Undercover (10 page)

Lydia gently removed McGoldrick's hands from her shoulders, gave them a friendly squeeze and let them go. His arms fell to his sides and Lydia noticed his short fingers curl into fists.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lydia said.

"Don't insult my intelligence. I know you were working L'Oreal. And even though you went at it like a sledgehammer to a walnut, you were actually getting somewhere. Why would you throw all that work away on what seems to be a whim?"

"Maybe I had an epiphany? I wasn't doing Rory any favours in that area of his career. Figured we'd both make more money if I outsourced."

"I don't believe you. We'd have been in talks long before now if you were that clever."

"But look how eager you are now that I've held out this long. All suspicious but ready to snap him up anyway."

"Don't get too cocky, hen. I know a good deal when I see one, so I'm going to welcome Rory into my fold even though I'm sure you're not one hundred per cent legit. But consider this a friendly warning. When I figure out your angle, and I will, you'd better hope that it doesn't hurt our friendship. I could do your career a hell of a lot of damage."

Lydia's career was the least of her problems, but she gave McGoldrick a suitably grave nod before she turned away from him.

McGoldrick continued to speak to her back. "I've got my eye on you now, Lydia. It's only a matter of time before I figure out what you're up to."

––––––––

I
wouldn't marry one of those girl-band singers. They're fit and all that but I imagine you'd be marrying the whole band. And not in a good way. There'd be no chance of a ménage a six, like. That'd probably knacker you anyway.

Rory Cullen,
CULLEN: The Autobiography

––––––––

D
onna Grant snipped away the bindings from Mattie's broken fingers. Her designer glasses had slipped down her nose a little and Cormac had the urge to push them back up for her. Maybe even mop her furrowed brow. She looked different. Prettier, maybe. Was it the new hairstyle? Shoulder-length curls with blonde highlights that framed her face in a more flattering way. Perhaps she'd lost weight and her cheekbones had become more prominent. Or was it just that he'd allowed her fine and delicate features to be blurred by the two years since he'd last seen her?

She held up a length of black string. "Are these laces?"

Cormac turned his palms upwards. "I had to improvise."

Donna tutted and reached out to stroke Mattie's face. "You must be in agony, darling."

"I'm all right," Mattie said. "Better than Dad at least."

Donna had worked on John's gunshot wound before attending to Mattie's fingers. He'd been fed a painkiller and antibiotic cocktail then cleaned, stitched and bandaged. Cormac had talked him into lying down in Donna's bed once the codeine serene had kicked in.

"Your da's in good hands, kid. Donna's a terrific doctor."

Donna smiled at Mattie and when the kid looked away she switched her gaze to Cormac, her eyes like diamond-tipped drill bits. He resisted the urge to smile at her.

"Rest your hand on this before I strap those fingers back up again." Donna pushed a bag of frozen peas across her kitchen table. "Do you want a glass of juice or anything?"

"Yes, please."

Donna went to the fridge built into the glossy white shaker kitchen. Cormac noted the toast crumbs on the worktops, the dishes in the sink and tea stains on the cupboard door under the spot the kettle sat on. He thought about a playful reprimand for her characteristic sloppiness but decided against it. It was probably too soon to get cute with her.

She took a carton of orange juice from the fridge and half-filled a pint glass. Mattie took it eagerly and swallowed most of it in one go. He went to put the glass down and stopped. He let it hover an inch above the tabletop and tried to look over a cereal box sat in the centre.

"Do you have a coaster, or something?" he asked.

"Aren't you well trained?" Donna said. "I don't bother with that kind of thing. Just put the glass wherever's handy."

Mattie looked a little guilty as he sat the glass down among the existing coffee rings. Donna flicked on the TV, visible from the kitchen table due to the open planning in her apartment. She set the remote down beside Mattie's good hand.

"I'm just going to have a quick smoke while your hand numbs a bit." Donna said. She drew a ten-pack of Silk Cut from her velour tracksuit bottoms. "See if you can find something decent to watch."

Mattie smiled at her. "Thanks."

"Join me for a cigarette, Cormac."

