station in Strabane. You can send your insurance people to see it there if they want.’
‘Piece of crap anyway,’ Pol said. ‘I picked it up cheap when I came here.’
Hendry filled me in on what he had learnt as we drove back to my house. Pol Strandmann had reported the car stolen at ten-thirty on Friday, which was an hour after I’d been shot at. That didn’t mean that he was involved though.
‘What do you think?’ Hendry asked me. ‘Did you recognize him as the driver?’
I shook my head. ‘Much as I wanted to. There’s something not right about him, though.’
‘Cheap, crap car and a top-of-the-range TV and Sky? He’s getting money from somewhere, and it’s unlikely to be the Migrant Workers’ Centre.’
‘We can’t lift him on that. Maybe he’s just not sending as much to his family as he should be. Enjoying the good life here.’
‘Maybe,’ Hendry said, unconvinced. ‘Though we’ve nothing on him unless you or the wee lassie you had running around with you recognize him. Or if we find that houseload of Chechens you lost.’
Chapter Twelve
Friday, 13 October
The rest of the week passed fairly uneventfully, though daytime television eventually drove me to fence-painting. I was just finishing the last stretch, on Friday morning, when a car with a Dublin registration parked at the bottom of our driveway.
I was pleased to see Fearghal Bradley. He came up the drive a little sheepishly, and extended his hand.
‘Benny,’ he said.
‘Fearghal,’ I replied. ‘What brings you out here?’
‘I . . . I thought I’d call and see how you were doing. I’d heard you’d been sidelined. I’m sorry. For Leon.’ He wrung his hands as he spoke, his face twisted in a frown.
‘How is he?’ I asked.
‘He’s . . . he’s OK. He got charged with misuse of firearms or something. Bailed at ten thousand to appear in Letterkenny at the end of the month.’
I nodded my head, having guessed as much. He’d never do time for the prank, but a high bail would be a sufficient smack on the wrist. And if he stayed over the border and missed his court appearance, they’d still made ten grand out of him.
‘An expensive prank.’
Fearghal nodded, but did not speak, and I got the impression that something else was preoccupying him.
‘And how’s Kate?’ I asked.
I thought I heard Fearghal groan involuntarily. ‘Weston’s giving her to Hagan as a gift, after what happened. She’s going to be sent to America.’
‘I’m sorry—’ I began, but Fearghal finally said what was really on his mind.
‘I feel shitty doing this, but I need your help. Leon needs your help.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Have you heard about the Eligius break-in?’
I felt my face muscles tighten, even as I tried to keep smiling. ‘Probably best if we go inside,’ I said.
Eligius was a US defence company which had opened several years ago outside Omagh. At the time it had attracted a lot of bad press, not least due to the US involvement in Iraq and the perception that the newly employed people of the town would be able to watch the fruits of their labours explode over Baghdad on Sky News. As it turned out, the factory was producing a microchip for inclusion in armoured personnel carriers, though the offices were also the European headquarters of the firm.
I had heard about the break-in on the news that morning. The previous evening, four people had broken into the Eligius offices and had unrolled an anti-war banner from the windows at the front of the offices. One, a well-known local figure called Seamus Curran, had shouted anti-American slogans through a loud-hailer to the gathering press and police.
At one point, several computers were thrown from a first-floor window and, later, a number of burning sheets of paper. Television images had shown, from a distance, the other three people involved in the break-in, but none of them clearly enough to be identifiable. Fearghal, however, assured me that there was little
‘Piece of crap anyway,’ Pol said. ‘I picked it up cheap when I came here.’
Hendry filled me in on what he had learnt as we drove back to my house. Pol Strandmann had reported the car stolen at ten-thirty on Friday, which was an hour after I’d been shot at. That didn’t mean that he was involved though.
‘What do you think?’ Hendry asked me. ‘Did you recognize him as the driver?’
I shook my head. ‘Much as I wanted to. There’s something not right about him, though.’
‘Cheap, crap car and a top-of-the-range TV and Sky? He’s getting money from somewhere, and it’s unlikely to be the Migrant Workers’ Centre.’
‘We can’t lift him on that. Maybe he’s just not sending as much to his family as he should be. Enjoying the good life here.’
‘Maybe,’ Hendry said, unconvinced. ‘Though we’ve nothing on him unless you or the wee lassie you had running around with you recognize him. Or if we find that houseload of Chechens you lost.’
Chapter Twelve
Friday, 13 October
The rest of the week passed fairly uneventfully, though daytime television eventually drove me to fence-painting. I was just finishing the last stretch, on Friday morning, when a car with a Dublin registration parked at the bottom of our driveway.
I was pleased to see Fearghal Bradley. He came up the drive a little sheepishly, and extended his hand.
‘Benny,’ he said.
‘Fearghal,’ I replied. ‘What brings you out here?’
‘I . . . I thought I’d call and see how you were doing. I’d heard you’d been sidelined. I’m sorry. For Leon.’ He wrung his hands as he spoke, his face twisted in a frown.
‘How is he?’ I asked.
‘He’s . . . he’s OK. He got charged with misuse of firearms or something. Bailed at ten thousand to appear in Letterkenny at the end of the month.’
I nodded my head, having guessed as much. He’d never do time for the prank, but a high bail would be a sufficient smack on the wrist. And if he stayed over the border and missed his court appearance, they’d still made ten grand out of him.
‘An expensive prank.’
Fearghal nodded, but did not speak, and I got the impression that something else was preoccupying him.
‘And how’s Kate?’ I asked.
I thought I heard Fearghal groan involuntarily. ‘Weston’s giving her to Hagan as a gift, after what happened. She’s going to be sent to America.’
‘I’m sorry—’ I began, but Fearghal finally said what was really on his mind.
‘I feel shitty doing this, but I need your help. Leon needs your help.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Have you heard about the Eligius break-in?’
I felt my face muscles tighten, even as I tried to keep smiling. ‘Probably best if we go inside,’ I said.
Eligius was a US defence company which had opened several years ago outside Omagh. At the time it had attracted a lot of bad press, not least due to the US involvement in Iraq and the perception that the newly employed people of the town would be able to watch the fruits of their labours explode over Baghdad on Sky News. As it turned out, the factory was producing a microchip for inclusion in armoured personnel carriers, though the offices were also the European headquarters of the firm.
I had heard about the break-in on the news that morning. The previous evening, four people had broken into the Eligius offices and had unrolled an anti-war banner from the windows at the front of the offices. One, a well-known local figure called Seamus Curran, had shouted anti-American slogans through a loud-hailer to the gathering press and police.
At one point, several computers were thrown from a first-floor window and, later, a number of burning sheets of paper. Television images had shown, from a distance, the other three people involved in the break-in, but none of them clearly enough to be identifiable. Fearghal, however, assured me that there was little
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