Stephen Leather - The Bombmaker

Andy looked up at him for several seconds, then she slowly got to her knees, her eyes never leaving his face. Quinn put his hands down to his zipper but Andy shook her head. 'Let me,' she said, her voice a seductive whisper.

The breath caught in Quinn's throat and he closed his eyes, his legs trembling with anticipation.

The pain hit him like a hot poker in his groin and he gasped. Her right hand had grabbed his scrotum and squeezed like a vice. He opened his eyes, but before he could react her left hand had squeezed him around the throat and she had pushed him back against the wall. He tried to move to the side but she gripped him harder, crushing his testicles so hard that he could feel her fingernails digging through the denim of his jeans. His eyes watered and he tried to yell at her but her grip on his throat was as tight as her hold on his genitals.

Her face was only inches away from his. 'You don't scare me,' she hissed. 'You might have my daughter, but you don't scare me, do you understand?'

Quinn tried to nod but he couldn't move his head. A tear trickled down his cheek underneath his ski mask.

'If you come near me again, I'll hurt you like you've never been hurt before. I'll crush your balls or I'll poke my fingers in your eyes or I'll scratch your face so deep that the scars will never heal, do you understand me?'

Quinn nodded.

Andy stared into his eyes, then she released her grip on him and stood back, her hands up defensively. She glared at him, her cheeks flushed.

'You fucking bitch!' spat Quinn, rubbing his neck. 'Too good for me, is that it? You'll do it and more for me before I've fucking finished with you.'

Andy didn't say anything. She stood facing him with her hands up, fingers curled. Quinn stepped sideways, groping for the door handle, then he pulled the door open and slammed it behind him.

He went back to the factory area where McCracken was checking her mobile phone.

'She's not hungry,' he said, taking off his ski mask.

McCracken put her phone back in her briefcase and locked it. 'Don't fuck with her, Quinn. Okay?'

'What do you mean?'

'You know what I mean. We need her – the more she cooperates with us the sooner we'll be finished and the sooner you'll get your money.'

'Yeah, I know.'

'So don't fuck with her. Don't even talk to her.'

'You said ask her what she…'

'Yeah, well, that was my mistake. Keep away from her.'

She looked as if she wanted to say more, but she turned away when they heard O'keefe arrive in his van.

'So, what do you want to eat?' Quinn asked. 'It's on me.'

'Whatever,' said McCracken. 'I've lost my appetite.' She went out to meet O'Keefe, leaving Quinn staring sullenly after her.

– «»-«»-«»Martin Hayes left the office early. He hadn't been able to get any work done so he'd told Padraig that he wasn't feeling well. He was in the house by four o'clock. He let Dermott out into the garden, and was making himself a cup of instant coffee when the doorbell rang. The noise startled him and he spilled boiling water over the counter top. He cursed and went to see who was at the front door. There were two uniformed officers of the Garda Siochana, the Irish police, standing on the doorstep, one grey and in his late forties, the other younger and taller. They were both wearing waterproof jackets, flecked with rain.

'Mr Hayes?' asked the older one. 'Mr Martin Hayes?'

'Yes?' said Martin. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Two unsmiling policemen could only mean bad news. He held on to the door handle for support, gripping it tightly.

'Is your wife at home?'

Martin narrowed his eyes, confused. The question was totally unexpected. He'd assumed that they were there to tell him that Katie or Andy had been found. And found meant dead, because if they were okay then they'd be on the doorstep with the policemen. 'What?'

'Mrs Hayes. Mrs Andrea Hayes. Is she at home?'

'No,' said Martin, hesitantly.

'What about your daughter?'

'My daughter?'

'Katie. You only have the one child, don't you?'

'Yes,' said Martin.

'Can we see her, please?'

Martin shook his head. 'I'm sorry. What?'

'Your daughter. We'd like to see her.'

'She's not here.'

'Where is she?'

'What's this about?' asked Martin. He looked from one garda to the other. They both looked back at him like undertakers weighing up a corpse.

'Could you tell us where your wife and daughter are, Mr Hayes?'

Martin realised that he was gripping the door handle so tightly that he was losing the feeling in his hand.

'They're out.'

'Out where?'

'Look, could you tell me what this is about? Is something wrong? Has something happened?'

'That's what we're trying to find out, Mr Hayes.'

Martin could feel his legs start to shake. The more he tried to stop them shaking, the worse it got, and he was sure that the two gardai could see the effect their presence was having on him.

'My wife's out. With Katie. They'll be back tomorrow. They've gone up to Belfast.'

The older garda raised an eyebrow and waited for Martin to continue. Martin could feel his lips slide across his teeth as he widened his smile. His legs were starting to tremble again.

'To see her aunt. Her aunt's sick and Andy wanted to go and make sure that there was food in the house, stuff like that.'

'And she took your daughter with her?' said the older garda.

Martin nodded. 'I've been really busy at work. I couldn't guarantee that I'd be able to pick Katie up from school. We decided that it'd be better if she went with Andy. It's only going to be for a few days.'

'Andy?'

'My wife. Andrea. I call her Andy.'

'And you didn't think of informing the school?'

Martin suddenly realised what the visit was about. The woman in the headmistress's office, Mrs O'Mara, must have called them. He shrugged. 'She's only seven. We didn't think she'd be hurt by a few days off school.'

'I've got kids myself,' said the older garda. 'Boy of fifteen, girl of twelve. A few years back I took them to Galway, caravan holiday. I love caravans, me. Love the freedom. Thing is, I asked the school if they could be allowed to take their holidays a week early. I was having trouble getting time off. It was like pulling teeth. They wouldn't have it.'

Martin nodded. The garda was smiling ingratiatingly, trying to put him at ease. There was no warmth in the man's smile and his cold eyes continued to stare at Martin.

'So maybe that's why you didn't tell the school, eh?' the garda continued. 'Maybe you thought they wouldn't let her go?'

Martin shrugged. 'I didn't really think about it. It was my wife's idea, really. It was all short notice, you know. Her aunt called and Andy went the same day.'

The older garda nodded. 'How did she go?'

'What?'

'How did your wife go up to Belfast?'

Martin's mind whirled. Why was he asking that? The reason hit him like a blow to the stomach. There were two cars parked in the driveway. Martin's Range Rover and Andy's Renault Clio. So the gardai knew that Andy hadn't driven up to Belfast.

'She took the train. I mean, they took the train. Andy and Katie.'

'Which train?'

'The Belfast train,' said Martin.

The garda smiled as if there had been a simple misunderstanding. 'The time,' he said. 'What time did the train leave?'

Martin had no idea how often trains went from Dublin to Belfast. 'Morning. Tennish. On Wednesday.'

'Wednesday?'

Martin nodded.

About ten?'

'That's right.'

The two gardai exchanged looks but Martin couldn't tell what they were thinking.

'And your wife's aunt. What was her name?'

'Bessie.'

'Bessie. Where exactly does she live?'

'I'm not sure of the address, exactly. But it's north Belfast.' Martin figured the best thing to do was to keep his answers as vague as possible. Specifics could be checked.