Donna knew he didn't smoke but her look warned Cormac off declining her invitation. He followed her out of the French doors in the living room onto a tiny balcony with a wrought iron guard rail. The second floor apartment had a decent view of South Belfast.

Cormac looked out onto the Malone Road. "Nice place you—"

"What the fuck is going on here, Cormac?"

"Mattie and his father needed some help."

"And who the fuck are they?"

"I'm kind of looking after them for a bit."

"Well, you're obviously doing a bang-up job."

Donna lit her cigarette and drew viciously on it. She blew smoke in his face.

"Why do so many doctors still smoke? Surely—"

"Fuck off."

"Look, I'm sorry to bring this to your doorstep, Donna. There was nobody else I could turn to."

"How did you even know where to find me? I've moved twice since... since I last saw you."

"You know what I do. It wasn't that difficult to—"

"Keep tabs on me?"

There was no point denying it. That was exactly what he'd done. He leant on the guard rail and watched a herd of students plod their way from the Queen's halls of residence towards the university. Donna speed-smoked her cigarette and crushed the butt under her trainer. She flipped open the pack and pulled out another, then she thought again and slid it back.

"Why can't you take them to the hospital? The boy should have an x-ray. And if he doesn't need surgery, he's a definite case for physiotherapy. Sooner he gets it properly sorted the better. As for the father... Jesus, what a mess."

"We don't have time for all that. Not right now."

"So you figured you could call on me for an express service?"

Cormac stood up straight and rounded on Donna. He fought to keep his voice level. "I've never asked you for anything before now. And this isn't even for me. You could do me this one favour, considering..."

Donna licked her lips and fiddled with the lid of her cigarette packet. "You're laying the guilt trip on me, then? Old reliable."

"Look, I don't want to get into anything with you now. If you'll just look after Mattie I'll get the hell back out of your life."

"And what about that gash on the back of your head?"

Cormac patted the blood-crusted hair around the wound. "The bleeding's stopped."

"It still needs to be cleaned. Couple of stitches wouldn't do you any harm either. I lifted a whole load of stuff from the hospital after you called, extra needles and thread included."

"Whatever you think." He realised that he sounded like a sulking teen and wanted to kick himself for his inability to show a bit of gratitude.

"Come back in, then. I'll see to you after Mattie."

Back inside, Mattie had settled on a music channel. He tapped his good fingers in time to a hip hop beat. Underneath the table his leg jittered with pent up nervous energy.

"How's the hand feel?" Donna asked.

"Freezing."

"Well, let's get it sorted, then."

"Can I use your phone?" Cormac asked.

"Go ahead." She waved her hand towards the living room area. "It'll probably be on the coffee table."

"Okay." He moved towards the table and stopped. Looked over his shoulder. "Oh, and, thank you."

She treated him to a stiff smile.

Cormac found the phone underneath an empty Doritos bag. He took it out onto the balcony and dialled the number he'd memorised before the start of his most recent assignment. As it rang, he held onto the guard rail for support.

The handler didn't waste any time on niceties. "Where the fuck are you, Kelly?"

"In Belfast."

"Specifically."

"A friendly place. Things went a bit pear-shaped, sir."

"Fucking right they did. We've found the body in the safe house."

"But I didn't call that in yet."

"Big brother's been watching."

Cormac's grip on the guard rail tightened. "What the fuck for?"

"Insurance against a holy fuck-up like you managed to land us with."

A light drizzle started to fall. It dappled Cormac's face but did nothing to cool the burning in his cheeks. If they knew he'd been involved in a kidnapping, they should have stormed the safe house and extracted the family. His default brief was always simple: don't break cover. It was up to the powers that be to make judgement calls based on the available information.

"Did you manage to keep the hostages alive, Kelly?"

"The father and son are with me. Frank Toner got away."

"Uninjured?"

"So far as I know. Any word on O'Neill and the rest of his goons?"

"He's gone to London with two cronies. The Brothers Grim. We believe they're going to touch base with Martin Rooney at some point. It's the opportunity we've been waiting for."

