Page 110 of Hang on St. Christopher

“Well, I’ll let you two catch up. No need to call in on your way out. See you next month, Duffy!”

“Yes, sir.”

McArthur left the office with a spring in his step and a happy tune on his lips.

I looked at my watch. “Well, I’ll let you get on with the paperwork if you want, Lawson.”

“Yes, I expect there’s a lot of it, sir... Unless you want to go out for a drink, sir? Maybe give Sergeant McCrabban a ring?”

I shook my head. “No, that, er, won’t be necessary. Me and John are not exactly... we’re not on the best of... No, er, I have to head home. I’m catching the morning ferry. I better do some packing.”

“Whatever you say, sir. How is life over the water, sir?”

“It’s a different world, son. Different vibe completely. When I’m done with my time, I don’t think I’ll come back.”

“How long have you got until retirement?”

“Not quite two years and that’ll be my twenty.”

I know what Lawson was thinking:By the end of my twenty I wanna be chief constable, not some broken-down part-time inspector...

I said my goodbyes to Lawson and drove home.

Ferry tomorrow morning, it would have to be. Too shattered to pack up all my stuff this evening.

Just drive home and have a cup of tea or take a nap or something.

But in the five minutes it took me to get from Carrick Police Station to Coronation Road, there had been a development in the case.

The phone was ringing as I walked through the door.

“Hello?”

“Sir, it’s me,” Lawson said.

“Yes?”

“Well, I thought you might like to know that Superintendent Clare’s team found a black Norton Commando burned out about a mile from the murder scene in South Belfast late this afternoon.”

“It was about time our boy got rid of that bike. He should have done it before now,” I said.

“Yes, sir, well, now he has.”

“Thank you, Lawson. You best tell Crabbie. It was his case too.”

“I will, sir. Good night, sir.”

I hung up the phone and turned on the heat. It was raining again and cold. Maybe Crabbie would care about the Norton, but the information didn’t move me much now.

Not my case.

Superintendent Clare’s case.

Good luck catching this bastard.

This murderer of assassins.

He was good. Very good. I shivered at a recollection of the crime scene and remembered that this guy had been in my house too. Maybe could have killed me in my sleep if he’d wanted. But he hadn’t been ordered to kill me. And he was a man who stuck to the plan, wasn’t he?

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