sometime that day someone Sissy met had told her about what had happened at Novak’s pub, the real reason why Walter hadn’t been able to go home. He’d used the excuse that he was having landlord trouble.
‘Why did they try to shoot you?’
‘Complicated.’
‘Jesus, Wally,
‘Please, Sis.’
‘You’re too old for that crap.’
Walter shook his head. ‘This has nothing – look, it’s a misunderstanding.Some people, they’ve got their wires crossed, they think – it’s not what—’ He made a dismissive gesture. ‘Anyway, it’s over now, I talked to a guy, I’m gonna to talk to him again, it’s gonna get sorted out.’
Sissy put her hand on Walter’s forearm. ‘I’m scared for you, Wally.’
Walter smiled. ‘I promise – I’ll sort this out. If I think I’ve still got anything to worry about I’ll be in Glasgow within twenty-four hours. Two days at the most. Stay there until this blows over.’
‘You have enough money, if you need to get out?’
‘I’m fine.’
Sissy looked at him like she wanted to believe him. Walter said it was time to get some sleep. She stood up and kissed him on the forehead, something she’d done since she was a kid. She was still standing there in the kitchen when he patted the Gran Canaria cushion and put his head down, Sissy’s dressing gown still wrapped around him under the duvet cover.
Seven-twenty
.
Should be plenty of breakfast places open by now.
Time to go
.
Damp as it still was, the jacket would have to do. Once he’d sorted this out with Mackendrick he could go home, get changed. Walter swallowed the last of the tea. Jacket on, he patted his side pockets, then fingered the lapels near the collar and adjusted the jacket on his shoulders.
Wrong pocket
.
He patted the left side of his chest – nothing. He was right-handed, always put the wallet in the left-hand inside pocket. The wallet was in the right-hand inside pocket. Someone had moved it.
He took it out, opened it. Tucked into the front flap he found four fifties, folded in half.
Jesus, Sissy
.
Walter felt a wave of gratitude and love and shame at his own need. This wasn’t spare money. Sissy’s part-time work didn’t bring in much more than her weekly expenses. She never had any cash left over to splash out. This was money accumulated for a purpose – a bill or maybe something the boys needed. For a few moments Walter stood there, wallet in hand. Then he opened the top drawer beside the cooker, where Sissy kept a ragbag of little-used kitchen implements and coins and batteries and bottle openers and rubber bands and bills and assorted pieces of stationery. He found a sheet of writing paper and an envelope and in his best handwriting he wrote
THANKS
, added
love you SIS
and signed it
W
. He put the paper in the envelope and slid the four fifties in alongside, sealed the flap, wrote his sister’s name on the front and left it propped up on the kitchen counter.
The streets were still wet, but the rain was soft, no more than a mist, as Walter Bennett closed the door of his sister’s house behind him.
Chapter 9
Detective Sergeant Michael Wyndham wiped condensation from the window of Danny Callaghan’s apartment. On the green down below, the grass was coated with morning frost. Wyndham kept his hands in his pockets and flexed his shoulders a few times in a pointless effort to generate heat. Must be depressing to live in a dogbox like this, with walls like cardboard. Apartment blocks all over the place, these days, populated mostly by the young and the eager. Weaned on
Sex and the City
, impatient to sample the supposed sophistication of Manhattan on the Liffey, using their own money to rent, or daddy’s money to buy. During the late lamented boom, it had seemed like it took some builders no more than a long weekend to throw an apartment block together.
Sergeant Wyndham said, ‘Jesus, it’s cold in here. You got something to warm the place up?’
Danny Callaghan was slumped
‘Why did they try to shoot you?’
‘Complicated.’
‘Jesus, Wally,
‘Please, Sis.’
‘You’re too old for that crap.’
Walter shook his head. ‘This has nothing – look, it’s a misunderstanding.Some people, they’ve got their wires crossed, they think – it’s not what—’ He made a dismissive gesture. ‘Anyway, it’s over now, I talked to a guy, I’m gonna to talk to him again, it’s gonna get sorted out.’
Sissy put her hand on Walter’s forearm. ‘I’m scared for you, Wally.’
Walter smiled. ‘I promise – I’ll sort this out. If I think I’ve still got anything to worry about I’ll be in Glasgow within twenty-four hours. Two days at the most. Stay there until this blows over.’
‘You have enough money, if you need to get out?’
‘I’m fine.’
Sissy looked at him like she wanted to believe him. Walter said it was time to get some sleep. She stood up and kissed him on the forehead, something she’d done since she was a kid. She was still standing there in the kitchen when he patted the Gran Canaria cushion and put his head down, Sissy’s dressing gown still wrapped around him under the duvet cover.
Seven-twenty
.
Should be plenty of breakfast places open by now.
Time to go
.
Damp as it still was, the jacket would have to do. Once he’d sorted this out with Mackendrick he could go home, get changed. Walter swallowed the last of the tea. Jacket on, he patted his side pockets, then fingered the lapels near the collar and adjusted the jacket on his shoulders.
Wrong pocket
.
He patted the left side of his chest – nothing. He was right-handed, always put the wallet in the left-hand inside pocket. The wallet was in the right-hand inside pocket. Someone had moved it.
He took it out, opened it. Tucked into the front flap he found four fifties, folded in half.
Jesus, Sissy
.
Walter felt a wave of gratitude and love and shame at his own need. This wasn’t spare money. Sissy’s part-time work didn’t bring in much more than her weekly expenses. She never had any cash left over to splash out. This was money accumulated for a purpose – a bill or maybe something the boys needed. For a few moments Walter stood there, wallet in hand. Then he opened the top drawer beside the cooker, where Sissy kept a ragbag of little-used kitchen implements and coins and batteries and bottle openers and rubber bands and bills and assorted pieces of stationery. He found a sheet of writing paper and an envelope and in his best handwriting he wrote
THANKS
, added
love you SIS
and signed it
W
. He put the paper in the envelope and slid the four fifties in alongside, sealed the flap, wrote his sister’s name on the front and left it propped up on the kitchen counter.
The streets were still wet, but the rain was soft, no more than a mist, as Walter Bennett closed the door of his sister’s house behind him.
Chapter 9
Detective Sergeant Michael Wyndham wiped condensation from the window of Danny Callaghan’s apartment. On the green down below, the grass was coated with morning frost. Wyndham kept his hands in his pockets and flexed his shoulders a few times in a pointless effort to generate heat. Must be depressing to live in a dogbox like this, with walls like cardboard. Apartment blocks all over the place, these days, populated mostly by the young and the eager. Weaned on
Sex and the City
, impatient to sample the supposed sophistication of Manhattan on the Liffey, using their own money to rent, or daddy’s money to buy. During the late lamented boom, it had seemed like it took some builders no more than a long weekend to throw an apartment block together.
Sergeant Wyndham said, ‘Jesus, it’s cold in here. You got something to warm the place up?’
Danny Callaghan was slumped
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