motive? The list was as long as my arm. I stopped thinking about the motive – what about the opportunity? Who the fuck knew I was here? More than that, who would be able to spring into action so quickly?
Dom? No. The housekeeper? Ditto. The shopkeeper, or somebody in one of the villages who'd recognized me? Almost impossible, unless they'd been on the streets of Derry and Belfast in the eighties and recognized my face twenty-odd years on.
And absolutely nobody else knew I was here. Why should they? I had no one to tell where I was going. It wasn't like I had family or an employer who needed to keep in touch. And we hadn't been followed. I would have known.
I yelled loudly as the water ran cold and went back downstairs with a towel around me.
'Looks like the boiler's on the blink. I'll phone Dom, see if there's a quick fix.'
I picked up the phone in the kitchen and talked without dialling. 'Can I speak with Dom, please? It's Nick, a friend. It's a personal call. He'll know who I am.' I hummed a bit as I waited. 'Hi, mate – listen, the boiler's playing up. Yeah, it's run cold. Oh shit, really? That's not good. You think so? OK, that's great. See you at about five then?'
I went back. Tallulah gave me the arched eyebrow treatment again. I beckoned her into the kitchen.
'What's happening, Nick? You're behaving very—'
'I'm not sure, but I think there's somebody outside. Don't worry, they're after me, not you. But Dom is on his way to collect you as a precaution.'
23
The house phone rang twice moments before a set of headlights swept up the drive. He drove straight to the back of the house and left the engine running.
The girls were ready. I shepherded them out to the car and saw them safely into the back before approaching Dom's window.
'Do you know who I mean when I say Liam Duff?'
'He's a household name.'
'Since when?'
'Since he was murdered last week.'
24
I hadn't seen a command wire earlier on. I didn't even know if there was a device. But if there was a command wire, there would still be somebody out there, watching and waiting for me to get into the car. Maybe the same guy who'd given Liam Duff the good news with a Black and Decker drill before finishing him off with a single shot to the head. Dom had checked out some pictures of the murder scene. He'd seen some serious shit in his time, but they had really turned his stomach.
I crawled out of the back door of the house, hugging the walls as I made my way to the front. I had a small torch I'd found in the fuse cupboard in my left hand and the kitchen knife in the other.
At the corner of the house I got down on my stomach and used my elbows and the tips of my boots to inch myself towards the car. Frozen water and mud seeped through my jeans and fleece, triggering some major league goose-bumps. Faster movement could give me away, and this way I had time to look and listen as the ice-cold wind rustled the grass and peeled a layer or two of skin off my face.
When I got to the car, I rolled onto my back and wriggled until my head was under the chassis. I made sure my fingers covered the lens of the torch before I switched it on. If I was being watched, it would be from the high ground the other side of the road, but I didn't want to make it any easier to spot me than I had to.
The beam brushed across it at once – a lunchbox-sized Tupperware container fixed under the driver's seat. Two big magnets had been stuck to the base with Isopon so it was quick to slap into position.
I still couldn't see a command wire. There was no antenna for a remote detonation.
I'd already shut myself off from the outside world. My entire focus was on this box.
There was a tiny hole with blackened edges in the lid of the container; it looked like it had been melted with a hot needle. A length of thin, eight-pound fishing line glimmered in my pencil-thin torch beam as it stretched from the hole towards the front of the vehicle. It was as taut as a bowstring; I didn't have to see where it went to
Dom? No. The housekeeper? Ditto. The shopkeeper, or somebody in one of the villages who'd recognized me? Almost impossible, unless they'd been on the streets of Derry and Belfast in the eighties and recognized my face twenty-odd years on.
And absolutely nobody else knew I was here. Why should they? I had no one to tell where I was going. It wasn't like I had family or an employer who needed to keep in touch. And we hadn't been followed. I would have known.
I yelled loudly as the water ran cold and went back downstairs with a towel around me.
'Looks like the boiler's on the blink. I'll phone Dom, see if there's a quick fix.'
I picked up the phone in the kitchen and talked without dialling. 'Can I speak with Dom, please? It's Nick, a friend. It's a personal call. He'll know who I am.' I hummed a bit as I waited. 'Hi, mate – listen, the boiler's playing up. Yeah, it's run cold. Oh shit, really? That's not good. You think so? OK, that's great. See you at about five then?'
I went back. Tallulah gave me the arched eyebrow treatment again. I beckoned her into the kitchen.
'What's happening, Nick? You're behaving very—'
'I'm not sure, but I think there's somebody outside. Don't worry, they're after me, not you. But Dom is on his way to collect you as a precaution.'
23
The house phone rang twice moments before a set of headlights swept up the drive. He drove straight to the back of the house and left the engine running.
The girls were ready. I shepherded them out to the car and saw them safely into the back before approaching Dom's window.
'Do you know who I mean when I say Liam Duff?'
'He's a household name.'
'Since when?'
'Since he was murdered last week.'
24
I hadn't seen a command wire earlier on. I didn't even know if there was a device. But if there was a command wire, there would still be somebody out there, watching and waiting for me to get into the car. Maybe the same guy who'd given Liam Duff the good news with a Black and Decker drill before finishing him off with a single shot to the head. Dom had checked out some pictures of the murder scene. He'd seen some serious shit in his time, but they had really turned his stomach.
I crawled out of the back door of the house, hugging the walls as I made my way to the front. I had a small torch I'd found in the fuse cupboard in my left hand and the kitchen knife in the other.
At the corner of the house I got down on my stomach and used my elbows and the tips of my boots to inch myself towards the car. Frozen water and mud seeped through my jeans and fleece, triggering some major league goose-bumps. Faster movement could give me away, and this way I had time to look and listen as the ice-cold wind rustled the grass and peeled a layer or two of skin off my face.
When I got to the car, I rolled onto my back and wriggled until my head was under the chassis. I made sure my fingers covered the lens of the torch before I switched it on. If I was being watched, it would be from the high ground the other side of the road, but I didn't want to make it any easier to spot me than I had to.
The beam brushed across it at once – a lunchbox-sized Tupperware container fixed under the driver's seat. Two big magnets had been stuck to the base with Isopon so it was quick to slap into position.
I still couldn't see a command wire. There was no antenna for a remote detonation.
I'd already shut myself off from the outside world. My entire focus was on this box.
There was a tiny hole with blackened edges in the lid of the container; it looked like it had been melted with a hot needle. A length of thin, eight-pound fishing line glimmered in my pencil-thin torch beam as it stretched from the hole towards the front of the vehicle. It was as taut as a bowstring; I didn't have to see where it went to
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