‘Jesus, Paddy,’ she says, not looking up from her mobile. ‘Would you ever shut up?’
Fifteen minutes later, her mobile rings again.
‘Yeah?’
‘Gina? It’s Jackie Merrigan.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m here. Over at the elevator. Do you want me to approach?’
‘Yes. Alone.’
Pressing back against the window, she eases herself up into a standing position. Over the stack of partition units she sees Merrigan walking slowly towards her. ERU personnel are positioned everywhere.
She glances over her shoulder and down at street level. There is no traffic at all now. Parked alongside the concourse are squad cars and police vans. There are also several large trucks. These are probably Outside Broadcast Units. A couple of hundred yards down the quays barriers have been set up, behind which a sizeable crowd appears to have gathered.
The helicopter is still out there, cruising a wide area. Every now and again it comes in close and circles the building. When it does, the sound is almost deafening.
She turns back around.
Norton is standing a few feet away from her, staring straight ahead.
Merrigan comes to a stop in front of the partition units. ‘Hello, Gina.’
She nods.
He is as she remembers, tall, stooped, white hair. He’s got a heavy overcoat on. From where he’s standing she can’t see his hands. But he was a close friend of Noel’s. She’s not expecting him to pull out a gun and shoot her.
‘Thanks for coming.’
Norton turns around. Merrigan looks at him.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Well what do you think? I’ve got this deranged bitch -’
Gina raises her hand. ‘Shut up.’
‘Take it easy, Gina,’ Merrigan says. ‘Let’s all stay calm, yeah?’
It’s only then that Gina sees it. Merrigan is nervous. And of course why wouldn’t he be? This is a volatile situation, and probably not the sort of thing he’s ever had to deal with before. Besides, he doesn’t really know her…
‘Look,’ she says in a hurry, ‘I don’t want to drag this out. I just… I need some assurances from you.’
He nods.
‘One, I saw security cameras on the way in here. At the entrance. One of them was trained on the concourse out front. I don’t know if they’re working, but if they are you’ll see that I was attacked first. The shot I fired was in response to that, to being assaulted. Anyway, there were witnesses, a couple of builders, I think.’
‘Fine. Of course. We’ll check it out.’
‘Second, I want you to look into Noel’s death. The circumstances. His mobile-phone records. Where he went after he left Catherine’s. Check the brakes on his car.’
Merrigan hesitates. ‘OK, Gina. I’ll… I’ll do my best.’
‘Third thing.’
She holds up the gun. Merrigan flinches.
‘This?’ she says. ‘I’m telling you in advance: it isn’t mine.’
Merrigan swallows. ‘I didn’t imagine it was.’
‘No, but I’ll bet you don’t know whose it is.’
He shakes his head.
‘It belonged to Martin Fitzgerald.’
Merrigan’s eyes widen. ‘That Martin Fitzgerald?’
She nods, and brings her hand down. ‘I’m not sure, but I think it might be the gun he used to shoot Mark Griffin with.’
‘What?’
Merrigan stops, and for the first time the focus of his attention shifts. Gina can see it in his face, in his eyes.
He is making connections.
‘The thing is,’ she says, ‘I want you to know, before I’m arrested, that this is a complicated situation. I need to know that I’ll be listened to.’
‘You will be.’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Norton says, ‘there’ll be no shortage of sound bites if that’s what you’re after.’
She looks at him. ‘And what about you?’
‘What about me, love? I’m not the one with the gun.’
‘No, but…’
She stares at him for a moment in silence, then looks back at Merrigan. ‘Last thing. I’ve got an email I need to send.’ She holds her phone up to him. ‘Yeah?’
He nods.
‘It has an attachment,’ she says. ‘I’m sending it to RTÉ and to Sky News. And to YouTube.’
She presses a key on the phone and waits for a few moments.
‘OK. Gone.’
‘What was that?’ Norton says, glaring at the phone.
‘It’s very short, only about ten seconds. I hope it’s enough of a sound bite for you.’
She holds the phone up high, so they can all see the display. The view is of Norton, from a low angle. Gina’s voice is heard first. The sound is tinny.
Let’s be as explicit as we can, shall we?
After a pause, Norton’s voice is heard.
OK, yeah, let’s. In certain extreme weather conditions, this building, Richmond Plaza, has a fifty per cent chance of collapsing. Are you happy now?
Shock registers on Merrigan’s face.
Fifty per cent?
According to these calculations, yes.
‘Oh my God…’
And given the potential for loss of life and damage to surrounding property, you think that’s an acceptable level of risk?
Absolutely. I’m not worried at all.
Gina flicks the phone closed and brings her hand down.
Norton lunges forward. ‘Jesus, I’ll -’
Merrigan’s arm shoots out. He holds it against Norton’s chest to block him.
‘Easy.’
Norton resists for a second and then backs off, shaking his head. He turns around and moves away, along by the window.
Gina looks at Merrigan. She feels relieved, but also – she can admit it now, if only to herself – a little insane, a little psychotic. Every muscle in her body is rigid. Every thought in her head is conditional. It’s as if she’s been holding her breath non-stop for the last three weeks.
She hands him the gun.
Within seconds armed police officers have swarmed the area and taken full control.
Gina leans her head back against the glass, and breathes out slowly.
At the same time, several miles away, in an isolated ward of the intensive care unit of St Felim’s Hospital, Mark Griffin is breathing slowly, too.
Sixteen times a minute, in fact.
Unconscious but stable, the thirty-year-old victim of the city’s latest gangland shooting is hooked up to a ventilator. A second machine monitors his heart rate and blood pressure. He also has three IV tubes attached to a strip on his neck. These provide medication for pain control, fluids to keep him hydrated and sedation to prevent him from making any extreme involuntary movements.
When he was brought in on Wednesday night the first thing they did was give him an X-ray. This showed he had a single perforating wound caused by a bullet that is now lodged in his abdomen. He was then rushed to an operating theatre for an exploratory incision, the results of which showed extensive damage to his liver. Next, they stanched the internal bleeding and stabilised his BP.
Since then he has had two further operations, one to repair essential organ functions, the other to close the entry wound. And although doctors are concerned about the possibility of his contracting an infection, by this afternoon most of his vital signs seem to be showing a marked improvement.
Mark’s aunt Lilly spent all of yesterday and several hours this morning at his bedside, but the whole thing has proved so stressful for her, and so exhausting, that one of the doctors took a look at her and recommended that she go home to her own bed – unless she wanted to end up in one of theirs.