The bespoke hitman, p.22
The Bespoke Hitman, page 22
Joe Hill, Horns
The darkness rested on Nolan like a tight-fitting garment. Not a suit or a coat – more like a straightjacket.
The last thing he remembered was being smacked viciously over the head by Moustache, until darkness came and floated him out on a flying carpet of blissful oblivion.
The old head wound had been ripped open, but he couldn’t really complain. It was a small price to pay, having shot Moustache’s brother all those years ago.
He reached to touch the wound, but his right hand would not obey. He tried using the left hand. Same result. He tried to speak, but nothing came. Bizarrely, he could feel no pain, even though he knew the busted wound should be throbbing like hell.
Without warning, sharp lights chased the darkness. It felt like someone throwing bleach into his eyes. He instinctively shut his eyelids.
‘I’ll give you a few seconds to orientate and acclimatise yourself, then we can begin,’ Rasharkin said. ‘I’ve given you some Ketamine to dull your pain. It will help to keep you calm, until I no longer need your calmness …’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The devil’s agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not?
Arthur Conan Doyle, The Hound of the Baskervilles
The sun was out, shining down on Conor and Rasharkin as they sat on a bench in the Cat Garden. In the curved distance, luxury liners were sliding into Belfast harbour. Nearby, kids were out in force on bikes and skateboards, not a care in the world on a school-free Saturday morning.
‘I’ve written down all of the actions Nolan confessed to, including a list of his victims,’ Rasharkin said matter-of-factly, handing Conor a thick envelope. ‘Also included are the names of people he intended to deal with when opportunity presented itself in the future. Your name is top of the list.’
Conor nodded nonchalantly, then took a puff on his pipe. He let the smoke gather over his face, before brushing it away with his hand.
‘How long before he broke under?’
‘Surprisingly, for a man of his reputation, it was pretty quick. He was no Jim McCabe. I think he was resigned to what was coming.’
‘He deserved everything that was coming – and more.’
‘There was a comedic moment of vanity from him, when I called him an informer. He took umbrage at that, saying he was no common informer, but an “agent of influence”.’
Conor scoffed. ‘Grand-sounding title for a traitor. My grandfather always said that a rat is a rat, even when it wears silk socks and a fancy hat!’
‘His handler was a cop by the name of Gordon Purvis. He was up to his neck in all this, along with Nolan. You know Purvis?’
‘Demented scumbag. Not unlike Nolan, he’d kill anyone who got in his way. Purvis was a leading member of a loyalist murder gang, the Glenanne Gang. Its members consisted of RUC, UDR, and a fair scattering of violent paedophiles. Many years ago, Purvis was suspected in the killing of an old cop called Tommy Montgomery, simply because he was a Catholic. The Brotherhood were blamed for the killing, of course, as we looked upon cops as legitimate targets. It was never fully investigated by other cops; there was only one who was interested – Harry Thompson.’
‘Perhaps I should pay a visit to Mr Purvis? He sounds the type of person I need to sit down and get acquainted with.’
‘I’d be tempted to give the go-ahead, but I have a feeling Thompson has other ideas for Purvis. I don’t think he’d appreciate us getting involved. At least not at the moment …’
‘As instructed, Nolan’s body was cremated, ashes scattered to the wind.’
‘Did … he say anything about Michael Harrison?’
Rasharkin nodded. ‘I’m sorry, he was on the list of victims.’
For a second, Conor lost his composure. His face seemed to sink inwards.
‘You okay, Conor?’
‘Yes …’
‘I’ve also included all the places Nolan bugged, under instruction from Purvis, including the restaurant where you have your meetings. That was where he discovered the name Doc Holliday, Boyd’s alias.’
O’Neill looked crestfallen. ‘The blame for that falls squarely on my shoulders. I of all people should have known better than to discuss business in confined places, even in a whisper. I’m disgusted with myself, not practising what I preach habitually to others.’
‘On a brighter note, I was able to retrieve the money he stole when he killed the Maddens. That means most of it is now accounted for, with the exception of earlier losses noted, and my fee.’
