‘They killed her husband in cold blood and walk out after a few years,’ said Shepherd. ‘That’s not justice.’
‘It’s not about justice, it’s about bringing an end to the IRA’s armed struggle,’ said Button.
‘The Government did a deal with terrorists,’ said Shepherd. ‘Lay down your arms and we’ll let your killers go free.’ He pointed at the photograph of Carter. ‘They shot him in ’ninety-six, right? The IRA called a ceasefire in ’ninety-four. Then, because things weren’t going their way, they called off the ceasefire and were killing again. When the Government caved in they announced that the ceasefire was on again.’
‘He was unlucky, that’s for sure.’
‘Luck had nothing to do with it,’ said Shepherd. ‘The IRA shot him like a dog. I tell you, if they’d killed someone I loved I doubt I’d stand by and let bygones be bygones.’
‘I never took you for a vigilante,’ said Button.
‘When it’s personal, all bets are off,’ said Shepherd. He studied the photograph of Noel Kinsella. ‘This is recent?’
‘Taken a year ago at one of his extradition hearings.’
Kinsella was in his early thirties, good-looking with a strong chin, piercing blue eyes and jet black hair slicked back with gel. ‘Is your interest because you want to put the wife away, or because you want to protect Kinsella? Him being married to a Kennedy and all.’
‘A very minor Kennedy,’ said Button.
‘I seem to remember that Ted was at the wedding,’ said Shepherd.
‘I wouldn’t read too much into the connection,’ said Button. ‘The issue is more about making sure that no harm comes to someone who was extradited from the States. I know that Kinsella effectively returned of his own accord but our government went to a lot of trouble to get him back, and if anything should happen to him, it’ll make it that much harder to extradite anyone else.’
‘So it’s more about protecting IRA killers than it is about catching whoever’s knocking them off?’
‘Two men have died,’ said Button. ‘Let’s not forget that.’
‘Three, if you count Robbie Carter, and from my perspective, he was worth a dozen of them. Here’s a question for you, Charlie. Let’s suppose Elaine Carter’s been killing these guys and let’s say we put her away. How long will she get?’
‘That’s for the court to decide, Spider.’
‘Premeditated murder? Three shots including one in the back of the head? She’ll get life. And for her life will mean life. There’ll be no early release, no Good Friday Agreement to put her back on the streets.’
‘No one ever said life was fair,’ said Button.
‘So why did the case end up on your desk?’ asked Shepherd.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Shepherd, sitting back in his chair and linking his fingers behind his head. ‘Has SOCA decided to target her, or has someone in government decided they want to protect the husband of a minor Kennedy?’
‘Two murders have been committed, Spider. That puts it within our brief.’
‘No argument there. But we’re not in at the request of the Northern Irish police, are we?’
‘They won’t know you’re on the ground, that’s true.’
‘And your old firm? MI5?’
‘This is a SOCA operation. We won’t be clearing it with anyone else.’
‘Which means when I pop up with my English accent everyone and anyone could be checking up on me.’
‘Which is why your legend will be watertight.’
‘Like the proverbial duck’s arse?’
‘I’ll be watching your back, Spider.’
‘I know that, Charlie,’ said Shepherd. ‘That’s never an issue.’ He ran his finger through his hair. ‘I’ve done some dirty jobs, but putting away the widow of a dead cop has to rank pretty much at the top of the list.’
‘If she’s doing it, she’s a serial killer. You can empathise with her, you can sympathise, but if she’s a killer we have to stop her.’
‘Even if she’s killing killers? Killing the scum that murdered her man? Would you kill to avenge your husband, Charlie?’
‘That’s not the sort of question you can ask a person, it really isn’t. I’m not a killer, Spider. I’ve never killed anyone.’
‘Well, I have. In combat and in the line of duty. And if someone ever killed someone close to me, I wouldn’t hesitate. I really wouldn’t.’
Button held up her hands. ‘I hear what you’re saying. But what you or I might or might not do is hypothetical. Here in the real world two men are dead and it’s our job to find out who killed them.’ She reached into her handbag and passed a packet of Marlboro across the table. ‘You’ll need to start smoking,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘She’s a smoker. Forty a day. In my experience, smokers tend to trust other smokers.’
‘That sounds like the voice of experience.’
Button nodded. ‘I started when I was a teenager. Only gave up a couple of years ago.’ She gestured at the packet. ‘That’s her brand. Should help you break the ice, if nothing else.’
Shepherd picked up the pack. ‘You’re serious?’
‘You’re not local, Spider. You’ll need all the help you can get to gain her confidence.’
‘And offering her a cigarette will get me in, will it?’
‘Trust me. It’ll help.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Elizabeth, looking up at the grey stone walls of Belfast Castle. ‘But I thought it would be more . . . castley.’
‘Castley?’ said Kinsella. ‘What do you mean?’ They were standing in the grounds by a fountain. Beyond the castle they could see the wooded slope of Cave Hill. The building’s window frames, guttering and downpipes had been painted pink. Two big men in dark suits, Kinsella’s police bodyguards, waited near the stairs that led down from the car park to the gardens.
‘More like a castle, you know,’ said Elizabeth. ‘With a moat, turrets and slits for archers.’
Kinsella laughed and hugged her. ‘It’s not a real castle,’ he said. ‘It’s more of a baronial mansion. It was built in eighteen seventy as part of the British occupation,’ he said. ‘It’s a clone of Balmoral, the Queen’s Scottish home.’
‘Where’s your romance?’ she said, putting her arms round his waist and kissing his cheek. ‘Have you seen the white cat yet?’
‘The what?’
‘The white cat. There’s a legend that the castle will only prosper so long as there’s a white cat living there.’
‘You’ve been reading those guidebooks again.’
‘I want to learn about your country’s history,’ she said. ‘If things work out the way we hope, I might be Ireland’s first lady one day.’
‘You’re an ambitious wee thing, aren’t you?’
‘We want the same thing, honey, and you know it.’ Elizabeth stiffened. ‘Noel, there are three men coming this way.’
Kinsella smiled as he recognised the man in the middle of the group. ‘It’s okay, sweetheart. He’s Gerry Lynn, an old friend.’
Kinsella’s minders moved to intercept them but Kinsella told them it was okay, he knew who they were.
Gerry Lynn strode across the grass, his long coat flapping behind him. It had been more than a decade since Kinsella had seen him and he had put on weight. His hair was grey and thinning, but he had the same flint-hard eyes. ‘On the tourist trail, are you?’ he asked.
‘Elizabeth wanted to see the castle,’ said Kinsella. ‘Figured it’d be easier to meet here. My minders prefer me to stay in at night.’
The two men hugged. Kinsella frowned as something hard dug into his chest. He stepped back and patted Lynn above the heart. ‘What the hell’s that, Gerry?’
Lynn undid two of his shirt buttons to reveal a white bulletproof vest. ‘I’m not taking any chances, lad, and if I were you I’d do the same.’ He glanced at the two men shadowing Kinsella. They were in their early thirties, both a little overweight. Their jackets were unbuttoned and their eyes were constantly sweeping the area. ‘Bring them with you, did you, from across the water?’
‘Special Branch,’ said Kinsella. ‘RUC.’
Lynn chuckled. ‘The RUC’s long gone,’ he said. ‘It’s the Police Service of Northern Ireland now. And there’s no more Special Branch. It’s called the Intelligence Branch, which is an oxymoron if ever there was one.’