The Enemy Inside Read online

  ‘Sir, I–’

  ‘I believe I asked you to procure transport for Garda Moran?’

  ‘Yes, sir. On its way.’

  ‘Thank you, Doherty. Look, I’ve changed my mind; you’re off duty, no argument. Private Jones is bringing the AC round. No buts. If I were you, I’d look up the medic. You’ve had one hell of a shock.’

  ‘If it’s all the same to you, sir, I–’

  ‘It’s not all the same to me, Doherty, I’m afraid. Now, snap to it. At the double.’

  ‘Sir.’

  They watched Doherty march stiffly away. The armoured car came into view, revved its engine. The driver waved in Doherty’s direction. Without acknowledging the greeting, the soldier got on board and the vehicle drove off.

  ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘It’s understandable,’ Moran said. ‘He’s going to need a while to process what happened.’

  ‘As are we all,’ Armitage said. ‘I’m afraid your car is going to have to stay with us indefinitely. Security checks and so on.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ Moran told him. ‘I didn’t think it’d make it this far anyway. I’ll get the train.’

  Armitage looked him up and down. ‘Damn brave thing you did. You could have come out of it badly.’

  ‘I’m only sorry it wasn’t enough,’ Moran replied. ‘But I wanted to ask … about the car occupants?’

  Armitage shook his head. ‘They didn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘Can I ask if–’

  ‘It’s confidential for now, I’m sorry.’

  ‘But they were policemen? Senior officers?’

  ‘Look, I’m not denying it, but I’m not confirming it either.’

  ‘Sir?’

  A soldier came up at the run. He was breathless, excited. ‘The van’s been found – a mile up the road, abandoned. Two of the bastards are dead – someone shot them.’

  Armitage’s eyebrows barely moved. ‘All right. Let’s take a look, shall we? Bring the other AC round, would you?’

  ‘Yessir.’

  Armitage turned his attention back to Moran. ‘There’ll be an enquiry, you can bet your bottom dollar on that, so I expect we’ll see you there. In the meantime, thanks again. I hope your friend makes a good recovery. Please excuse me.’

  Moran watched Armitage hop into the armoured vehicle, which moved off at a brisk pace and turned left by the wreckage of the ambushed car. He waited for a minute or two, observing the movements of the soldiers as they set about the business of securing the checkpoint, turning newly arrived cars away, sending them back along the road to find alternative routes.

  A Garda arrived in due course to collect him. The policeman was a youngster, and wanted to hear all about it. Moran said very little. He just wanted to be still, to think. The officer gave up with his questions after a mile or so and lapsed into a sullen silence.

  Moran stared out of the passenger window, watched the houses and hedgerows flicker past, fleeting islands of normality in an ocean of trouble.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘You think I wouldn’t?’ Doherty grinned.

  ‘I think you would, but not yet,’ Moran said. ‘We have some thinking to do.’

  Doherty rested the revolver on his lap. A sudden gust of wind drove rain against the lounge window, made Samantha start.

  ‘Can I use the toilet?’ Samantha made as if to get up.

  ‘Wait.’ Doherty raised the revolver.

  ‘Oh, come on. At least allow the lady to use the facilities.’

  Doherty considered the request, sniffed. ‘All right. Be quick.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Samantha glanced at Moran as she went by, another unspoken question. What can I do?

  He replied with a minute shake of his head. Nothing, yet. Bear with…

  Doherty was looking at him. ‘So, Brendan, I’ve spent long enough thinking. I just need to hear it from you. The horse’s mouth.’

  ‘I’m happy to oblige. I’ve nothing to hide.’

  Doherty nodded and smiled – perhaps, Moran thought, in anticipation of the revelation he had waited so long to experience.

  Samantha came back in and sat down. ‘You should know I’m supposed to be meeting a friend tonight,’ she told Doherty. ‘She’ll be wondering where I am.’

  ‘She’ll just have to wonder, won’t she?’ Doherty said. ‘Besides,’ he smiled grimly, ‘you won’t want to miss this, trust me.’

  ‘Whatever you think DCI Moran has done, I’m sure you’ll find you’re barking up the wrong tree. He’s a good man.’

