Undercover (29 page)

Cormac led McGoldrick to the edge of the car park. There was a four-foot concrete wall and no guard rail. Wind whipped McGoldrick's hair into his face. Cormac pushed him against the low wall. He looked over the edge. It was a long drop to the ground.

"How about we stop pretending you have a choice in this matter, McGoldrick?"

"You're a fucking psycho!"

"No I'm not. I promise you, I will regret throwing you over the side. Your screams will haunt me for a long time to come. But that's not going to stop me. This deal is non-negotiable. Either you agree to take down Rooney, or you're dead."

McGoldrick's mouth opened and closed but he couldn't engage his voice. Cormac hunkered down and wrapped his arms around the old Scot's shot-up thighs. The pain would keep everything in sharp focus. Cormac lifted McGoldrick off his feet and plonked his arse on the wall. Then he regained his grip on the polo shirt and gave him a little jolt. McGoldrick's arms pin-wheeled and he wailed like a siren. Cormac eased him further over the edge; let him feel gravity's greedy pull. The polo shirt started to stretch.

"Okay, okay! Fuck you. I'll do it. I'll do it! I'll do whatever you want. Just let me go."

Cormac refrained from pointing out the reality of letting him go in this position. He helped McGoldrick down from his wobbly perch and led him to the car. The terrified old man stumbled over his own feet but managed to stay upright with Cormac's support. It had been a bit of an extreme move – and it had probably shaved a few years off McGoldrick's life expectancy – but you couldn't argue with the results.

"All right then, Mr McGoldrick." Cormac put a little upbeat singsong into his voice. "We'll see about taking you to a nice police station now. No point delaying the inevitable, eh?"

"Fuck yourself."

"Ach, don't be like that. I'll tell you what. You can ride in the front with me instead of that aul' boot. Sure it'll be a bit of a treat, won't it?"

McGoldrick said nothing. Cormac suspected it would be a quiet, uncomfortable drive.

###

L
ydia kissed Mattie goodnight and left him in Rory's spare bedroom. They both knew there was little chance of him sleeping but they had to go through the motions at least. Try and cling to some semblance of reality. Rory had lent him an iPod with some good "chill-out" tracks and a bunch of simple games for a mindless distraction. Mattie had accepted it with automatic politeness but no real feeling. The boy was numb.

Rory and Stephen Black waited for her in the kitchen. They sat at opposite sides of the table, a pot of tea in the centre. Lydia took a seat at the head of the table.

"Want a cuppa?" Rory asked.

"You must have something stronger than tea, Rory?"

"You know I do, but, sure, have this first. I'll make you a sandwich to go with it."

"I'll not be able to eat."

"Wouldn't blame you, but I'll make it anyway. Take it or leave it."

Rory got up and clattered about the kitchen. Lydia looked at Stephen Black. He frowned at his phone, unaware that she'd switched her attention to him.

"You're unusually quiet," she said.

"Sorry," he said, but didn't look up from the small screen. "Just a little preoccupied. I tried to get a trace on the phone Ambrose O'Neill was using earlier but he must have pulled the battery. My contacts have come back empty-handed."

"So we don't know where he is but he'll not have to try too hard to find us."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. If you're not at your own house then I'm sure this will be the second place he looks. Luckily, Mr Cullen has this place very well kitted out."

"And you're here."

"Indeed."

"So we just sit and wait and see if he shows up?"

"I'm afraid I don't have a more satisfactory alternative."

"And that's why Rory opted for tea? In case anything happened?"

"Rather sensible of him, don't you think?"

Rory worked away in the kitchen, pretending that he wasn't listening to their conversation. It wasn't that long ago he'd chased her through this house, furious that she'd betrayed him by letting two thugs in through the front door to ransack the place. She wondered if it was wise to come back here. It was good that Stephen Black was about to supervise, but still, who knew what sort of ill will lingered?

She made a conscious effort not to dwell on it.

"I think we should call Detective Kelly," Lydia said. "He didn't reply to the text I sent and we don't know what he's done with the little bastard, McGoldrick."

"What do you want him to do with McGoldrick?"

"Kill him." It was out before she could filter it.

"Understandable," Stephen Black said.

"It is?"

