Stephen Leather - Dead Men

‘That’s crazy,’ said Elaine. ‘The police don’t do that.’ Her eyes blazed and Shepherd stayed quiet. He didn’t want to antagonise her. ‘You don’t understand what it’s like to be a cop, Jamie. Living with Robbie, I got to see just how their hands are tied. Everything’s geared to protect the criminals.’ She waved her glass at the television. ‘The media too – they’re always on the side of the villains. Do they care that Lynn shot my husband in front of me and my little boy? That Lynn and his IRA bastard friends blew Robbie’s brains out for no other reason than that he worked for the RUC?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Shepherd again.

‘You don’t have to keep saying you’re sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s not your problem. It’s never been your problem.’

Shepherd sipped some wine.

‘I’m glad Lynn’s dead,’ she said. ‘And I’m glad McFee’s dead. Whoever killed them should get a medal.’

‘What about the others?’ asked Shepherd.

‘The others?’

‘The ones with Lynn and McFee? How many were there?’

‘Three,’ said Elaine. ‘Adrian Dunne, Willie McEvoy and Noel Kinsella.’

‘Has anything happened to them?’

‘Nothing they didn’t deserve,’ she said.

‘They’re dead?’

‘Adrian Dunne was shot a couple of months ago, Willie McEvoy too. Kinsella’s still around. He ran away to the States and the Americans refused to extradite him. He came back last month but because of the Belfast Agreement he didn’t serve a day.’

‘What are the odds of that?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Odds of what?’

‘Elaine, come on. Out of the five men who killed your husband, four are dead.’

‘The killings are still going on, Peace Process or not,’ said Elaine. ‘Now it’s old scores being settled or gangsters fighting over drugs.’

‘But four out of five? Haven’t the police questioned you?’

Elaine laughed. ‘You think I’ve been behaving like some crazed vigilante?’

‘Of course not,’ said Shepherd. ‘But I would have thought the police might wonder if there’s a connection.’

Elaine was astonished. ‘I can’t believe you’d say that, Jamie.’

‘I’m not suggesting anything, I’m just saying, cops are cops, wouldn’t they think that you might be involved?’

‘Involved in what way?’ she said defensively.

‘I don’t know. But you above all people would want them dead, wouldn’t you?’

‘There’s a world of difference between wanting someone dead and killing them.’

‘Of course there is. If it was me, I’d want the men responsible dead.’ He thought of Amar Singh and Charlotte Button listening to this. And recording everything that was said.

Elaine’s eyes were brimming with tears. ‘I lost my husband,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘I lost my husband and I lost my son. Yes, the men who ruined my family deserve to suffer and die. But do you think I want to spend the rest of my life behind bars?’

‘Elaine, I didn’t say I thought you did anything. I said the police might think that.’

She put down her glass and got to her feet, a little unsteadily. ‘I’m going home.’

‘Elaine, please, don’t be angry.’

She glared at him. ‘Why? Are you frightened I might shoot you?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Shepherd.

‘Oh – so first I’m a vigilante, and now I’m silly, am I?’ She swayed a little. ‘I’m going home.’

‘Elaine, come on, let me make you a coffee.’

‘Now you’re saying I’m drunk? I’m not drunk, Jamie. I’m not drunk, I’m not silly and I’m not a murderer.’ She brushed past him and hurried down the hallway, keeping her left hand on the wall to help her balance. Shepherd hurried after her but she got to the front door ahead of him and let herself out.

‘Elaine!’ he called, but she was already running across the lawn to her house.

Shepherd closed the front door and swore under his breath. He went into the sitting room and peered through the window. Elaine was trying to insert her key into the lock. It took her several attempts and then she was stumbling inside and slamming the door behind her.

His mobile phone rang. It was Button. ‘You pushed too hard, Spider,’ she said.

‘I know. It got away from me, I’m sorry.’

‘Is it retrievable?’

‘I think so. She was a bit drunk, and that’s probably why she reacted the way she did. I’ll let her sleep on it and see how she feels tomorrow. I don’t think it’s her, Charlie. I really don’t.’

‘You found bullets in her attic. And, from what I heard, there’s a lot of anger there. Anger and hatred.’

‘But she’s not a killer.’

‘And you say that based on what?’

Shepherd rubbed the back of his neck. ‘On the basis that it takes one to know one,’ he said quietly.

‘Elizabeth, you’re worrying about nothing,’ said Kinsella. ‘And keep your voice down. I don’t want the Rottweilers to think we’re arguing.’

‘We are arguing, honey,’ said Elizabeth, frostily. ‘A friend of yours has been killed and you don’t seem the least bit concerned.’

‘I hardly knew the guy,’ said Kinsella.

‘Concerned about us,’ snapped his wife. ‘Us! You and me! I don’t give a shit about him, it’s you and me I’m worried about.’

‘That’s what we’ve got the Rottweilers for,’ said Kinsella. ‘They’re not going to let anything happen to me. To us. They can’t afford to.’

‘Your friend Lynn had bodyguards, too, remember?’

‘He had a couple of IRA heavies, nothing like the protection we’ve got.’

Elizabeth sighed. ‘You don’t get it, do you? I can’t live like this, Noel. I’m sorry, but I can’t.’

‘Your family has always had bodyguards. And with good reason. Don’t give me grief over this.’

‘Look, it doesn’t matter how many bodyguards you have or how good the security is. If someone wants to kill you . . .’ She trailed off.

Kinsella put his arms around her and kissed her on the top of the head. ‘I’m sorry, baby,’ he said.

‘I didn’t know it would be like this,’ she said.

‘Neither did I,’ said Kinsella.

‘I thought we could settle down, have children, make a life here.’

‘We can, baby. We can.’

‘But not like this.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I just want them to catch whoever it is.’

‘You and me both,’ said Kinsella. He kissed her again. ‘Let me see what I can do.’

‘I want to go home.’

‘This is home,’ said Kinsella.

‘My home,’ she said. ‘I want to go back to the States.’

Hassan Salih parked his hire car in the King Edward Court car park in the centre of Windsor. He locked it and headed for Windsor’s main shopping street. The sun was shining and it seemed that every second person was a tourist holding a street map or guidebook. Peascod Street was pedestrianised, lined with shops and building-society offices. Large black tubs containing well-tended trees were dotted along the pavement and baskets of brightly coloured flowers hung from the street-lamps. A group of Etonians sat on a curved metal bench eating ice-cream, their black tailcoats and pinstriped trousers a throwback to an earlier age when the British had an empire and the school’s alumni ran it. An American woman in stretch trousers pointed a digital camera at them and asked if she could take their photograph. They agreed and posed good-naturedly, and before long half a dozen tourists were clustered in front of them, clicking cameras.

At the top of Peascod Street a black statue of Queen Victoria, holding an orb, gazed severely at the throngs. The sweeping castle,for which Windsor was famous,lowered over her. The royal standard was flying from the solitary flagpole at the top of the main tower, indicating that the sovereign was in residence.