  Samantha’s short speech appeared to amuse Doherty. He grinned and gave a short laugh. ‘Is he? Let’s see if you’re still singing that tune after you’ve heard this.’

  ‘Well, come on. Let’s hear it.’ Samantha waved her hand. ‘The sooner the better.’

  Moran silently admired Samantha’s coolness. She’d accepted the situation, kept her head, was using the right tone. Not subservient, but not aggressive, either.

  Another whimper from the kitchen, a scrabbling of paws, drew Doherty’s attention.

  Moran spoke up quickly. ‘I should let him out.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’ Samantha was on her feet.

  ‘I said no.’ Doherty sprang up and shoved Samantha hard so that she reeled backwards onto the settee.

  Moran clenched his fists, but before he could react Samantha shot him a look conveying both reassurance and caution. He made himself relax.

  ‘I have a photograph, you see.’ Doherty fished something from his pocket.

  ‘The one you sent to the newspaper?’ Moran shook his head. ‘It doesn’t prove anything.’

  ‘Not on its own, perhaps. But there were one or two others of interest.’ Doherty reached over and placed the small, faded square on the coffee table. ‘This, for example.’ He held up what looked like a similarly faded scrap of paper.

  Moran arched his eyebrows, squinted. ‘An envelope?’

  ‘Indeed. An empty envelope. But there was something inside it, once.’

  Moran moistened his lips. Doherty knew something. He’d figured it out.

  Doherty held the envelope up to the ceiling light. There was the faintest impression of something, a darker set of creases in the bottom left hand corner. ‘A key. And whoever it belonged to had obviously kept it in a back pocket. Their weight made an impression of the key on the paper. It’s very faint, but I found a way around that. Ever heard of an Electrostatic Detection Device? An EDD?’

  ‘I have. An EDD uses applied charges and toner to visualise areas of indented writing, make them visible to the eye.’

  ‘Oh bravo, Brendan. Full marks to you. So, the EDD revealed a serial number. It was a particular type of key, quite unusual. I called the Belfast Housing Executive. They told me that they’d commissioned new locks on all their garage rentals – too many break-ins with the originals. She was a helpful lass at the executive – I’m always amazed at how far a little charm goes. And there it was; I traced the key to Malone Avenue, Belfast.’

  Moran felt an icy sensation run down his spine. He’d traced the key.

  The key to the whole disastrous episode.

  They’d done their homework, knew his intentions, were familiar with his background; the fact that his parents had moved north, that he’d stayed behind as a lodger – or as was turning out, virtually the adopted son – of the Hannigan family. About his career, his training.

  And about Janice.

  The threat was real, the leverage huge. So, was there a choice? Really?

  ‘Hello? Are you in there somewhere?’

  Janice’s voice jolted him out of his reverie. They were walking arm-in-arm towards the Hannigan’s farmhouse, the place Moran had called home for two years. He turned to his fiancée with a smile. ‘Sorry, I’m here, honest.’

  Janice gave him a look. ‘You’ve been preoccupied all evening. What’s up? I hardly got a word out of you at Keelan’s, so I didn’t.’

  ‘Nothing. Just work, th
at’s all.’

  ‘I know you, Brendan Moran. Something’s bugging you. Is it me?’

  He stopped and placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘You?’ He shook his head. ‘Good God, no. Never.’

  Janice eyed him suspiciously. ‘Then what? It’s not so crazy busy on the crime front around here that anything should be worryin’ you like this. Is it the job thing? England, I mean?’

  He’d broached the subject of a possible career move and Janice had been, as he’d anticipated, cautious but supportive. He hadn’t said much, except to run the idea past her.

  He shook his head. ‘No, not that.’ He took her chin and tilted it up so he could kiss her. The kiss lasted a long time. When they eventually parted she treated him to the special smile which was always just for him; her face lit up and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

  ‘So I can see you’ve other ambitions tonight, Brendan, but I’ve to get an early start tomorrow, so don’t you be gettin’ any ideas.’

  He laughed. ‘At least stay for a brew, then.’

  ‘I’ll allow that, I suppose.’ Her eyes twinkled.

