'This time it's personal,' I said.

He paused for a moment and then said, 'You can call me Professor. Incidentally, how did you get this number?'

'Ah, now,' I said.

He said, 'Listen, Dan, I'm just sitting down for dinner, and I make a point of trying to protect family time, it's rare enough. So what can I do for you?'

'Well, Peter, it has to do with the Miller brothers buying influence in the Assembly, mostly through the blackmail of your wife.'

'My . . .? Hold on one second.' He must have held the phone against his chest, because the sound became muffled. I could just about make out him saying: 'Darling, I'm just going to take this in the other room.'

A few moments later I heard a door close, the squeak of someone sitting down in a leather chair and then a colder, harder voice, but still the Professor's, saying: 'Now just you listen to me. I don't know how you got this number or what it is you're after, but I am a government minister, I can make so much trouble for you that-'

'Cut the crap, Pete.'

Pause for intake of breath.

'How dare . . .!'

'Threepio, I hear you, and I say bollocks. And also I say: shut your fucking mouth and listen to me, because I can bring you both down in a fucking instant.' Silence. 'Now, you know exactly who I am, I wrote enough about you back in the day. I believe in your youth you even had a real actual cross burnt on my front lawn. But we've all grown up a lot since then. So listen to me. You may know none of this or all of this, I don't really care, it's how you react that matters to me. Your wife is being blackmailed by the Millers. She has a cocaine habit. She owes them a fortune. Until now she's been paying the interest by influencing you and the rest of your cronies in the Assembly to go easy on or give a helping hand to the Millers' many and varied business interests. But God love her, she's trying to pay it off, that's why she's building that house in your back yard.'

'You . . . you . . . you . . . Is this some kind of a sick joke?'

'Yes.'

'What?'

'No, of course it isn't. Professor, your wife's a cokehead, what do you say?'

'My, my, my . . . wife . . .'

'Takes it up the nose, yes. Professor, I have it all documented and ready for release to the media tomorrow. People will love this.'

There was a long pause. And then: 'Unless, Mr Starkey?'

'That's more like it,' I said.

I told him what I wanted.

He listened patiently. At the end of it he said, his voice now back to its confident best: 'It strikes me, Mr Starkey, that if anyone is doing any blackmailing, then it is you. You are the one now seeking to control the actions and policies of not only a government minister, but the entire government itself.'

It was a fair point. In one day I'd gone from being a private eye in denial, with no customers, to de facto brigadier general of the Ulster Volunteer Force and now the unelected leader of the Northern Ireland Assembly. You could get used to power. Power corrupts, but absolute power must be wonderful.

I said, 'Dress it up how you like, Professor, but at the end of the day, all I'm trying to do is save a boy's life.'

'Mr Starkey, I have worked all my life for this country, one way or another. I have always felt that the Good Lord was at my side, guiding me. When I made mistakes, He forgave me and pointed me in the right direction. I am ashamed of nothing in my past. But times change, and the concerns that most agitate a young man do not seem so pressing in middle age. I am in a better place now, and I believe that is reflected in the respect I command for the work that I do. Politics is all about compromise, but perhaps we have compromised too much. Much as I hate to say it, this may be just exactly what we've needed, a wake-up call. Noon tomorrow, you say? Mr Starkey?' He cleared his throat. 'Mr Starkey?'

'Sorry, I drifted off during your speech. Yes noon tomorrow will do nicely.'

He let out the smallest, saddest laugh. 'Noon,' he repeated. 'By God, Starkey, if he's not even your kin, this Bobby Murray must be some special boy.'

'You would think that,' I said, 'but actually, he's a bit of a shit.'

46.

Patricia was at the kitchen table, having dinner with Bobby. She said, 'You're late.'

'I've been busy saving Ulster.'

I took a seat. I nodded at the boy. 'Good day?' He shrugged. 'How's Joe?'

'All right.'

Trish got up and pushed the timer on the microwave. While she waited, she came up behind me and put her hands on my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. Then she said: 'You've washed your hair.'

'Yes, I have.'

