Page 97 of Hang on St. Christopher

I sat up in bed and listened to the water tumble through the gutters and into the drains.

So many mistakes in this case.

In this life.

The arc was all wrong.

Wrong arc.

Wrong lessons learned.

No bloody lessons learned.

Fuck it.

Coffee. Toast. Black T-shirt. Black sweater. Raincoat. Out to the Beemer. Check underneath. No bombs... more’s the pity.

No radio today.

Just get in to work.

Upstairs, avoiding gazes, and into Lawson’s office, where Crabbie and another man were waiting for me.

“Inspector Duffy, this is Superintendent Anthony Clare from Special Branch,” Crabbie said before I came out with a “Who is this fuck?”

He stood up and shook my hand.

“Delighted to meet you,” he said.

Superintendent Clare was a lanky, posh-voiced bastard in a well-cut pin-striped three-piece suit. On the stand in the corner, he had parked an umbrella and a bowler hat, of all things.

And here was I with no shower, no shave, and a mayonnaise stain on my raincoat. Lieutenant Columbo would have made a better first impression.

“Would either of you gentlemen care for a drink?” I asked, heading for the drinks cabinet.

“No,” Superintendent Clare said. He had watery blue eyes, big nostrils, and the weak chin you’d expect in a toff. No mustache, though—that would have been too much to ask.

Don’t ask me how I knew, but I knew he was a fellow Catholic immediately. A Catholic who refused a whisky—what an abomination.

“I’ve already got us a cup of tea,” Crabbie explained.

“Right, then,” I said sitting down again.

“So Sergeant McCrabban here has filled me in on the extraordinary document your team found in that Gypsy caravan,” Clare began. “We in Special Branch have absolutely no choice but to take this very seriously indeed. This looks for all intents and purposes like a hit list of senior Republican politicians, IRA men, and former IRA men. And that, I’m afraid, comes well within our jurisdiction.”

“Yes.”

“So the killing of Mr. Locke, and what exactly Mr. Locke was up to in Carrickfergus, will become part of a case that we will need to initiate. Your investigation will need to be subsumed into our investigation, I’m afraid.”

“I’m aware of that,” I replied.

“Jolly good. I’ll have some men come and look through your case files this afternoon. I’d like them in as orderly a fashion as possible by then.”

“Okay.”

“May I ask you for your interpretation of the situation?” Clare said, softly.

“My interpretation?”