  Later, alone in his bedroom and unable to sleep, he tried to recall the details of the brief conversation he’d had with the dark-haired man.

  We’d like a wee bit of help, Brendan…

  The next day he was on tenterhooks, waiting for something yet not knowing what he was waiting for. Another day passed, then another, then a week. Soon, the conversation in the bar became – if not a distant memory – then certainly something of a damp squib, to quote one of his father’s expressions. A ‘no show’, to quote another. Moran relaxed. He continued to read the sits vac column in the UK dailies. There was a job in England, at Thames Valley Constabulary. Prospects looked good. It sounded right. It felt right. He chatted to Janice about it. She agreed. It was a career-progressser, an opener. He should apply. Which he did, and the wait began. Would he get an interview?

  His friend, Joe, called him. ‘Hey Brendan, what about that road trip? Are you up for it or what?’

  Moran had given the notion some thought and concluded: why not? It would be good to have a proper catch up with his old buddy. But Joe, applying to university? There was a thing. Moran had grinned at the thought. Joe, the crazy teenager of a hundred and more pranks, wanting to don the gown of academia.

  As the day of the trip approached, Moran packed an overnight bag, filed a few orders from Janice – Belfast shops were worth checking out, apparently – and looked forward to a couple of days off.

  The evening before, he was walking from his car to the station when he saw him loafing casually on the opposite side of the road, watching his approach – the man with the unruly dark hair. Moran took a deep breath, kept his eyes firmly on the pavement, prepared to pass by without acknowledgement. But the man sauntered across the road a few metres ahead, cut him off.

  ‘Have you a spare minute, Brendan?’

  Moran kept his eyes resolutely on the paving stones, mentally enumerating the squares remaining before he reached his destination, but the man drew alongside him like a Spanish frigate preparing to board, keeping up, step by step.

  ‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’

  ‘But I have something for you, Brendan.’

  He increased his pace, but the man took his arm, stopped him in his tracks.

  ‘I’d like to avoid any unpleasantness, so I would. If you’d be kind enough to join me for a few minutes, it’ll be all to the good.’ The man pointed. ‘My car’s just over there. It’ll be more discreet. Oh, how’s Janice, by the way?’

  Moran followed, got in the car, sat passively in the front passenger seat. The interior smelled of stale cigarettes and BO.

  ‘This’ll be quick, Brendan.’

  ‘Go on.’ Moran stared through the dirty windscreen, straight ahead, unblinking.

  ‘You’re off up to Belfast, I understand?’

  ‘Yes.’ No point asking how he knew. Everyone knew everything in a small community.

  ‘I’d like you to do a little job for me.’ He handed Moran an envelope.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘It’s a key. A key to a lockup. There’s a van inside. I want you to drive to this address, park up outside the house, post the lockup key and van key through the letterbox, and that’s it. Job done.’

  That was it. Nothing to it.

  He nodded, put the envelope in his jacket pocket.

  ‘I’m relyin’ on you now, Brendan.’

  Moran turned, looked the guy square in the face. ‘Who’s the boss here?’

  The man shook his head, laughed. ‘Now, why would I be tellin’ you that, Brendan?.’

  ‘I like to know who I’m working for.’

  The man studied Moran’s face, searching for duplicity. After a moment he gave a low chuckle. ‘You seem to be on board with us, Garda Moran. I sure hope it stays that way.’ He took out a cigarette and lit it with a tarnished zippo. ‘It’s Mr D you’ll answer to, if there’s anything you need to be answerable for, all right?’ He snapped the lighter shut. ‘That’s all you’re gettin’.’

  Moran nodded, let himself out and walked away without looking back.

  It was Friday evening, and the sky was dense with storm clouds.

  Belfast. Not top of Moran’s list for a relaxing weekend, but Joe was Joe. It’d be good to spend time together, get the lowdown on his English travels. He’d been away on some training course or other – he’d been maddeningly vague, in his usual, dismissive way. ‘Oh, sure it’s just a wee opportunity. Just testin’ the water an’ all,’ he’d told his friends. ‘I’ll only be away a couple of months. It’s for me ma really, she wants me to better meself. Exercise the grey matter, y’know.’

  And then he was gone, just like that.

