Page 163 of Hang on St. Christopher

“A woman’s life too.”

“You need to make penance, don’t you?” he said.

“And do you think you got forgiveness?”

“What I’m doing is for the greater good. You can see that.”

I took the tape player and stood up.

“Where do you keep the rope?” I asked.

CHAPTER28

A SORT OF ENDING

Better the anticlimax. The disappointing theme in the minor key after the timpani, trombones, and tubas. A solitary violin reprising the melody until the scratching stops and silence overwhelms the music.

I examined Donnolly’s wounds and made sure they weren’t life threatening, and then I tied him to the heating pipe in his basement. I gave him a water bottle, a pack of Ritz minis, and a pot to piss in and told him that once I was back in Ireland, I’d call the police to come and rescue him. He asked me to call not the police, but a number at the CIA.

I wrote down the number.

“So you’re not going to kill me?” he asked.

“I’m a cop,” I told him. “I’m not habitually in the execution business.” I showed him my Walkman. “And this tape will discourage you from getting into the execution business with me. If any sudden accidents happen to me or my family, copies of this tape will be sent to theGuardian, theWashington Post, theNew York Times,theNation,and the BBC.”

“You’ll blow up the peace process?”

“To protect my family? Bet your arse.”

“You need to uncuff me.”

“Fuck that.”

“I need to show you something in my safe.”

“The safe?”

“The safe.”

“Just tell me where it is and the combination.”

Upstairs. The den.

Safe behind a picture of the Virgin on the wall.

The combo, 33L, 44R, 44L.

The red file. The second one from the top.

Inside, there were photographs of my house in Portpatrick. A photograph of a girl curled on the sofa in her golden blanket. The Irish princess in exile in the foreign court.

I took the file downstairs.

“You know where I live! You’ve had goons scouting my house?” I said, furious.

Donnolly nodded. “Go home, Duffy. Forget everything that happened here.”

“I can’t do that.”