Killian nodded. "Aye."

"But then you have to remember that life is short," Coulter went on somewhat absently and with that he relaxed and sat back. His limbs loosened, flopped. He coughed, took another sip of the whisky.

"What are you drinking?" Coulter asked.

"Vodka tonic."

"You should try this," Coulter said jiggling his gla.s.s.

"Okay."

"I'll get you one," Coulter said, standing up. He went to the bar and poured him a fifth of Scotch. Killian took it, sniffed it. It smelled peaty, expensive. He sipped it. It tasted good.

"I like it," Killian said.

"1953 Islay. From the Coronation. I have the only case left in the world."

"It's good."

The two men looked at one another.

"So, Michael Forsythe," Coulter said.

"What about him?"

"He said you were good." Killian took another mouthful of whisky and gazed out the window. The sun was sinking into the South China Sea and the sky had turned an unpleasant shade of violet.

"I don't know if I'm good, but if your wife's still in Ireland, I'll find her. If she's hopped the boat across the sheugh it's another story."

Coulter nodded. "You'll do your best," he said.

Killian shook his head. "No, if she's in Ireland, I'll find her."

"That's what I want to hear," Coulter said.

Killian said nothing.

"Arpino is where Cicero came from. Have you heard of Cicero, Mr Killian?" Coulter wondered.

Killian nodded.

"You know how he died?"

Killian shook his head.

"He thought Caesar was a dictator. He applauded his murder and he backed the wrong side after Caesar's death. Mark Antony sent his troops and they dragged him out of his litter and cut off his head. Antony's wife had Cicero's tongue ripped out because of the abuse he had heaped on her. Crazy, huh?"

Killian surmised that Coulter was proud of this connection between his wife and the dead Roman and doubted that he was attempting any kind of threat or metaphor - that of course was Tom's side of the business.

"Crazy," Killian agreed. "Shall we discuss the case?"

"By all means."

"So when did you know that your first wife had gone missing with your kids?"

"Second wife."

"Sorry, second wife."

"My first wife, Karen, lives in Brighton. We're on excellent terms. I see my kids often. All grown up, two girls, Heather and Ruby, at college and doing very well," Coulter said with a trace of irritation.

"I misspoke," Killian said, covering his a.s.s. "Your second wife. Tell me about her."

Coulter sighed. "And as you see Helena is pregnant - it's going to be another girl. Five girls."

"Congratulations," Killian said.

Coulter nodded, sniffed his Scotch.

"If my two girls with that f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h are even still alive. No one knows where they are and that lunatic is crazy enough to try anything. You know she snorted heroin when she was pregnant?"

"I didn't know that."

"Not just once. I put her in The Priory and then Clapton's place. Didn't do any good. Jesus. I should have seen it back then but I loved her."

"You've been trying to find her for how long?"

"Over a month."

"And before that you had what kind of an arrangement?"

"She had primary custody. I got the girls every other weekend and on holidays. This came completely out of the blue. Things were very good between us. I even let her stay at the house in Donegal. She'd met Helena. It was all, it was all..."

"Civilised?"

"Yeah. Civilised. I was in Brussels and Tom calls me and says she's gone. Like a f.u.c.king genie. Her and the kids. Gone. Haven't heard tell of them since."

"This was from your house in Donegal?"

"Up past Letterkenny. You know Tarafoe?"

"Aye, I know the place. Did she take anything from the house?"

"No."

"How did you know it wasn't a kidnap? Someone kidnapped them, I mean."

"Well, it is a kidnap, isn't it? She kidnapped my kids. The insurance company is paying your salary, mate. Or will be when Tom sorts it."

"That's not what I meant. How do you know there's not a third party involved?"

"She called her parents and told them that she didn't want to give me custody anymore. Said she was going to hide out with the kids. They pleaded with her but she wouldn't listen. She's a f.u.c.king whack job."

Killian took another sip of the Scotch and stroked his chin. "So she wasn't actually in violation of any court orders until when?"

"I was supposed to get the kids the very next weekend. Everything was b.l.o.o.d.y fine. Normal. And she ups and runs. Crazy."

"Had she given any hint of this before?"

"Nope. And I thought she was over the whole drug thing. I guess not."

Killian nodded.

Coulter stood. "Another Scotch?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

Coulter poured himself another gla.s.s. It almost brimmed over the top.

