Adrian McKinty - I Hear the Sirens in the Street

“No suicide note? No explanation?”

“Maybe he did leave a note and McFarlane destroyed it. Maybe O’Rourke had a hunch about that thieving bastard, which is why he taped his stuff behind the mirror. Who knows? The point is McFarlane finds him dead and goes through his gear and figures out that he’s a fucking federal agent and panics and calls in a couple of lads who work in the meat business and they take the body away and throw it in a freezer until McFarlane can figure out what to do with it. In the meantime a greedy and stupid McFarlane forges O’Rourke’s signature on an extortionate American Express bill.”

“And the body?”

“Time marches on. Either the heat’s coming down or McFarlane just can’t see any good coming of keeping Mr O’Rourke in a freezer forever so he has his mates chop up the body and dump the poor lad in a skip. They do this to avoid us and keep their boss Richard Mr Connected Coulter out of the loop.”

Crabbie finished his tea and leaned back in the armchair.

“It’s possible,” he said. “How would you go about proving something like that? McFarlane’s an old lag. You could beat him with a rubber hose and he wouldn’t talk.”

“Maybe he will talk. What are we accusing him of? Disposing of a body? Concealment of evidence? What’s that? A year? Six months? If he pled guilty he could be out in ten weeks.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to go prison at all. Maybe he feels that if he’s inside for any length of time, he’ll be looking shaky.”

“Perhaps.”

Crabbie looked at the bag of pills sitting on the coffee table.

He sipped his tea and leaned back in the chair.

“Your face is a mess, Sean.”

“Aye, they give me a good hiding and no mistake.”

“I told you not to go.”

“You did.”

“This case had plenty of warning signs all over it.”

“It did.”

“We’ll both have to learn how to read those signs better, won’t we?”

“You’re sounding like the Chief Inspector, mate.”

“I’ve got a couple of kids, now. Gotta think of my future.”

I said nothing.

The nothing went on a for a while.

Even after two years with him I couldn’t tell what the hell he was thinking. Opprobrium? Annoyance? What?

Finally he sighed. “This is too deep for the likes of us. Too deep.”

“I know, Crabbie,” I said.

He got to his feet. “You need to rest up, Sean. I don’t think we should bring McFarlane in formally. Not yet. I’ll take a wee run up to the B&B and see if they’ll tell me anything. I’ll go softly softly.”

I stood too and offered him my hand.

“I’m sorry about all this, Crabbie. Like you say we’ll have to learn to read the arcana better.”

“And listen to me next time,” he said shaking my hand.

I waved to him as he drove off.

I had a can of Harp and popped two more of the white pills.

They were helping.

I called up Emma.

“Hey, it’s me,” I said.

“You’re back? Did you bring me a present from the Land of the Free?”

“I forgot.”

“I was only kidding. I don’t want a present.”

“I’ve got a huge box of steaks here that nobody wants.”

“Steaks?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll take them.”

“Have you got a freezer? It’s a big box.”

“I don’t, but Harry’s got one.”

“Okay then. I’ll see you in about half an hour … Don’t be freaked, but I, uh, I had a bit of a car accident, I’m slightly beat up.”

“Oh my God, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“Should you be driving?”

“Yes! I’m fine. Look, I’ll see you in a wee bit, okay?”

“Okay.”

I hung up and wondered if I really should be driving all the way down to Islandmagee.

Well, we’d soon find out.

I dressed myself without much difficulty and went out to the Beemer.

I was wearing jeans and a tight black sweater. They’d shaved my head in the hospital to put the stitches in. The ensemble made me look like I was a paramilitary thug. To complete the thing I went upstairs, got my .38 and shoved it in my belt.

“You look like an eejit,” I said to my face in the mirror.

I kept the BMW at a reasonable pace down to Islandmagee.

The private road to Sir Harry’s land had a different goon guarding it now. A kid with big ears, red cheeks and a red hunting hat that he was wearing backwards.

“Is that thing loaded?” I asked, looking at his twelve-gauge shotgun.

“Aye, it is, so you better piss off, mate! This is private land,” he said.

“I’m a peeler, son, open the bloody gate!”

He got off his arse and opened the gate.

I drove down the lane to Emma’s house.

It began to rain.

I parked the car. Took the box of steaks out of the boot. I’d stuffed the freezer compartment of my fridge full but there were still thirty or forty of the bastards left.

I carried the box to the front door while chickens pecked about my feet and Cora barked at me all the way. I leaned them on top of the oil drum for the central heating.

Emma opened the door. “Hi,” she said, and then, “Oh my word.”

“I’m not a pretty sight, am I?”

“Not in the least.”

“Where do you want these?”

She looked in the box. “That’s a lot of meat. I’ll cook two for us tonight and we’ll leave the rest up in Harry’s freezer.”

She was making an assumption that I was staying for dinner and she suddenly felt embarrassed about that. Her cheeks coloured and she looked all the more beautiful for it. “That is unless you have plans, or work, or—”

“I’d love to say for dinner. And there’s no work this week. I’m still officially on leave.”

“Have a seat, leave those things on the kitchen table.”

I carried the steaks inside to the kitchen and then joined her in the living room.

“Get you a drink?” she asked.

“A stiff glass of anything except that moonshine of yours.”

“Johnnie Walker Black?”

“That’ll do nicely.”

She poured me a glass.

“Thanks,” I said and sipped it.

“Sit yourself down there, Sean. I’ll go marinate those steaks in garlic and red wine.”

“Sounds good.”

I drank the Johnnie Walker and watched the sun head towards Magheramorne and the west side of Larne Lough. She came back with a glass of Johnnie Walker for herself. She snuggled next to me on the sofa.

She was wearing a soft wool sweater and faded blue jeans and her hair was tied back.

I liked her being close to me.

It was a nice moment.

“So, what happened to you? Was it driving on the wrong side of the road?” she asked.

I span her a few lies and she went for them. And then, feeling guilty about that, I told her about some stuff from my previous New York trip. She laughed at the story of the Reggie Jackson bar, but she hadn’t heard of The Ramones or the New York Dolls or even Blondie and I vowed that I would rectify that.

“How do you like your steak?” she asked, getting up.

“Call me squeamish, but I’m no fan of rare,” I said.

“Medium okay?” she asked.

“Sure … How long will it take?”

“Twenty-five minutes.”

I got up.

“You’ve no freezer at all?” I asked.

“None.”

“Well, I don’t want them to spoil. I’ll leave the rest of the box up at Harry’s. The only thing that worries me is Mrs Patton giving me the evil eye.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, she’s harmless. Well, she’s outlived two husbands, but that’s neither here nor there, and you won’t even have to go to the house. He’s got a curing shed for hanging his pheasants and there’s a big freezer in that. Just bung them in.”