Read Online Dark Times in the City by Gene Kerrigan - Free Book Online
Authors: Gene Kerrigan
Ads: Link
in one of the apartment’s two chairs, yawning. ‘Your choice, knocking on my door before dawn.’
Wyndham smiled. ‘They tell us that’s the best time to do it. People are at their lowest ebb. Makes them more likely to blurt out the truth. You going to tell us the truth, Danny?’
‘Depends on the question.’
‘We came here twice yesterday, looking for you.’
‘I was working.’
‘Working by day, scrapping with gangsters by night.’
Wyndham’s partner, Detective Garda Jeremiah Harley, grinned.
‘Danny’s a tough guy.’
Callaghan crossed to the wall beside the door and pressed a button on a timer. A small red light came on and from inside the kitchen there was the dull
whump
of the gas boiler starting. He said, ‘You’ll be long gone before the radiators take the chill off.’ Callaghan sat down again, his face resentful but resigned. The kind of expression, Wyndham thought, that convicts get used to wearing.
Wyndham pulled the second chair around and sat down facing Callaghan. ‘The Blue Parrot. Walter Bennett. I think we know the score – just need you to tell us the way you saw it.’
Callaghan ran a middle finger along his lips, like he was wiping away something invisible. ‘I was having a drink, two guys came in the pub carrying guns. Pistol and a shotgun. It just happened. It wasn’t like I wanted to get involved – but the guy with the pistol walked right past me, he was chasing Walter. That’s it.’
‘That’s what we heard. What I don’t know is why some heavy mob would be gunning for a little creep like Walter.’
‘Beats me.’
Harley said, ‘You sure you weren’t on duty that evening?’
‘And that means what?’
Harley said nothing, just stood by the window, leaning against the windowsill and watching Callaghan.
Sergeant Wyndham said, ‘We’ve got witnesses who say Walter Bennett called out to you for help, like maybe he expected your protection. In which case, whatever he’s involved in, maybe you’ve got a piece of it.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’ve got a piece of nothing. I work for a living. And I don’t do bodyguard.’
‘Your record says you did a lot of things.’
‘You know I did time, you know I haven’t put a foot wrong since I came out.’
Over at the window, Harley said, ‘Five convictions – probation twice and three sentences.’
‘I was a kid. I stole a few pairs of jeans from Roche’s Stores.’
‘You were eighteen. You got probation for shoplifting. You did time for burglary and stealing cars.’
‘It was kid stuff, in and out in a few weeks.’
Wyndham kept his voice level. ‘Murdering Big Brendan Tucker – that was kid stuff too?’
‘I’m not a murderer.’
Harley levered himself away from the windowsill and leaned forward towards Callaghan, his face showing mock surprise. ‘I should maybe tell Big Brendan’s family he’s not dead, he’s just – what? – been having a wee rest beneath the sod in Glasnevin for the past few years?’
Callaghan leaned back in his chair. ‘You came here in the middle of the night to talk to me about things that happened years ago – fifteen years ago, some of them?’
Wyndham said, ‘Look at it from our point of view. Why would a hard man like you put himself on the line for a piece of nothing like Walter Bennett?’
‘What makes you think I’m a hard man?’
‘Apart from the fact that you greet visitors with a hammer inyour hand? Or maybe because you spent most of your twenties behind bars for murder?’
‘Manslaughter.’
‘Same difference. In your case, the way I hear it, manslaughter was a jury’s way of saying you murdered someone but that’s okay because he was a scumbag, anyway.’
After a few moments’ silence, Callaghan said, ‘You done here?’
Wyndham said, ‘Couple of people carrying guns waltz into a pub – that usually means the gangs are sorting out a problem. Drugs, family feud, protection, whatever.’ He pointed to his colleague. ‘Detective
Wyndham smiled. ‘They tell us that’s the best time to do it. People are at their lowest ebb. Makes them more likely to blurt out the truth. You going to tell us the truth, Danny?’
‘Depends on the question.’
‘We came here twice yesterday, looking for you.’
‘I was working.’
‘Working by day, scrapping with gangsters by night.’
Wyndham’s partner, Detective Garda Jeremiah Harley, grinned.
‘Danny’s a tough guy.’
Callaghan crossed to the wall beside the door and pressed a button on a timer. A small red light came on and from inside the kitchen there was the dull
whump
of the gas boiler starting. He said, ‘You’ll be long gone before the radiators take the chill off.’ Callaghan sat down again, his face resentful but resigned. The kind of expression, Wyndham thought, that convicts get used to wearing.
Wyndham pulled the second chair around and sat down facing Callaghan. ‘The Blue Parrot. Walter Bennett. I think we know the score – just need you to tell us the way you saw it.’
Callaghan ran a middle finger along his lips, like he was wiping away something invisible. ‘I was having a drink, two guys came in the pub carrying guns. Pistol and a shotgun. It just happened. It wasn’t like I wanted to get involved – but the guy with the pistol walked right past me, he was chasing Walter. That’s it.’
‘That’s what we heard. What I don’t know is why some heavy mob would be gunning for a little creep like Walter.’
‘Beats me.’
Harley said, ‘You sure you weren’t on duty that evening?’
‘And that means what?’
Harley said nothing, just stood by the window, leaning against the windowsill and watching Callaghan.
Sergeant Wyndham said, ‘We’ve got witnesses who say Walter Bennett called out to you for help, like maybe he expected your protection. In which case, whatever he’s involved in, maybe you’ve got a piece of it.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’ve got a piece of nothing. I work for a living. And I don’t do bodyguard.’
‘Your record says you did a lot of things.’
‘You know I did time, you know I haven’t put a foot wrong since I came out.’
Over at the window, Harley said, ‘Five convictions – probation twice and three sentences.’
‘I was a kid. I stole a few pairs of jeans from Roche’s Stores.’
‘You were eighteen. You got probation for shoplifting. You did time for burglary and stealing cars.’
‘It was kid stuff, in and out in a few weeks.’
Wyndham kept his voice level. ‘Murdering Big Brendan Tucker – that was kid stuff too?’
‘I’m not a murderer.’
Harley levered himself away from the windowsill and leaned forward towards Callaghan, his face showing mock surprise. ‘I should maybe tell Big Brendan’s family he’s not dead, he’s just – what? – been having a wee rest beneath the sod in Glasnevin for the past few years?’
Callaghan leaned back in his chair. ‘You came here in the middle of the night to talk to me about things that happened years ago – fifteen years ago, some of them?’
Wyndham said, ‘Look at it from our point of view. Why would a hard man like you put himself on the line for a piece of nothing like Walter Bennett?’
‘What makes you think I’m a hard man?’
‘Apart from the fact that you greet visitors with a hammer inyour hand? Or maybe because you spent most of your twenties behind bars for murder?’
‘Manslaughter.’
‘Same difference. In your case, the way I hear it, manslaughter was a jury’s way of saying you murdered someone but that’s okay because he was a scumbag, anyway.’
After a few moments’ silence, Callaghan said, ‘You done here?’
Wyndham said, ‘Couple of people carrying guns waltz into a pub – that usually means the gangs are sorting out a problem. Drugs, family feud, protection, whatever.’ He pointed to his colleague. ‘Detective
Similar Books