‘I can’t thank you enough, Rasharkin, for what you’ve done.’
‘You already have, plus I appreciate the bonus you gave me.’
‘Well earned, my friend. Well earned.’
Rasharkin stood. Offered his hand. Conor shook it. Smiled.
‘Stay safe.’
‘I always do, Conor. Take care.’
Conor watched Rasharkin walk up the old stone steps leading to the car park, never looking back.
For the longest time, Conor sat, smoking and contemplating, with his eyes closed. He could smell Saturday morning cooking in the Cellar restaurant, directly behind him. Any other time, he would have popped in for tea and toast with marmalade, but he had no stomach for it this morning. He had things to do. Unpleasant things he was not looking forward to, especially having to tell Fiona Harrison that he had let her down when she needed him so badly, when her son needed him.
‘You okay, Conor?’ A voice asked.
Conor opened his eyes. Billy Butler was looking at him with concern on his face.
‘I mustn’t be, as you’re the second person to ask me that in the last five minutes.’ Conor forced a smile. ‘I’m fine, Billy. Take the weight off your feet.’
‘Lovely wee morning, isn’t it?’ Billy said, sitting down and answering his own question, as Belfastians tend to do.
Conor took a long draw on the pipe. Released the smoke through the side of his mouth. ‘You did a great job on the road to Dublin.’
‘Thank you, Conor.’ Billy beamed with pride. ‘Means a lot, coming from you. Thank you for having faith in me, even if I was playing dead for most of it!’
‘I was never in any doubt about your capabilities, or your loyalty to the movement. The other lads did a stellar job as well.’
‘They were all very convincing as peelers. I bet they never thought they’d see the day they’d be wearing the uniform of the PSNI! To be honest with you, I hated and feared Nolan, but I never would have suspected he was an informer.’
‘That’s what made him such a good one. No one suspected. Unfortunately, I doubt very much he’ll be the last one we have to deal with, judging by what was gleaned from his interrogation.’ Conor tapped the pipe on the side of the bench, clearing out the chamber. He stood. ‘Time to go. I need you to drop me off at Fiona Harrison’s house …’
Chapter Forty
I have a secret passion for mercy. But justice is what keeps happening to people.
Ross Macdonald, The Goodbye Look
The old canteen in the station’s basement, long vacant due to cuts, had been given a quick revamp, with a lick of paint and a rub to the grubby windows. In the middle of the floor, two long wooden tables displayed a mixture of beverages, some limp sandwiches and a cake long past its sell-by date.
A motley crew of banners proclaiming ‘Happy Retirement Harry’ dangled precariously from the ceiling, alongside ‘Wanted’ posters showing Harry with various facial hair changes over the years. A small clique of friends and associates had gathered to say their farewells.
‘Sure I can’t get you a drink, Harry?’ McCauseland said, voice slightly slurred, a full glass of whiskey in one hand, half-eaten sandwich in the other. He wasn’t drunk exactly, but wasn’t too far from the tipping point.
‘No thanks, Bill. I’m driving home in one piece.’ Harry indicated his glass of orange juice, resting atop the table beside him. ‘I’m hoping to be out of here within the hour, or even less if I can slip out unnoticed. Elaine’s taking me out for dinner to celebrate the beginning of civilian life.’
‘I don’t think it’ll be too long before I follow you, literally and figuratively. My days are numbered once you go.’ He sounded despondent. Downed the whiskey in one swallow.
‘Don’t be so pessimistic, Bill. You’re a damned good detective. They need good detectives with plenty of experience. They’ll always need good detectives.’
‘Don’t make me laugh. What they need and what they want are two different animals. You know yourself, it’s all PR now. They want arse-kissers and poster boys, like that useless prat over there. Thinks he’s a real cop. Look at the way he’s standing there, like Clint Eastwood.’ With his chin, McCauseland indicated Jeffrey Kerr, standing near the far door, arms akimbo, look of smug contentment on face. ‘Fuck, if he was chocolate, he’d lick himself to death when he’s not licking McCafferty’s hairy arse. Speaking of that prick McCafferty, looks like he’s a no-show.’
