Stephen Leather - The Bombmaker

Hogan didn't answer the phone himself, but an efficient secretary with a clipped Cork accent took Denham's name, asked him to hold, and then put him through almost immediately. 'Liam, you old rascal, how's retirement?' asked Hogan.

'Not as quiet as I'd hoped,' said Denham. 'Still Chief Inspector, then?'

'Aye. Too many black marks on my record to climb the slippery pole,' said Hogan. 'But I know where enough bodies are buried for them not to get rid of me. We've reached a nice wee impasse, so I'll give it five more years and then I'll be able to spend all my time on the golf course. What about you? Still fishing?'

'When I can. Look, Eamonn, I just wanted a word in your ear. Can you talk?'

'Sure.'

'George McEvoy. Remember him?'

'Unfortunately, yes. Right nasty bastard. Did the dirty for the IRA's Civil Administration Team, right?'

'That's him. Can you do me a favour – see if he's on your patch at all?'

'Why would you think he'd be in Dublin, Liam?'

Denham wasn't sure how much he could tell Hogan. They'd worked together on several occasions when Denham had been serving with Special Branch in Belfast, but they weren't friends, they had no real history together.

'It's difficult to explain, Eamonn, without me dropping myself in it. And you, too.'

Hogan chuckled. 'I don't think there's much you could say that would blacken my reputation any more than it already is,' he said. 'Where are you? Belfast?'

'London.'

'So what's with the query about McEvoy? Doing a little private detective work on the side, are we? Sweetening the pension?'

'I doubt that I'm going to get paid for this,' said Denham. He fed another pound coin into the slot, and followed it with two fifty-pence pieces. 'The thing is, I think McEvoy might be involved in something in your neck of the woods.'

There was a pause lasting several seconds. 'This wouldn't be about the Katie Hayes girl, would it?'

Denham cursed silently.

'Well, Liam? Would it?'

'I can see why you're a detective, Eamonn. Putting two and two together and getting five.'

'It's not that big a leap of intuition,' said Hogan. 'Two of my boys were pulled off a case a day or two back. Little girl went missing with her mother. They pulled in the father and sweated him overnight but couldn't pin anything on them. They were coming to the view that it was a domestic and the wife had gone off. They let him go with a view to keeping an eye on him. Then he vanished. My boys had made a few enquiries with his bank and his accountant and it seems he'd been liquidating all his investments. Before they could take it any further, I got a call from the Taoiseach's office. I was told to lay off the Hayes case. No explanation, no please or thank you, just that the matter was being pursued at a higher level. So, was I right? Do two and two make five? Or is it six? Or is your call from London a total coincidence?'

Denham smiled despite himself. Hogan was a cunning old sod. 'You know I can't tell you, Eamonn. But you're following orders, aren't you?'

'Oh, yes, I'm being a good boy. Wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardise my pension.'

Denham slotted in a few more coins.

'I'd like to tell you more, but I honestly can't. Maybe when it's over we can chat about it over a few glasses of malt, but at the moment things are too frantic. But I would be grateful if you'd keep an eye out for McEvoy. Or any of his associates.'

'And if he does turn up?'

'Then I'd appreciate an unofficial call.' He gave Hogan the number of the mobile phone that Patsy had given him. 'That's a mobile and it's not secure,' he warned.

'They never are these days,' said Hogan. 'Okay, I'll put him on our watch list. I'll think of some excuse.'

'Anyone else appeared in Dublin you wouldn't expect?'

'Not that I know of, but now you've raised it I'll put out some feelers. Now you be careful, Liam. You're getting too old for cloak and dagger.'

Denham snorted back a laugh and hung up. As he left the call-box, he lit another cigarette. It was the last in his packet and the packet had been the second of the day. His wife wouldn't be best pleased if she found it. He put his hands in his pockets and went off in search of a newsagent.

– «»-«»-«»Katie sat at the table, flicking through one of the comic books that the Nice Man had brought her. She had no idea what time it was or what day it was, but she was hungry, so she guessed it was almost lunch-time. She looked around the room. She had to find a way out. She had to escape. But how? There was only one way out of the basement and that was up the stairs and through the door. The last time she'd tried to run away she'd headed for the kitchen and that had been a mistake because the Ugly Man was there. She should have run the other way, to the front door. If she could get to the front door, then she could run away and shout for help. Someone would hear her. A policeman, maybe.

She looked up at the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. If she tried to hide, they'd see her right away. They always switched the light on when they came down the stairs, no matter which of them it was. She needed to be able to hide in the dark and then run up the stairs before they saw her. She rolled up the comic and swished it through the air. If she could hit the light bulb, it would go out. But she was only little, she couldn't reach. She didn't think even her dad would be able to reach it.

She climbed on to the table and swung the comic at the bulb, but it was still too high. She frowned up at it. If she did break the bulb, it would be dark. There were no windows in the basement. She tutted, annoyed at herself for always thinking negatively. She had to get out, she had to get back to her mummy and dad, and if that meant being in the dark for an hour or so, it was a small price to pay.

She knelt down on the table and picked up the wooden chair she'd been sitting on. She hauled it up on to the table, set it down in the middle, and climbed up on it. It wobbled a bit, but not much. She swung the rolled-up comic and hit the bulb. It swung crazily back and forth, but it didn't go out. Katie waited until it had stopped swinging before lashing out again. This time the light winked out, though the glass didn't break.

She stood on the chair in darkness, suddenly afraid. She knelt down, almost lost her balance, and then clambered to the floor. It felt colder, as if the light had been keeping the basement warm, but she knew that was only her imagination. She groped around until she found her Garfield toy, then crawled to the bottom of the stairs, where she curled herself up into a tight ball and waited.

– «»-«»-«»Andy looked up from the wires that she was soldering and wiped her forehead with her sleeve. She blew on the silvery lumps of still-hot solder, then tugged gently at the wire to check that it was firmly fixed to the digital timer's circuit board. She had to force herself to concentrate on what she was doing. Her mind kept wandering to the briefcase and to what would happen if Green-eyes discovered it.

The Wrestler was stacking the last of the black bags in the centre of the main office area. There was up to thirty pounds of the fertiliser/aluminium mixture in each bag, a total of one hundred and thirty bags in all.

Green-eyes watched as Andy added a drop more solder to the join, then blew on it again. 'This sort of timer's reliable, is it?' she asked.

Andy nodded. 'The big advantage is that it can be set up weeks in advance. The IRA used it to bring down the Grand Hotel in Brighton. Remember, when they almost got Thatcher?'

'I remember. But we won't be needing weeks.'

'How long?' asked Andy.

'Let's get it set up first, then we'll worry about the time.'

Green-eyes straightened up and looked at her watch. It was the third occasion she'd looked at her watch in the past ten minutes, and Andy had the feeling that she was waiting for somebody.