gum as he walked, blowing and popping a bubble as he reached the car.
The driver said something to him and he looked back at the house he had just left. Then, as he turned to get into the car, he glanced directly at me for a second.
As he closed the door I phoned Gorman, who had taken Natalia for a drive, patching the call through the hands-free set so that the two men in the car opposite would not see me using my phone. I explained the situation.
As the Fiesta drove off, I was aware that both men were looking across at me as they passed and I had to resist the compulsion to look back. I’d know Pony Tail if I saw him again but I’d no idea what the other man looked like, beyond the feeling that he had black hair beneath his cap.
When they turned the corner I started the car and drove after them in the same direction. They knew they were being followed, so it made no difference if they saw me behind them. I
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