account.”
“Tit for tat?”
“Just like the good old days,” Lennon said.
A glint of reflected light caught his attention. He advanced as far as he could without treading in the blood. A shard of mirrored glass lay in the red, one end wrapped in torn cloth. A makeshift dagger, perfect for opening a man’s throat. He’d seen such a thing before, three years ago, when an informant behind bars had his face slashed to ribbons by another inmate. It was a prison weapon. Used by a prisoner.
Lennon’s hand went to his pocket.
“You think there’ll be more?” Connolly asked.
“Hmm?” He felt the hard shape of the passport.
“More killings,” Connolly said.
“I hope not. I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy spending Christmas looking at shit like this. One good thing might come out of it, though.”
Connolly stepped into the room. “What’s that?”
Lennon took his phone from his pocket and began dialling DCI Ferguson’s number. “Sam Mawhinney and his mate were killed in D District. We found Tomas in our patch, B District, but he was killed in C. With a bit of luck, it’ll be given to one of the other districts’ MITs, and we can go home.”
Even as he spoke, Lennon held little optimism that things would work out that way. But he could hope.
21
H ERKUS DROVE TO Rugby Road, near Botanic Gardens, where Rasa’s flat occupied the upper floor of a terraced house. A professional couple lived below. He had learned this part of town was called the Holylands, but he did not know why. He couldn’t see anything holy about it, but there were some good restaurants, and an excellent bookstore. Not that he read much, let alone in English, but he enjoyed the shop’s warm soft light, the sight of books stacked on shelves. It reminded him of his school days.
Rasa looked tired and harried when she answered the front door. It was probably an early start for her. She was lucky she got any sleep at all; he’d been running the length and breadth of the city since yesterday morning with no sign of it letting up. And now this damned snow on top of everything else.
He rarely indulged, but he thought he might allow himself a little of the boss’s goods for himself once he purchased them from Rasa’s contact. Just enough to give him a boost and get through the morning.
Herkus followed her upstairs and into her flat. The place smelled of cigarettes laced with the aroma of incense from a joss stick that burned on the coffee table. Clothes and fashion magazines lay strewn on the furniture and floor. A tailor’s dummy stood in the corner, fabric draped around it.
“Did you have to do that to Darius?” Rasa asked as she sat at the small table by the window. Spools of thread cluttered its surface, scissors and needles scattered amongst them. A plant pot rested on the windowsill, its occupant browning with thirst. She lifted a cigarette packet and a lighter.
“Yes, I did,” Herkus said. “Give me one of those.”
Rasa made the sign of the cross, took a cigarette for herself, and handed the packet to him. Herkus suspected she and Darius might have had something going on. It was only natural she’d be sorry for the big man’s passing, but she was stony inside. She would get over it soon enough.
He sat down to face her across the table and pulled a cigarette from the packet. Rasa lit hers, then held the flame out for him.
“What a mess,” she said through the smoke.
Herkus grunted in agreement. He had filled Rasa in on developments when he phoned her, so he had no desire to discuss it further. But she did.
“That idiot,” Rasa said. “Sam Mawhinney. He caused all this. I’m glad you took care of him. His brother’s no better.” Herkus did not answer. He drew on the cigarette.
“Stupid boys. And that little bitch. I knew she was trouble the second I set eyes on her.”
“Then why did you pick her to take to Belfast?” Herkus asked.
“Because she looked good,” Rasa said. “Men will pay
“Tit for tat?”
“Just like the good old days,” Lennon said.
A glint of reflected light caught his attention. He advanced as far as he could without treading in the blood. A shard of mirrored glass lay in the red, one end wrapped in torn cloth. A makeshift dagger, perfect for opening a man’s throat. He’d seen such a thing before, three years ago, when an informant behind bars had his face slashed to ribbons by another inmate. It was a prison weapon. Used by a prisoner.
Lennon’s hand went to his pocket.
“You think there’ll be more?” Connolly asked.
“Hmm?” He felt the hard shape of the passport.
“More killings,” Connolly said.
“I hope not. I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy spending Christmas looking at shit like this. One good thing might come out of it, though.”
Connolly stepped into the room. “What’s that?”
Lennon took his phone from his pocket and began dialling DCI Ferguson’s number. “Sam Mawhinney and his mate were killed in D District. We found Tomas in our patch, B District, but he was killed in C. With a bit of luck, it’ll be given to one of the other districts’ MITs, and we can go home.”
Even as he spoke, Lennon held little optimism that things would work out that way. But he could hope.
21
H ERKUS DROVE TO Rugby Road, near Botanic Gardens, where Rasa’s flat occupied the upper floor of a terraced house. A professional couple lived below. He had learned this part of town was called the Holylands, but he did not know why. He couldn’t see anything holy about it, but there were some good restaurants, and an excellent bookstore. Not that he read much, let alone in English, but he enjoyed the shop’s warm soft light, the sight of books stacked on shelves. It reminded him of his school days.
Rasa looked tired and harried when she answered the front door. It was probably an early start for her. She was lucky she got any sleep at all; he’d been running the length and breadth of the city since yesterday morning with no sign of it letting up. And now this damned snow on top of everything else.
He rarely indulged, but he thought he might allow himself a little of the boss’s goods for himself once he purchased them from Rasa’s contact. Just enough to give him a boost and get through the morning.
Herkus followed her upstairs and into her flat. The place smelled of cigarettes laced with the aroma of incense from a joss stick that burned on the coffee table. Clothes and fashion magazines lay strewn on the furniture and floor. A tailor’s dummy stood in the corner, fabric draped around it.
“Did you have to do that to Darius?” Rasa asked as she sat at the small table by the window. Spools of thread cluttered its surface, scissors and needles scattered amongst them. A plant pot rested on the windowsill, its occupant browning with thirst. She lifted a cigarette packet and a lighter.
“Yes, I did,” Herkus said. “Give me one of those.”
Rasa made the sign of the cross, took a cigarette for herself, and handed the packet to him. Herkus suspected she and Darius might have had something going on. It was only natural she’d be sorry for the big man’s passing, but she was stony inside. She would get over it soon enough.
He sat down to face her across the table and pulled a cigarette from the packet. Rasa lit hers, then held the flame out for him.
“What a mess,” she said through the smoke.
Herkus grunted in agreement. He had filled Rasa in on developments when he phoned her, so he had no desire to discuss it further. But she did.
“That idiot,” Rasa said. “Sam Mawhinney. He caused all this. I’m glad you took care of him. His brother’s no better.” Herkus did not answer. He drew on the cigarette.
“Stupid boys. And that little bitch. I knew she was trouble the second I set eyes on her.”
“Then why did you pick her to take to Belfast?” Herkus asked.
“Because she looked good,” Rasa said. “Men will pay
Similar Books