"Of course. You must be thinking that he's responsible for the death of your husband. That his plan set the course of events and all that."

"And you think I'm wrong?"

Stephen Black finally looked up from his phone. He regarded Lydia with sympathetic eyes and a slight grin. "On the contrary, I agree with you."

Lydia waited for him to start laughing. He didn't. She noticed Rory had finished making the sandwich but wasn't ready to return to the table yet. His gaze was fixed on the kitchen worktop, shoulders hunched.

"And Mr Cullen suspected you'd feel this way too. He's already negotiated a fair disposal rate with me."

"As in..." Lydia searched for an unambiguous phrase, "a contract killing?"

"Well I tend to avoid paperwork, but yes, that's the essence of what we're talking about."

"But won't the police put me and Rory in the frame for something like this if it happens so soon after I've accused him of setting the kidnapping up?"

"Yes, they will. Which is why it won't be happening any time soon, you understand? You'll need to bury this down for a while. And if at any point this course of action no longer sits right with you before then, we'll call it off."

"Are you all right with this, Rory?"

Rory turned to face her. He leaned back against the worktop and folded his arms. "I can't believe how I reacted earlier, after those bastards came in here and... well, you know what happened. I wasn't just out of order. I threw an off-the-chart psycho. I need to do something to make that right with you. If this is what you need, so be it. I can't say I'll be sorry to see the wee shite go."

"So what now?" Lydia asked.

"We wait. Detective Kelly seems like an honest chap. I'm sure it won't be long until he delivers Mr McGoldrick to the police," Stephen Black said.

"But if he goes to jail, how are you going to get at him?"

"To be honest, I'll be surprised if he serves time. The evidence will be circumstantial, no doubt. He's not a stupid man. He'll have covered his back somehow."

If that were the case, Lydia doubted she'd have a change of heart. She shook her head. "May as well have him dropped off at his house, then."

"No, no. I rather like the idea of him at least spending a couple of nights in a cell, don't you?"

Rory came to the table and placed the sandwich in front of Lydia. He gave her a big goofy grin. "With any luck, he'll have a big strapping cellmate to help him pass the time."

Lydia forced a smile. The tablets she'd taken at the hospital were beginning to wear off and she could feel reality seeping in through the wall of fuzz that had insulated her from her grief. It wouldn't be long until the full impact of John's death worked her over like a loan shark's collector. She wanted to be alone when the time came.

"I'm sorry to ask, Rory, but could I have your bed tonight? I don't want to disturb Mattie."

"Of course, yeah. I should have offered it sooner. I'm probably going to stay up and keep aul' Stevie company anyway."

"Thanks, Rory."

Lydia stood up and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Just so you know, I'm not going to hold what happened earlier against you. Clean slate, okay?"

"If you can offer me that, I'm not going to turn it down. Thank you. You're brilliant."

"Don't worry about it, Rory. I need all the friends I can get right now. Bygones."

Rory looked like he might cry. Lydia excused herself and went to Rory's bed. She collapsed onto the mattress, pulled a pillow tight against her chest and squeezed it.

John was never going to hug her in the night again.

She buried her face in the surrogate bed companion and prayed that her son couldn't hear her muffled wails.

###

C
ormac had been able to find a police station easily with the aid of the sat nav. He followed the directions mindlessly and got halfway there before he had a change of heart. There was no way he'd get out of a cop shop without identifying himself. Once they verified his information with his unit who knew what would happen. His handler might order the Met boys to detain him until they could arrange to have him shipped back directly to a PSNI station. He couldn't let that happen. Not when Ambrose O'Neill was still out there.

But the uniforms at the flat in Peckham had already accepted him as an undercover cop. A quick adjustment to the sat nav, and it wasn't long before he rolled into the car park, relieved to see Ronnie and Malcolm still manning the same positions.

Cormac turned to McGoldrick. The old Scot had fumed silently for the whole trip. Cormac could almost feel the heat from his fury. Again, he adopted his upbeat singsong voice, just to piss him off a little more.

"Okay, big lad. This is your stop."

McGoldrick clenched his jaw. Little muscles in his face pulsed. Cormac got out of the car and rounded it to open the passenger door. He reached over the old Scot and unclipped his seatbelt.

"You going to get out on your own or am I going to have to drag you by the scruff?"

