Adrian McKinty - The Bloomsday Dead

“The pay phone at the Alfred Clock,” Bridget said.

“The pay phone at the Albert Clock. Twenty to midnight. There you’ll get your initial instructions. Bring a car and bring the fucking money and come alone. If you’re a fucking eejit, you’re going to lose your daughter; if you play it cool, everybody’s going to be happy.”

The line went dead.

The constable who had given the thumbs-up came back into the interview room.

“Well?” the chief super asked.

“Oh, we traced it, no problem, sir, but the bad news is that it’s from a batch of phones stolen from a shop in Larne. The cards were all canceled, but they’ve obviously reactivated them somehow,” the constable said.

“So you couldn’t find out anything?” the chief super asked.

“Well, they’re almost certainly calling from Belfast. It was a strong local signal. Tech boys say a radius of about five miles. That’s about all we can tell,” the constable said.

The chief super groaned.

While the two cops talked and the other peelers pretended to be busy, Bridget was quietly sitting there sobbing. Gone was the general, the bitch boss, all that was left was the frightened mom. I pushed past Moran and the goons and sat next to her. Gently I put my arm around her.

“Bridget, are you ok?” I asked.

She nodded, didn’t push my arm away, continued crying.

“Siobhan is still alive, it’s wonderful. I knew she would be, anyone with your genes is a survivor. She’s alive and she sounds good. And you’ll be seeing her really soon,” I whispered.

Bridget smiled.

“Oh, Michael, I hope you’re right,” she said.

The chief super began barking orders to the peelers, who were standing around gawking.

“Oliver, you see about the helicopters, get on to the army and the airports. Pat, get a team of detectives over to the Albert Clock; Erin, you see about a car for Ms. Callaghan, get a bug in it, get a camera in it if you can; Lara, you make sure Ms. Callaghan gets rigged up. Sam, he said no helicopters, but see if we can get a microlight up there with a camera. Ari and Sophie, find out the locations of all the phone boxes within a mile radius of the Albert Clock; we’ll stake out every bloody one of them if we can.”

Bridget stood.

“He said no cops,” Bridget said. “He said if he saw one cop, he’d kill Siobhan.”

“Don’t worry, miss, these will be plainclothes detectives; he won’t even notice us, it’ll be very discreet, I assure you,” the chief super said.

Bridget was angry now.

“No fucking cops. Ok? This is my show. I’m cooperating with those sons of bitches. Cancel your fucking microlight and call back those detectives,” she said vehemently.

The chief super shook his head, but her eyes turned him.

“Ok, if that’s what you want,” he said reluctantly.

“It’s what I insist upon,” Bridget said.

“At least let us put a bug in the car and on your person-”

“You can bug the car but not me, he was perfectly clear about that. I don’t want you Paddy fucks ruining this for me. You haven’t been able to find my daughter, you haven’t been able to do anything. So now it’s over, just keep out of it and let this go ahead. Once I get Siobhan, you can do what you like finding these bastards.”

The chief super was about to add something but bit his tongue instead.

“If that’s what you need, fine,” he said finally.

Bridget dabbed her eyes, took a sip of water.

“It is,” Bridget said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to go to the ladies’ room.”

She got up. A female constable helped her out.

Moran stood behind me and hauled me to my feet. I would have smacked the fucker but for the presence of the Old Bill. I pushed his hand away from me.

“Keep your fucking paws off me. Touch me again and you’re a dead man, peelers or no peelers,” I snarled.

“Yeah, well, you heard the lady. You better pull the cord and get out of here, Forsythe, your services are no longer required,” he said.

“I have things to do anyway. Don’t be such an asshole.”

We stared at each other and one of the younger detectives came over.

“Is there a problem here?”

“No problem, run along, sonny, the adults are talking,” Moran said.

The cop couldn’t think of a reply and walked shamefaced back to his colleagues.

“Ok, Moran. Fine, you’re a big man. Great. It’s not midnight yet. You can tell me this-Bridget’s pretty emotional-was that definitely her? Definitely Siobhan?” I asked him.

“It was her,” Moran said.

“And that first voice, have you ever heard it before?”

“Nope.”

“It was foreign, wasn’t it? There was something about it,” I said.

“I told you, I haven’t heard it before. You’re trying my patience, Forsythe. Well, you won’t be trying it for too long. As soon as we get Siobhan back-”

“Aye, I know. Well, like I say, join the queue, I’m not exactly Mister Popular round these parts.”

“Price you pay for being a rat murderer,” Moran said.

Bridget came back into the interview room. She couldn’t stand now. Moran helped her into a chair. She blew her nose. She’d been crying on and off for hours. For days, really, but once again I was struck by her. She was haggard and she was older but she looked extraordinary. Age had only deepened her loveliness. It had removed the rawness of youth and replaced it with an elegance, a charm, a breathless quality. No longer a bubbling champagne. Now a cognac of the first reserve. Smoldering, earthy, vulnerable, pure.

And in a way, looking at her was like looking in a mirror. We had both done terrible things. We had both changed so much.

And I saw something else.

I knew I loved Bridget now. I’d always loved her, from that very first moment, and all through the years and even now when she was trying to kill me. I couldn’t help it. No one could. I could even forgive Darkey White for what he did to us, to me and Scotchy and all the rest. Our lives were worth it, for a chance of happiness with this woman.

A constable came in with a large briefcase full of money. It brought me back to my senses. Ten million in sterling and international bearer bonds. How much was that in dollars? Was Bridget worth that much? Of course she was. That and much more. She’d have paid fifty million to get Siobhan back. Kidnappers couldn’t be that savvy, then, or they would have known that. Or maybe they did know it, but wanted a sum she could raise quickly. Or perhaps there was more to all this than just the cash.

“Let’s get you a cup of tea and get you prepped,” the chief super said to Bridget.

“Ok,” she replied meekly, tired now, close to the edge.

She was led away by the chief super and one of the female constables. She didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to me. I stood awkwardly for a moment, wondering what to do next. Moran made his presence felt at my arm.

“Make yourself scarce, Forsythe. We’ll count to a thousand and then we’re coming,” he said. No smile on his face, just those brutal, vengeful eyes.

“Ok,” I said, stole his cigarettes and lighter from the table, and walked out of the interview room.

In the corridor I found the constable who’d been doing the trace. He looked keen and amenable; he might do.

“Listen, mate, I’m a private detective working for Bridget, can you do me a wee solid? I need the address of a Slider McFerrin in Bangor, he might be involved in all of this. I don’t know, but I think he might be the one that stole those phones of yours.”

“Do you now? Slider what?”

“McFerrin, he lives in Bangor.”

“Ok,” he said, but he didn’t rush off to go check it out.

“Come on, mate, quid pro quo, I gave you the name, tell me his address and I’ll check it out. It might be a dead end, but I promise I’ll give you everything I get,” I said.