or that he’d still be inside if it hadn’t been for the Good Friday Agreement that let lowlifes like this back out on the street. And they didn’t get much lower than Kieran O’Callaghan. The man had form. Back during the Troubles, you could pretty well divide the PIRA boys into two groups – those who were politically committed to the Republican cause, and those who just used it as a front for their illegal activities. Kieran fell firmly into the latter camp. The O’Callaghan family would pay lip service to the cause, they’d go on the marches and they’d pay their dues, but only because you couldn’t operate as a criminal in Belfast without doing so. When Kieran bought himself a stint in the Maze by putting a bullet into the skull of an RUC officer, it wasn’t because the poor bastard was on the wrong side of the political fence; it was because he’d stumbled across an O’Callaghan arms cache.
Kieran had been a free man for ten years now, but under the terms of the Agreement he only had to put one foot wrong and he’d be back behind bars before he could so much as whimper. And Siobhan was gambling that beneath the bluster lay the heart of a coward.
Kieran stood at the table, glancing almost nonchalantly down at the photographs, as if they were of only passing interest. But behind those bright blue eyes, you could see his mind working. Hell, you could practically hear the cogs whirring.
He said nothing.
‘I was reading the papers the other day,’ Siobhan said, keeping her voice as conversational as she could. ‘Some psychologist. He was saying that when kids reach the age of three and a half, their memories get, you know, hard-wired. So stuff that happens to them after that age, they remember it in later life.’ She gave him a piercing look. ‘Your boy – little Jackie, isn’t it? How old would he be, now?’
Siobhan knew the answer, of course, and Kieran knew she knew. He narrowed his eyes at her and didn’t reply.
‘Four years of age,’ she continued. ‘And to see his father put away for, what, another fifteen years? And with your previous, Kieran, I think you can kiss goodbye to any chance of parole. That would sure be a terrible thing for a young boy to have to endure, wouldn’t it now?’
Try and wriggle your way out of this one, you murderous bastard, she thought to herself.
‘Still,’ she persevered, ‘there’s always his mother. Janice, isn’t it? Janice and Jackie, together against the world. I suppose your uncle will throw them a bone every now and then, make sure they’re not out on the streets. But you’re looking at a long stretch here, Kieran. Janice has other needs, you know – I can’t help thinking that she’ll find the bed a little too big without you—’
‘ Shut up! ’ Kieran hissed. It was the first time he’d spoken since she had laid the photographs out in front of him.
It had taken Siobhan a long time and a long lens to get them. Even when she had been snapping – a week ago, hiding out on a clifftop on the southern coast of the Republic – she had doubted that she was going to get anything worth having. And her colleagues, no doubt, wouldn’t have given them a second look. Truth was, any brief worth their salt would get these pictures laughed out of court in two seconds flat – if they ever even got as far as court. Siobhan knew that, but she reckoned that Kieran didn’t. As soon as she’d brought the images up on her computer screen, she had known that she could work with them. He wouldn’t see a mess of legal technicalities. He’d just see the fifteen years in glorious Technicolor before him.
A moment of silence, then Siobhan tapped her finger on the middle photo of five. ‘ That’s the one that’s going to nail you, Kieran. That’s the smoking gun.’
It showed him by a boat on the beach. He had jemmied open a wooden crate to reveal – you could see it quite clearly – a neatly packaged stash of golden brown powder.
‘What would
Kieran had been a free man for ten years now, but under the terms of the Agreement he only had to put one foot wrong and he’d be back behind bars before he could so much as whimper. And Siobhan was gambling that beneath the bluster lay the heart of a coward.
Kieran stood at the table, glancing almost nonchalantly down at the photographs, as if they were of only passing interest. But behind those bright blue eyes, you could see his mind working. Hell, you could practically hear the cogs whirring.
He said nothing.
‘I was reading the papers the other day,’ Siobhan said, keeping her voice as conversational as she could. ‘Some psychologist. He was saying that when kids reach the age of three and a half, their memories get, you know, hard-wired. So stuff that happens to them after that age, they remember it in later life.’ She gave him a piercing look. ‘Your boy – little Jackie, isn’t it? How old would he be, now?’
Siobhan knew the answer, of course, and Kieran knew she knew. He narrowed his eyes at her and didn’t reply.
‘Four years of age,’ she continued. ‘And to see his father put away for, what, another fifteen years? And with your previous, Kieran, I think you can kiss goodbye to any chance of parole. That would sure be a terrible thing for a young boy to have to endure, wouldn’t it now?’
Try and wriggle your way out of this one, you murderous bastard, she thought to herself.
‘Still,’ she persevered, ‘there’s always his mother. Janice, isn’t it? Janice and Jackie, together against the world. I suppose your uncle will throw them a bone every now and then, make sure they’re not out on the streets. But you’re looking at a long stretch here, Kieran. Janice has other needs, you know – I can’t help thinking that she’ll find the bed a little too big without you—’
‘ Shut up! ’ Kieran hissed. It was the first time he’d spoken since she had laid the photographs out in front of him.
It had taken Siobhan a long time and a long lens to get them. Even when she had been snapping – a week ago, hiding out on a clifftop on the southern coast of the Republic – she had doubted that she was going to get anything worth having. And her colleagues, no doubt, wouldn’t have given them a second look. Truth was, any brief worth their salt would get these pictures laughed out of court in two seconds flat – if they ever even got as far as court. Siobhan knew that, but she reckoned that Kieran didn’t. As soon as she’d brought the images up on her computer screen, she had known that she could work with them. He wouldn’t see a mess of legal technicalities. He’d just see the fifteen years in glorious Technicolor before him.
A moment of silence, then Siobhan tapped her finger on the middle photo of five. ‘ That’s the one that’s going to nail you, Kieran. That’s the smoking gun.’
It showed him by a boat on the beach. He had jemmied open a wooden crate to reveal – you could see it quite clearly – a neatly packaged stash of golden brown powder.
‘What would
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