The farm that Leary had brought them to had been abandoned over a year earlier.The farmhouse and most of the outbuildings lay over five hundred yards away at the perimeter of the field in which they now found themselves.
‘My world,’ Doyle muttered. ‘What do you mean?’
‘People like Leary. Jobs like this.’
‘It was all I knew. All I wanted. I was good at it. I still am.’
‘I’d noticed.’
‘We’re not that different, Mel. It’s just the surroundings.’
I’d take a hotel in Mayfair over a field in Ulster.’
Doyle chuckled. ‘I might have to agree with you on that one,’ he smiled.
‘Why did you want to get back to it so badly?’
‘I told you. It’s all I know. What made you want to come with me?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m beginning to wonder,’ she confessed.
Again Doyle smiled.
‘And when it’s over?’ Mel asked.‘What then? Leary’s only got to show us two more graves and that’s it. Job done. What do you do then? What do any of us do?’
‘It’s up to you, what you do. I’m sure Cartwright would be more than happy to have you and Joe back working for him.’
‘What about you?’
‘I belong here, Mel.You asked me what I’ll do when it’s over. That’s simple.
It’s never over.’
‘You sound happy about that.’
‘What am I supposed to do? Retire? Sit around in a cardigan and slippers for the rest of my fucking life waiting for the day when I can’t take it any more and I decide to chew the barrel of a 9mm?’ He drew on his cigarette. ‘Maybe somebody like Leary’ll catch me out. Perhaps I’ll be the one in a shallow grave in the middle of nowhere. But I can’t give up. I don’t want to give up.’
‘Do you love it so much?’
‘Perhaps I’m just scared of what I’ll be without it.
I’ve had a taste of that and I didn’t like it.’
‘You were great in the security business, Doyle. Why not come back to it?’
He shook his head. ‘Like you said, Mel,’ he told her. ‘This is my world.’
‘And you’re happy here?’
‘I never said that. I just said it was where I belonged.’
‘Are you happy?’ She glanced at him.
All he could do was shrug. To be happy, you have to want something, don’t you?’ Doyle murmured.
‘And what do you want?’
‘I have absolutely no fucking idea. What about you?’
‘I’ve never really thought about it.’
‘So think now. You’ve got the time. Husband? Kids? What would make you happy?’
‘I wanted a career in the police.That was taken from me. I found something else I could do and I enjoy it. But ask me where I want to be in ten years’
time and I couldn’t tell you.’
‘If I last another ten years it’ll be a fucking achievement,’ Doyle grunted.
‘Does that bother you?’
‘Why should it? If I don’t know what I’m living for then I’m hardly likely to be scared about the prospect of dying, am I? Besides, so many doctors have told me how lucky I am to be alive now. How I should thank God I can still walk. All that other bullshit. I’ve got scars on every part of my fucking body and I’m supposed to thank God that I’m lucky. I should have been dead long before now. Sometimes I think it might have saved some pain if I had been.’
So much pain.
‘Pain for who?’
‘Me. Others too. The only thing I’ve ever learned from this job is that you should never get close to anyone. They might not be around for too long.’
They locked stares for a moment then Mel returned to gazing out of the windscreen. ‘Do you know what frightens me about dying? That no one will come to my funeral. That the only one at the graveside would be the priest. I’ve got no family. No close friends. I don’t think anyone would miss me if I died tomorrow’
The counter terrorist sucked hard on his cigarette and tossed the butt out of the open window. ‘Join the fucking club,’ said Doyle, with an air of finality.
‘I told you we weren’t that different, Mel.’
‘Doyle.’ The shout came from Hendry.
Both the counter terrorist and Mel clambered out of the car and began walking towards their companion.
‘It’s another body,’ the driver called, gesturing into the grave.
‘Two more to go,’ Mel said.
Doyle nodded.
‘Then what?’ she persisted.
Doyle didn’t answer.
A LIGHT IN THE BLACK
Ward finished numbering the pages then sat back and scanned what had been printed. Again he felt that schizophrenic feeling of joy and bewilderment.
Where had the pages come from? Who had written them?
He took a deep breath and decided to return to the house. Perhaps he might be able to eat something. Perhaps.
He promised himself he would return an hour later.
When he did, he found more.
We’re just about finished with you,’ said Doyle, staring at Leary.
The Irishman was covered in mud. It was smeared on his cheeks. Even in his hair.
‘Last two locations,’ Doyle demanded.
‘I thought you wanted to see them,’ Leary protested.
‘We’re going to see them,’ Doyle assured him. ‘You and I will go to one.’ He turned to look at his companions. ‘Mel, you and Joe take the other one.’
‘Why split up now, Doyle?’ Mel wanted to know.
‘I’ve got business to discuss with this piece of shit. There’s no need for you two to be there when that happens.’
Mel held Doyle’s gaze for a moment then shook her head.
The counter terrorist turned back to face Leary. ‘Locations of the last two graves,’ he snapped.
‘One’s buried in some woods near Mountnorris,’ Leary said wearily. The other one’s in a church at Whitecross.’
‘Which church?’ Mel asked.
‘St Angela’s. It’s in a crypt under the nave.’
‘No bullshit?’ snapped Doyle, leaning closer to the Irishman.
‘Listen, I’m as anxious to get away from you as you are from me. Why would I lie now?’
‘Those locations aren’t more than ten miles apart,’ Doyle mused.‘Joe. Drop us at the one in Mountnorris. The woods will be nice and quiet for me and this prick to have a chat.’ He looked at Leary.‘You and Mel check out the one in Whitecross. If it’s kosher, let me know then come back and pick me up. I’ll ring both locations through then we’ll drop this fucker off somewhere the RUC
can pick him up.’
Hendry nodded.
The Astra sped on through the gathering dusk.
Doyle checked his watch. 6.04 p.m.
Mel and Hendry should be at the church in Whitecross soon. They’d left Doyle and his captive more than twenty minutes earlier. The counter terrorist had been following Leary through increasingly dense woods ever since. He walked five or six feet behind him, carrying the shovel like an oversized club. He prodded Leary in the back with it and the Irishman continued leading the way.
He was still handcuffed.
Birds returning to their nests were black arrowheads against the sky. Clouds were forming into menacing banks and Doyle thought he felt the first drops of rain in the air.
‘Who was he?’ Doyle wanted to know.
‘Who was who?’
‘This one? The poor bastard buried in here.’
‘Brit. Proddie.Tout. How the fuck do I know?’
They continued on through the trees, the gloom made more palpable by the canopy of branches above them.
‘What about the one in Whitecross?’ Doyle persisted.