  The first thing Moran knew about his return was two months later almost to the day, when a familiar voice spoke up behind him at Keelan’s – at just the right moment to blag a round.

  ‘Ah, if it’s not the young defender of the peace, Brendan M himself.’

  Moran was delighted. ‘My God, if it isn’t the wanderer returned. I see your sense of timing hasn’t deserted you.’

  They’d exchanged news for a drink or two before Joe floated the idea of a weekend away.

  ‘Sure, I could do with a lift, Brendan. Only if you’re free, mind. Sorry for the short notice, but they didn’t give me much time, y’know?’

  ‘I’ll clear it with the family – just to make sure I’m not dropping anyone in it.’

  Joe knew what he meant. The Hannigans owned a working farm and there was always plenty to do at weekends. ‘Still muckin’ out, are you? Not enough muck in the day job?’ Joe grinned broadly.

  ‘Around here? Not as much as you’d think, no.’ Moran laughed easily. ‘The odd broken window, a missing cat or two, that’s about it.’

  ‘Not exactly The Sweeney, eh?’ Joe winked.

  That had been Tuesday.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘So why don’t you tell us about the key, Brendan?’

  Samantha was looking at him expectantly, but his head was throbbing. The room was grey, blurring round the edges. He blinked to clear his vision.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Samantha’s voice seemed distant.

  He snapped to. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘Don’t pass out on me, Brendan,’ Doherty said. ‘Not now.’

  The doorbell rang and Doherty froze.

  ‘Hello?’ A voice floated into the hall through the letterbox, female. Something rattled. ‘Are you in, Mr Moran?’

  Another ring of the doorbell, longer this time, prompted a renewed burst of barking from the kitchen.

  ‘Mrs Perkins, my neighbour.’ Moran half-rose from his chair, keeping a steadying hand on the arm. ‘She knows I’m here – I saw her earlier this evening. Told her I was planning a night in–’

  ‘Get rid,’ Doherty hissed.

  ‘Shall I go?’ Samantha asked.

  Doherty replied by jamming the revolver into
her temple. He indicated the hall with a jerk of his head. ‘Get out there and get rid, Brendan.’

  Moran went to the door, testing and rejecting innumerable courses of action with each step. He could communicate an emergency situation only by his expression; Doherty would be listening. One syllable out of place and he would have to live with the consequences, and Moran was reluctant to add to the toll of consequences his life had accumulated up to now. He opened the door.

  ‘Mrs Perkins. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Is everything all right, darling? Archie seems to be making a fearful fuss.’

  ‘All fine, thanks.’ Moran made the corners of his mouth turn upwards.

  She peered over his shoulder. ‘Are you sure? He doesn’t sound very happy.’

  ‘He spied a cat in the garden earlier,’ Moran told her. ‘Hasn’t recovered yet.’

  Mrs Perkins squinted at him through her half-moon glasses. ‘Ah, of course. I said to myself, it must be something like that. But I had to check, darling. We’re neighbours, after all.’

  ‘We are indeed. Thanks for the thought.’

  ‘Well, anything I can do, you know where I am.’

  ‘Absolutely. Thanks again.’

  He closed the door, went back into the lounge.

  Doherty lowered the revolver and Samantha moved pointedly to the end of the sofa. If looks could kill, Doherty would have been a dead man, right there. The ex-soldier went to the window, moved the curtain aside, checked to make sure the woman had gone.

  Satisfied, he sat down again, invited Moran to do the same. ‘Now then, Brendan, the key. You were going to enlighten us?’

  Joe had set off for his appointment with the dons as soon as they arrived in Belfast, leaving Moran free to carry out his appointed task. It was mid-morning, a bleak day in the city – hardly unusual – but then, for a brief moment, the sun slanted through the low covering of grey-black clouds, blinding him. He shielded his eyes as he walked, trying to appear nonchalant as he scanned for the street sign which led, according to his contact, to the lockups. His hand went automatically into his raincoat pocket, closed around the envelope. His questing fingers found its contents, felt the contours, the tiny, jagged series of ridges which accorded uniqueness. A more secure lock, apparently, to replace the standard, easily-pickable design originally installed.