He walked into the café and paused just inside, looking into the gloom.
“Jay? Where are you?”
He heard no sound except the murmur of the crowd behind him. Without hesitation, he walked further into the bar room.
“Jay? Come on, son. I’ve come to take you home,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing to be frightened of. You and I can work this thing out together.”
And as he said this, he realized the futility of his words. He had left it far too late now to help the boy.
Then the sudden sharp bang of the .25 automatic made him start. The sound came from the half-open door that led into the kitchen.
The bang of the gun was immediately followed by the sound of a heavy fall, then a gasping, sobbing sigh.
Delaney flinched and turned away.
Through the half-open door, a thin wisp of cordite smoke drifted on the still air. It hung for a second or so, then dispersed like a departing spirit.
Devereaux came quickly into the bar room.
He looked at Delaney, who was pressing his hands to his face, then he walked across to the kitchen and pushed the door wide open.