"We found out she'd disappeared. Stopped using cash machines, only used payphones. Her solicitor doesn't even know where she is. We thought she'd joined a f.u.c.king cult or something. Tom hired detectives and they bugged her parents' phone, started sifting their mail, they got close a couple of times, really close on Saint Patrick's Day, but now she's f.u.c.king gone again."

"There's one thing I'm not getting. She was awarded full custody even after you told them about the heroin?"

Coulter snorted. "There was an incident. A domestic incident. Stupid thing. She didn't bring that up, I didn't bring up the heroin."

"You hit her?" Killian asked.

"No, no. Don't go around saying that. n.o.body was. .h.i.t. Blazing row, shoving match and she slipped and went down the stairs, she wasn't hurt. The x-rays came up zero."

"Did she call the police?"

"Look, I know what you're thinking, but believe me it was nothing. That's not my scene. That's not the kind of man I am. It was a moment of stupidity. There was no call for the peelers. Rachel only remembered it when I started wondering if maybe I should have primary custody. We decided to call it even. But even that's making it a bigger deal than it was. The divorce was basically amicable. And in the last year we've actually been getting along better than we ever have. She seemed happy for me. We were getting on like a house on fire."

"Well, now the law's all on your side. She's in violation of the settlement I a.s.sume."

"Aye, it's practically a police matter."

"Why don't you call the police?"

"I have consulted with them. Tom has. But I don't want the heavy mob to go in just yet. I thought I'd try the professionals before bringing in the b.l.o.o.d.y PSNI or the f.u.c.king Guarda or, G.o.d save us, Interpol. They'll probably spook her into doing something stupid."

Killian nodded. He wasn't the biggest fan of the Guarda or the PSNI either.

"And you've no idea where she might be?"

"I wish I knew. Tom's got a few leads."

"It's always good to have something to work with."

"And I've got proof she's using again. That she's hanging out with pushers and meth addicts. Those little girls. I am seriously worried for their health and well-being. I am at my wit's end."

"That's understandable," Killian said with genuine sympathy. He'd been around serious users - the only subset in his book worse than drunks or gamblers.

"Where was she last?"

"Caravan park outside of Coleraine. f.u.c.king meth-factory caravan park. Can you imagine what the girls have seen? Sue is only five."

"Coleraine? When was this?" Killian asked.

"Couple of days ago."

"They were definitely there?"

"Aye they were. We have a confirmed sighting. I don't know where they are now. Tom's got the dossier, he'll give it to you with your cheque tomorrow."

Coulter finished his Scotch and then suddenly began tearing up.

Killian was a little surprised. All the times he'd seen Coulter on TV, full of outrage, full of bl.u.s.ter. He was the rock of Gibraltar. He had never seen him like this: vulnerable, visibly shaken.

"I'm sorry," Coulter said. "I'm very upset."

"It's okay," Killian said, embarra.s.sed.

"I want those girls here with me. Helena doesn't mind. She's all for it. She'd like Angelika to have big sisters. She knows we're not likely to have any more kids together, you know? This was hard this time. Very hard. Claire is seven years old, she'll forget. I want this to happen, Killian. I want those kids to be happy. We can make a happy family. Obviously we're moving back to Ireland for the birth. But even b.l.o.o.d.y here would be better. Anywheres better away from that junkie and her junkie pals. Jesus f.u.c.king Christ."

Coulter put his head in his hands. He started making little bobbing movements as if he was actually crying and it wasn't a performance, it was real.

Killian was uncomfortable. He looked out the window but he couldn't see anything through the gathering dark.

"I'm really sorry," Coulter said, still with his head in his hands.

Killian stared at his scalp where the hair dye had stained his skin and muttered "It's okay."

Coulter finally looked up. "You see what this is doing to me?"

"I do and I'm very sorry. I, uh, I have a bairn myself. I can imagine your distress, Mr Coulter."

Coulter nodded and finished his gla.s.s.

He stood, stretched.

"Call me Richard. Come downstairs, have dinner with us, let me show you my art."

Killian looked at his watch. "Well, actually Mr Coulter, I have to get back to Hong Kong by twelve and-"

Coulter brushed the tears from his eyes and laughed. "No you don't. I flew you a long way here to get a look at you. Come on, let's go downstairs, tell me about yourself. No, wait here, don't move, let me get Helena."

Helena returned in a flattering off-the-shoulder green evening dress and all three of them took the elevator downstairs to the casino's lobby gallery.