Page 93 of Hang on St. Christopher

“Are you okay, Sean?”

Clearly, I’d been slurring my words. Was I drunk? I looked at the Bowmore bottle. Christ, it was a third gone.

“Slight cold, sir. That’s all.”

“You want to watch that. Summer colds are the worst ones of all.”

“Yes, sir. I will.”

“I got a call from a Superintendent Clare over at Special Branch. He said that Jill Dumont had ordered him to take an advisory role in this case. That’s Chief Super Jill Dumont, in case you didn’t know who she is.”

I considered hanging up immediately. Chief Inspector McArthur didn’t know about the phone bug, and he could blab about the case to my eavesdropper. And McArthur was a blabber, but even half-drunk, I could handle the bastard. Better than hanging up, I’d just intercept him.

“Yes, sir, I contacted Special Branch. This is potentially a Special Branch affair. By the way, did they tell you about the protocols?”

“What protocols?”

“Well, because of the sensitive nature of the document that we found, they’ve imposed strict confidentiality on the investigation. We, uhm, well, we’re not even supposed to be discussing this at all.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, sir, I’m afraid so, sir. You know what they’re like.”

“I bloody do! They’re all up themselves, aren’t they? Those bastards. Whatarewe allowed to discuss, pray tell?”

“Only the murder case, sir.”

“And any progress with that?”

And maybe it was the booze. Or maybe it was... no, it was the booze...

“Actually, I’m meeting an informant tonight who claims to be able to ID our shooter.”

“An informant! That’s brilliant. Well done, Duffy.”

“It might turn out to be nothing, but you never know, do you?”

“No, you don’t. Where are you meeting this informant, if I may ask?”

“The Knockagh Monument at the top of Knockagh Mountain. One a.m. I figure no one else will be up there at that time.”

“Not on a night like this,” McArthur agreed.

“Like I say, sir, it might turn out to be nothing, but you never know.”

“Want any help? My in-laws?—”

“No, sir! Don’t want to spook him. He only works with me.”

“All right, Duffy, good luck. Fill me in, in the morning, yes?”

“I will. Good night, sir.”

I hung up. The clock in the hall said it was 12:15. I grabbed my Glock, a pair of binoculars, and a raincoat.

I ran out to the Beemer and looked underneath it for mercury tilt switch bombs. Nope.

I got inside, turned on the John Peel show, and listened to a very hit-or-miss set from the new line-up of the Fall.

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