‘Thank God for small mercies. He’s in London, some sort of police convention, high-profiling his plusses and hiding his minuses. Did I show you what he got me as a retirement gift?’
‘That cheap prick actually bought you something?’
Harry reached behind to a bin half-filled with discarded cake, soggy sandwiches and paper napkins. Pulled out a framed official photo of McCafferty, grinning like an undertaker at a massacre, his shoulders lined in brass. ‘He even had the audacity to sign it to “my good friend, Harry”. And there’s me thinking all these years he never had a sense of humour!’
Harry turned to throw it back into the bin.
‘No, don’t do that! I’ll take it home for practice at the dart board. Just leave it on the table. I’ll grab it before I go.’
Harry left it on the table. Glanced at his watch, then sneezed loudly. Removed a handkerchief from his pocket. ‘I hope this isn’t the start of a bloody head cold. Been sneezing all evening.’
‘A hot whiskey will fix that.’
‘Stop trying to tempt me.’
‘Well, I sure as hell want one, and I don’t care if it’s hot or cold, so long as it’s wet!’
‘Go and enjoy yourself before the booze is all gone.’
‘You sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure.’
‘The best way to drink whiskey?’
‘Tell me.’
‘Put in glass. Drink!’
They both laughed.
‘Look, if I don’t see you before you sneak off, Harry, I’ll call you tomorrow.’ McCauseland threw his arms around Harry, hugging him, before kissing him on the left cheek. ‘I was lucky to have you as my best mate and boss.’
‘What do you mean was? You’ll still have me tomorrow as your best mate, provided you disentangle yourself from me immediately!’
‘Sorry, mate …’ McCauseland pushed himself away, looking slightly embarrassed, and to Harry’s surprise the tough-as-nails cop was teary-eyed. He walked away, in the direction of the booze table.
Harry glanced at his watch, then about the room, trying to figure the best escape route.
‘Sir?’ a voice behind him said.
Harry turned. It was Kerr.
Oh, God, no. Not this late in the game. ‘Hello, Kerr. Everything okay?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Not having a drink?’
‘I don’t drink, sir. Besides, I’m the only one on duty.’ He pulled his coat back slightly, exposing a holstered gun. ‘I’m looking after the fort, so to speak.’
God help us. ‘That’s great. Good man.’
‘I just want to say, it’s been an honour serving under you, sir.’
‘Well … thank you. I really appreciated … your enthusiasm, and work.’
‘I learned so much under your command.’
Harry didn’t know if Kerr was being condescending, or sincere. He chose the latter. ‘You’ll make an excellent detective. Just give it time, don’t try to rush it.’
‘Thank you, sir! I’ll take your words of encouragement on board.’
Harry sneezed again. Took out the handkerchief. Blew his nose, surreptitiously looking at his watch. Shit! Got to be getting going!
‘If it’s not too presumptuous of me, sir, have you ever thought about writing a book? So many people would be fascinated by your life in the Force.’
Again, Harry didn’t know if Kerr was being sincere. This time, he suspected not.
‘Blowing smoke up my arse, lad, the way I’m blowing snot into this hanky? Keep that bullshit for McCafferty.’ Without another word or a look back, Harry stormed off. He headed quickly towards the toilets, only to do a sharp left turn, up the stairs to freedom.
Outside, he let the cold, refreshing night air gather on his face, chasing the canteen’s stuffiness from his nostrils.
‘Ah, that’s nice …’ He walked around the corner towards the back of the station, where his car waited like a loyal steed.
Upon reaching it, he took one last, nostalgic look back at the old place, nestling in its own shadows and secrets. It had become part of his life and soul. Shit, he’d spent more hours in there than at home. ‘I hate to admit it, old girl, but I’m going to miss you, despite all the bullshit.’
He settled into his car seat. Got comfortable. Pressed the CD button. Brahms’s sorrowful ‘Intermezzo, Op. 118, No. 2 in A major’ began. A suffocating feeling of melancholy suddenly welled up in him. He sighed. Thought of Elaine. It brought a plaintive smile back to his face. Thought about phoning her, but decided he’d be home soon enough.