McGoldrick stared dead ahead but he reached up for the Jesus handle and heaved himself out of the seat. He hissed and cursed under his breath. His wounded thighs must have been giving him gip. But he was upright and Cormac wasn't feeling much pity for him. He clamped his hand around McGoldrick's upper arm. His fingers sank into doughy flesh. Take away his money, all the bluster and bravado, and McGoldrick was just a weak old man.

Cormac led McGoldrick towards Ronnie. The young uniform gave them a guarded look.

"Hello there, Detective..."

"Kelly." Cormac shoved McGoldrick a couple of steps forward. "Could you take this guy off my hands?"

"Who is he?"

"He's connected to the murder here and a shitload of other badness. If you could cuff him and stash him in the back of your car you'd be doing me a major favour."

"Could you not just bring him to a station?"

"I need to keep moving, mate. Don't want to get lumbered with a bunch of paperwork and questions from some jobsworth. You know what those desk jockeys can be like."

"I don't know... Let me check with Malcolm, yeah?"

Cormac made a show of glancing at his watch but maintained a friendly demeanour. "Aye, mate. Whatever you need to do."

Ronnie relayed the situation to Malcolm. He got radio silence for a few seconds before Malcolm responded.

"I think this might be above our pay grade, mate. Best to leave decisions like that to the big boys. They've got Robinson and Scott on this one."

"Yeah? Fucking Bert and Ernie? Muppets."

"They're on their way to check on our... Oi, oi. Here they come now. Look smart, Ronnie. Or give it a go, at least."

Ronnie's frame stiffened when he caught sight of the Ford Mondeo rolling through the car park entrance. He adjusted his hat and rubbed one of his shoes on the back of his trousers, his earlier irreverence now completely gone. Whether or not these superiors were muppets, they would be shown respect.

Cormac could feel the situation get more complicated by the second. He wanted to walk away and let the Met boys figure out what to do with McGoldrick themselves. But he couldn't. He needed to make sure they understood that the old Scot was at the eye of this shit-tornado.

The Mondeo pulled up alongside the Vectra and its engine cut out. Cormac couldn't see through the tinted windscreen; moonlight casting a milky glare. The driver opened his door and stepped out. He had a mop of wild curls and a bushy beard. His brow was knotted with suspicion.

"What's happening here, Ronnie?"

"This is Detective Kelly from the PSNI. He reckons this other fellah has something to do with the boy who flew off the balcony."

"PSNI? What the fuck are you doing over here?"

"He says he's undercover," Ronnie said.

"What are you, his interpreter?"

"Sorry, sir."

"Well, Detective... what's your story?"

The passenger door opened and a fat guy with a receding hairline and a Freddie Mercury moustache got out, placed his hands on the small of his back and stretched. He sighed loudly then rested his elbows on the roof of the Mondeo and looked Cormac up and down.

"Who's this?"

"Detective Kelly, apparently," the curly haired one said. "He's PSNI."

"What's he doing here, then?"

"Just been wondering that myself."

McGoldrick cleared his throat. "This man kidnapped me, beat me and shot my legs to force me into making a false confession. I want him arrested."

Cormac almost laughed. But then he saw the looks on the two new arrivals' faces. They looked at the blood on McGoldrick's chinos and then at Cormac.

"Are you carrying a gun, Detective Kelly?" the cop with the Freddie Mercury moustache asked.

"I didn't shoot him."

"That's not what I asked."

"This aul' fucker's just chancing his arm. Take him in."

"I'd like to see your ID, Detective Kelly."

"I don't have it on me. I'm working undercover."

"Convenient," the red-haired cop said.

"Perhaps you'd be so kind as to accompany us to the station, Detective Kelly? You could fill us in on the whole story."

"I don't have time. I'm tracking another suspect."

"Let me make this a little plainer," the redhead said. He strutted up to Cormac and pointed a thick finger in his face. "You're fucking coming with us. Get in the car."

"Ah, fuck this," Cormac said. He grabbed the redhead's wrist and pulled him off balance and straight into a tight uppercut. The punch connected with the tip of the redhead's chin, his beard almost cushioning Cormac's knuckles. His head snapped back and his legs wobbled. He folded forward onto the tarmac.