'I mean, very recently.'

'Yes, indeed I have.'

'You never do that.'

'I thought I'd have a shower before I came to see you. Is that a crime?'

Her eyes narrowed. The microwave pinged. She turned to get my food. As she set the plate down before me, Bobby said, 'Did you speak to the Millers?'

'Yes. I told Patricia. Didn't you tell him?'

'I told him,' said Trish.

'I want to hear it from you. She hardly said anything.'

'I'm not she,' said Trish.

'There's nothing to tell,' I said. 'We had a full and frank exchange of views. We're working something out.'

'For definite?'

'I'll know tomorrow.'

'What are they like?'

'You've never met them?' Bobby shook his head. 'Depressingly ordinary. But all the scarier for it.'

'You were scared?'

'Apprehensive.'

'When can I go home?'

'Bobby, I'm not sure that home home is an option. One of your relatives, maybe.'

'Okay.' He nodded to himself. 'Uncle Sidney. He's less of a dick than the others. I'll maybe see him at the funeral.'

My eyes darted to Trish, and he noticed it.

'What?'

'Nothing,' I said.

'It's something. I'm going. They can't stop me going to my own mother's funeral. You can't either. I don't give a fuck who sees me. They wouldn't dare try anything there. I'm going. I'm bloody going.'

'Bobby,' said Trish.

'If I have to go in disguise or something, then I can do that. Just get me there. When is it?'

d'Yesterday,' I said.

He looked absolutely stunned.

'You're fuckin' jokin'.'

'No,' I said.

'It wasn't safe for you to go,' said Trish. 'Bobby . . .' She put her hand on his. He jerked it away and jumped up. His chair toppled backwards.

'Are you fuckin' serious?'

'Bobby,' said Trish, 'please, calm down. I know it's heartbreaking, but it just wasn't an option.'

'It just wasn't an option,' he mimicked. 'Do you think I care about that? I shoulda fuckin' been there!'

'I know that, son, but-'

'I'm not your fuckin' son! How could you do that to me? I'm sitting here playin' fuckin Xbox and they're stickin' my ma in the ground?'

'Cremated,' I said.

'Jesus Christ!'

'We didn't hear till late on, Bobby,' I said. 'Remember, nobody knows where you are.'

'I should have been there!'

'Bobby,' I said, 'they didn't want you there.'

'What the fuck are you talking about?'

He looked mad, and cornered, and distraught, all in one.

'It wasn't just about keeping you safe,' said Patricia. 'It was your relatives. They were concerned for their own safety.'

His eyes squeezed up. 'No, they . . .'

'Bobby,' I said, 'the Millers would have had people there watching for you; if you'd shown, there could have been a bloodbath. They thought it better . . .'

'It was my mum!'

Trish reached down and righted the chair. 'Please.'

He stared at it. He was trying desperately hard not to cry.

'I should have been there,' he said.

'Yes, you should,' said Trish. 'And maybe after this all dies down, you can have another service. In the meantime, we'll get the ashes; perhaps we can go and scatter them somewhere.'

'Yes,' I said. 'Anywhere you want, apart from the Shankill.'

She gave me a look.

Bobby was shaking his head. Trish tried to reach out to him again, but he brushed her away and started for the door.

'Bobby, please . . . where are you going?' Trish asked.

'What the fuck do you care? You two? Youse are both just a bunch of fuckers.'

He clumped up the stairs. A few moments later he slammed his bedroom door.

Trish said: 'He may have a point.'

She got us drinks.

She said, 'I could only tell him what you told me, but he's right, that wasn't the half of it, was it? What else happened today?'

'Trish, I'm not like you, I can't remember every word of every conversation I've ever had. I gave you the concise version because that's all I retain.'

I hadn't told her about Paddy Barr, or Derek Beattie, or DI Springer and the teeth, I hadn't mentioned that Maxi was no longer protecting me or that I was now leader of the UVF and held sway over our government. There was no need to trouble her with such detail. It didn't matter anyway, because she had bigger fish to fry.

'Who is she?'