yourself.'
'I've been better, Joe. Listen, tell her I called, will you? And I'll call back.'
I went back to the car. We drove back out onto the ring road. Parker had been giving me a hard time over what he saw as my poor performance at Red Hall. He said I shouldn't bring my obvious problems to work with me. I wasn't in a mood to argue; he'd really know all about it if I brought my stiffening problems to work with me.
It was getting towards dusk and the traffic was fairly light; a shepherd's delight sky gave a marvellous hint of summer and The Adverts' 'Gary Gilmore's Eyes' was on the radio. It would have been quite pleasant if I hadn't been practically a triple killer. Somewhere out there Margaret's dad was on a life support machine.
Why hadn't she mentioned that her dad was someone important? David McGarry was a decent enough bloke. I'd interviewed him a few times. Even had a drink with him. He'd written a couple of plays which had enjoyed a quiet success in the Lyric theatre in Belfast though they'd been shot to pieces in London and Dublin. Knockabout comedy with a hint of social grime: Ray Cooney meets Vaclav Havel. She hadn't even given me a hint; she'd mentioned her dad a few times, even joked once about something being off the record. No photos of him in her house. Just her mother.
An admirable independence of thought, perhaps: not wishing to take advantage of her father's fame or name, slight as it was; determination to make it on her own. Maybe it was nothing of the sort. Maybe she thought his position might scare me off. Maybe she thought I might take advantage of her position to get to her father. Maybe it didn't matter much any more. She was on ice, her mother was on ice and the Alliance Party's finance spokesman was tugging at the door of the freezer.
Parker's unfamiliarity with driving on the correct side of the road meant he was keeping an eagle eye on the traffic around him.
He said: 'I have an idea we're being followed.' He said it very matter-of-factly, like it happened all the time. I could feel our car beginning to speed up.
I looked round and Parker shouted: 'Don't make it so obvious!'
'Whaddya want me to do? I've no eyes in the back of my bloody head.'
There were three cars behind us; two directly and one coming up faster in the outside lane.
'Two reds and a white. Which one? The red about to overtake us?'
He shook his head slowly, eyes in the mirror ... 'No, not the Jap. Not the Yugo. The Fiat.'
'Either way it's a sad reflection on the state of the British car industry,' I said and sat back in my seat. 'Mr Parker, never take your job so seriously that you think someone might want to follow you because of it. You're not that important.'
And the little voice said to me: they're after me. It has started.
'I'm serious.' His eyes were darting from front to wing mirror and our speed was still picking up. You can do a fair rate of knots in a Saab. The Fiat was keeping pace with us.
Which was odd for a Fiat. I noticed it behind us just after eaving Brinn but paid no heed. Then it turned into the shopping mall with us and waited about a hundred metres down the car park. Then when we left it followed.'
I tucked myself further down in my seat and turned lightly more discreetly back so that I could just see he car around the leather headrest. It was a Fiat Panda and it sounded like it had been souped up for rallying. There were four people in it. Four men. It was difficult to be sure, they were lying about thirty yards back, but hey didn't look like police. Even fastidiously turned-out plainclothes cops look like cops, albeit fastidiously turned out.
'Maybe they've never seen a black man before.'
The first shot shattered the rear window.
Glass showered over the back seat. Somebody shouted Holy fuck' and it was a split second before I realized that hat disembodied voice came from me. I could see powdered glass on the back of Parker's tight black hair.
Parker pulled the wheel savagely to one side
'I've been better, Joe. Listen, tell her I called, will you? And I'll call back.'
I went back to the car. We drove back out onto the ring road. Parker had been giving me a hard time over what he saw as my poor performance at Red Hall. He said I shouldn't bring my obvious problems to work with me. I wasn't in a mood to argue; he'd really know all about it if I brought my stiffening problems to work with me.
It was getting towards dusk and the traffic was fairly light; a shepherd's delight sky gave a marvellous hint of summer and The Adverts' 'Gary Gilmore's Eyes' was on the radio. It would have been quite pleasant if I hadn't been practically a triple killer. Somewhere out there Margaret's dad was on a life support machine.
Why hadn't she mentioned that her dad was someone important? David McGarry was a decent enough bloke. I'd interviewed him a few times. Even had a drink with him. He'd written a couple of plays which had enjoyed a quiet success in the Lyric theatre in Belfast though they'd been shot to pieces in London and Dublin. Knockabout comedy with a hint of social grime: Ray Cooney meets Vaclav Havel. She hadn't even given me a hint; she'd mentioned her dad a few times, even joked once about something being off the record. No photos of him in her house. Just her mother.
An admirable independence of thought, perhaps: not wishing to take advantage of her father's fame or name, slight as it was; determination to make it on her own. Maybe it was nothing of the sort. Maybe she thought his position might scare me off. Maybe she thought I might take advantage of her position to get to her father. Maybe it didn't matter much any more. She was on ice, her mother was on ice and the Alliance Party's finance spokesman was tugging at the door of the freezer.
Parker's unfamiliarity with driving on the correct side of the road meant he was keeping an eagle eye on the traffic around him.
He said: 'I have an idea we're being followed.' He said it very matter-of-factly, like it happened all the time. I could feel our car beginning to speed up.
I looked round and Parker shouted: 'Don't make it so obvious!'
'Whaddya want me to do? I've no eyes in the back of my bloody head.'
There were three cars behind us; two directly and one coming up faster in the outside lane.
'Two reds and a white. Which one? The red about to overtake us?'
He shook his head slowly, eyes in the mirror ... 'No, not the Jap. Not the Yugo. The Fiat.'
'Either way it's a sad reflection on the state of the British car industry,' I said and sat back in my seat. 'Mr Parker, never take your job so seriously that you think someone might want to follow you because of it. You're not that important.'
And the little voice said to me: they're after me. It has started.
'I'm serious.' His eyes were darting from front to wing mirror and our speed was still picking up. You can do a fair rate of knots in a Saab. The Fiat was keeping pace with us.
Which was odd for a Fiat. I noticed it behind us just after eaving Brinn but paid no heed. Then it turned into the shopping mall with us and waited about a hundred metres down the car park. Then when we left it followed.'
I tucked myself further down in my seat and turned lightly more discreetly back so that I could just see he car around the leather headrest. It was a Fiat Panda and it sounded like it had been souped up for rallying. There were four people in it. Four men. It was difficult to be sure, they were lying about thirty yards back, but hey didn't look like police. Even fastidiously turned-out plainclothes cops look like cops, albeit fastidiously turned out.
'Maybe they've never seen a black man before.'
The first shot shattered the rear window.
Glass showered over the back seat. Somebody shouted Holy fuck' and it was a split second before I realized that hat disembodied voice came from me. I could see powdered glass on the back of Parker's tight black hair.
Parker pulled the wheel savagely to one side
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