The barrel of the gun touched his neck gently, then moved slowly to the back of his ear. He looked in the rear-view mirror at the eyes of a shark, regarding him like prey soon to be consumed.
‘Didn’t know you liked classical music, Thompson. Always took you for a country-and-western listener,’ Purvis said. ‘Sorry I missed your wee going away, but I thought I’d make it more personal by surprising you in your own car.’
Harry continued staring at the eyes. He said nothing. He felt strangely detached. Brahms’s composition was everywhere in the car. It seemed to calm him.
‘Don’t be stupid, Purvis. You’d never get away with murdering me.’
‘Won’t I? You got away with murdering Seamus Nolan, or at least you thought you had.’
‘What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Of course you don’t.’ Purvis smirked menacingly. ‘You may not have pulled the trigger, but you killed him as surely as if you had. Think I don’t know you broke into my office, and raided the safe? You even had the balls to use my copier! Unfortunately for you, it was still warm when I went back in to get my phone. Ah, there it is, a little twitch in your cheek, an admission of guilt!’
‘You’ve lost the plot. Get out of the car now, and that’s the end of it. You’re drunk.’
‘And the clumsy attempt by your best mate, McCauseland, to stall me for time. A pity you didn’t wipe your fingerprints from the scene of the crime. You might just have got away with it. The irony of it – even though you were wearing gloves, they still left a blank imprint, an imprint of three fingers.’ Purvis started laughing, as if he had just told the best joke in the world. ‘Caught by your own hand, or I should say, fingers!’
‘You’re mad, Purvis. Sick. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Listen, you don’t have to do this. You can still pull back from the brink.’
‘Before you go to wherever the hell the devil takes you, I just want you to know that I did kill Montgomery. Probably one of the most enjoyable killings I ever carried out. He begged like a Fenian dog, cried his eyes out. I shot him first in the mouth just to shut him up. Then in the eyes – those sneaky Catholic eyes.’
Harry hadn’t moved. He thought of Elaine; felt his breathing slowing to an almost numb nothingness of acquiescence. A Genesis-to-Omega moment in his life had arrived.
‘See, that’s the difference between Prods and Taigs, Thompson. We don’t beg or cry when faced with death. You’ve done yourself proud.’
‘Put the gun down, Purvis.’
Harry didn’t know where the words were coming from, but he kept repeating them, over and over in his head, as if words could defeat evil.
Put the gun down! Put the gun down!
An explosion, then blood. So much of it, blinding Harry, stinging his eyes. He could no longer hear Brahms; could no longer hear a thing, the side of his face a goulash of brain tissue and bone matter. Everything so sudden. So violently sudden.
Okay … okay … are … you … you … you …
‘Sir? Are you okay?’
Kerr was staring at him, gun in hand, still pointed at Purvis, slumped against the back seat, half of his head missing.
‘What … what happened? Where …?’ Harry felt a tingling of pins and needles covering his skin. Something terrible had happened. Followed by something wonderful. Tears were forming in his eyes. He brushed them away, smudging Purvis’s blood across his face.
‘It’s okay, sir. It’s me. Kerr. I shouted at Purvis to put the gun down, but he wouldn’t. I feared you were about to be shot, so I fired first. Purvis left me no option. You’re a witness to that, sir.’
Harry looked at the face. Young, enthusiastic, determined. Looked at the hand holding the gun. Not a shake. Not a doubt.
‘I … thank you, Kerr. You saved my life … thank you.’
‘I wish he had put the gun down. I didn’t want to shoot him.’
Harry could detect regret in the young voice, but also resolve. ‘Thank God he didn’t. Thank God you did,’ he whispered to himself.
Harry eased out of the car. He was shaking terribly. People were pouing out of the station, running in his direction. Some shouting his name. He leaned against the car for support. ‘How … what were you doing here, at my car?’
Kerr reached into his pocket and retrieved an item. ‘This fell from your pocket when you pulled out your hanky to blow your nose, sir. I came looking for you, to give it back. Strange … had it not fallen out, I wouldn’t be here talking to you.’