Rooney was a big player in Cormac's case. They were building evidence of a link between the London-based cocaine dealer and Ambrose O'Neill's crew. The kidnapping had cropped up in the middle of the multi-agency investigation and sent everything arse over tits. It had been sprung on Cormac as the new boy in O'Neill's crew and if he'd had a means to communicate with his handler he'd have demanded the Belfast gangsters arrest for kidnap and blackmail that night. Instead, he'd battened down and set his objective at keeping the Gallaghers alive. A decision, he was sure, his handler would have to officially commend him for when they next met. Unofficially... it should have been all about the Rooney case.

The handler continued. "And they're keeping as tight a watch on Missus Gallagher as our counterparts on the mainland are on them. We're going to have to work on locating Big Frank."

Mainland.
It was this sort of effortless referral to England that still divided the catholic cops from the old protestant boys. But as usual, Cormac didn't raise an objection. He hadn't the inclination for all that mast-nailing shite.

"Do you know why they targeted this family?"

"Of course," the handler's voice barked down the line. "I need you to come in for debriefing. When can we expect to see you, Kelly?"

"A couple of hours."

"Hours? Are you lost?"

His handler, "Big Brother", was acting as if he'd lost track of him. Something gnawed at Cormac's gut. He deliberately withheld his position.

"Gallagher and his kid need some medical attention."

"Oh, for fuck sake. Are they badly hurt?" It wasn't a question born out of concern.

"One of the crew broke a couple of the kid's fingers—"

"We can see to that here."

"And the father had a through and through gunshot wound. Lower abdomen."

The handler clacked his teeth. The sound burrowed its way from the earpiece right into the centre of Cormac's brain.

"We'll have a doctor and an ambulance waiting for him. Just get here."

"They're both in safe hands now. What's the rush? I'm handling the situation."

"You're not a doctor. You're not qualified to make..." The handler took a deep breath. "Fine, we'll see you in two hours."

Too easy. Something was up.

"What about the woman? Lydia Gallagher? The kid's going to want to speak to his mother."

"Don't call Missus Gallagher. O'Neill's lost a lot of leverage but he's still got close tabs on her. We'll ensure she's safe. But for now we'll have to take a step back and see if O'Neill has the balls to go through with his plan now that it's gone out of control."

The handler cut the call. Cormac stood on the balcony for a few more seconds and let the drizzle soak into his hair. When he felt calm enough to face Mattie and Donna he went back inside. Mattie held up his freshly strapped hand.

"She's a lot better at this than you are."

Cormac smiled at him. "Well, she is a doctor."

"Only just," Donna said. "Now, come over to the sink so I can get started on you."

"The kitchen sink? Is that hygienic?"

"Don't worry. I've got anti-bacterial washing liquid."

Mattie reached out and grabbed Cormac's arm as he passed him.

"Are you going to call my mum after this?"

Cormac patted the kid's shoulder, self-conscious that Donna was scrutinising him.

"We're just waiting on word from the station that the bad guys are taken care of. But you'll all be together soon. I promise."

###

S
oho Square. The name would always hold illicit connotations in Lydia's mind. When she'd first moved to London the Soho area still hadn't quite shaken its reputation as a sex industry hotspot. But with every visit to the city centre square she was a little disappointed to see nothing more out of the ordinary than upmarket offices, trendy pubs and obstructive road works. She raised an arm to shield her eyes from a cloud of dust kicked up by a nearby jackhammer jockey. Rory placed a hand on the small of her back and ushered her away from the door to McGoldrick's office. She imagined the old Scot looking down at them from his window and quickened her pace just enough to break contact. If Rory noticed her mild rebuke he didn't show it.

"Come on," he said. "I'll buy you a drink at The Toucan."

She spoke to him over her shoulder as they walked. "An Irish theme pub? Are you serious?"

"They do a decent pint."

"John says they charge an arm and a leg for bad Guinness in those places."

"You're worried about paying an extra fifty pence on the pint after the deal you've just worked out? Wind your neck in. It's time to celebrate."

"My head's really banging, Rory."

"A decent drink's better than a couple of paracetamol. We'll be fifteen minutes. Half an hour, tops."