She brought the dishes to the sink where pots were already soaking. "And what about after that? They'll come back with more and more. I don't want Ellen to see that. And I don't want you to get hurt."

"I won't," he said. He joined Marie at the sink, took a towel, and began drying dishes as she handed them over. "I'm going to take care of it. In a few days, it'll be sorted."

"How?"

"Don't worry about that," he said. "I'm going to take care of it, that's all you need to know. You and Ellen won't have to worry any more."

She held on to a plate as he went to take it from her. "What does that mean?"

He smiled at her. It felt easy and honest on his lips. "You won't have to worry. That's all."

Marie returned his smile, but Fegan glimpsed something hard and jagged in it as she turned away.

Marie told Fegan about Jack Lennon, how the handsome policeman had asked her out as she packed her Dictaphone away. The story had been about Catholics in the police service at a time of reform. Jack had been a good interview, open and eloquent. Charming, even. He blushed when Marie asked if Jack Lennon was really a John.

Within six days, Marie was in love.

She had kept it secret at first. Her family's disapproval of her working for a Unionist newspaper had been made clear. Her father had never spoken about his involvement in the conflict, but she knew her Uncle Michael was up to his neck in it. Everywhere she went, people knew who she was, and who she shared her blood with. Her friends were from that community, too, and all but a few drifted away because of her job. When she could keep Jack Lennon secret no longer, they deserted her as quickly as everyone else she'd grown up with.

At the age of thirty-one, Marie McKenna found herself isolated, cut off from her old life. But she had Jack, and that was enough. Vague threats would surface now and then, Mass cards with bullets in the post, but the couple were strong. They could survive it.

Two years after meeting him, just a few weeks before the day she realised her period was late, Marie smelt perfume on him. By now, Jack was working CID, out of uniform. He said it was a female colleague, one who had shown no interest in him in the past. Seeing him in a solid relationship with another woman changed that. Day after day she had been throwing herself at him, often physically, but he had resisted her. He always had been, and always would be, faithful.

Jack Lennon was a charming and persuasive man. Marie believed every word he said. In retrospect, she imagined she saw him flinch when she told him she might be pregnant. She couldn't be sure of it, but that was immaterial in the long run. All she could be sure of was arriving home on a drizzly evening two months later and finding their flat empty.

Fegan listened to Marie as she sat next to him on her sofa. Her face showed no emotion as she spoke.

"Do you want to know the really sad thing?" she asked. She didn't wait for an answer. "A week after he left me for her, she dumped him." Marie gave a brittle laugh. "She wanted what she couldn't have, and when she could have it, she didn't want it any more. So much damage, just on a whim. Anyway, he phoned me, begging to come back. I told him to shove it."

"Good," Fegan said. "He sounds like an arsehole."

Ellen looked up from her coloring. "You said a bad word."

"Sorry," Fegan said.

Ellen looked to her mother. "Mummy, can I watch a DVD?"

"It's nearly bedtime, sweetheart," Marie said.

"Can I just watch the start of it?" Ellen implored.

Marie sat forward on the couch and gave it her consideration. "All right, but no arguing when I say it's bedtime, right?"

"Right." Ellen grinned and went to a bookcase laden with paper-backs, CDs and DVDs. She picked a brightly colored case, opened it, and carefully removed the disc.

"Watch this," Marie whispered. "She's an expert."

Ellen went to the player underneath the television, pressed a button to open its tray, and placed the disc at its center, adjusting it with her tiny fingertips. She turned on the television, found the right channel, and bounced over to the sofa. There was just enough room between Fegan and Marie for her to wriggle into. Fegan watched as Ellen manipulated the remote control until the film began to play.

"You're very clever," he said.

Ellen looked up at him, brought her finger to her lips - shush - and pointed to the television. Fegan cleared his throat and did as he was told. He caught Marie's smile from the corner of his eye.

Soon, Fegan knew nothing but the movie. It was about an orange and white fish who searched a big blue ocean for his son. Sometimes he felt Ellen's body jerk and rattle with laughter beside him, and he did the same. They felt strange, these spasms, rippling up from his belly to burst in his mouth. The moving images made shadows dance around the room, but they concealed nothing but Marie's scattered possessions.

Ellen's bedtime came and went with no protest from her mother, but as the film ended, Marie patted her knee and said, "Okay, missy, you got away with that one, but now it's really time for bed."

Ellen slumped forward, despondent. "Do I have to?"

"Yep, it's nearly half-nine and you were supposed to be in bed an hour ago. It's . . ." Marie paused as if remembering something she would rather have forgotten. "It's dark outside."

Fegan raised himself from the sofa. He looked to the curtained window, then back to Marie. She stood, lifting Ellen, and placed her upright on the floor.

"Go and get your jammies on," she said. "Then we'll get your teeth brushed."

Ellen trudged to one of the doors beyond the kitchenette at the back of the house. She turned in the doorway, waved, and called, "Night-night, Gerry."

"Night-night," he said, feeling a little pang of sadness to see her go. He looked down to Marie, who stood with her hands in the hip pockets of her jeans.

"So, here we are," she said.

"Yeah," Fegan said. He was unable to hold her gaze and he looked away.

She cleared her throat and sniffed. "Listen, I'm pretty tired, too. I didn't sleep well last night. I'll, uh . . . I'll see to Ellen, then take myself to bed. Will you be all right here?"

"Yeah," Fegan said. "When they come I'll be ready for them."

"Okay," Marie said. She stepped away, paused, and then came back to him. Standing on tiptoe, she placed a kiss on his cheek and smiled. "I'd say you were a good man, but I'm a terrible judge of character."

Fegan watched her leave the room as the warmth of her lips on his cheek gave way to the slightest chill of moisture.

Once the flat was quiet, he circled the room, switching off lights. Blackness owned him until he opened the curtains. The street light outside coated the room in a dim orange. He sat down at the table by the window and waited.

Occasionally cars moved along the street outside, their headlights illuminating the old houses, making their facades seem to turn and watch the travellers go by.

Now and then, people would pass the window, oblivious to Fegan's vigil. Sometimes they were couples, young men and women clinging to each other, moving as one. The sight of them opened paths in his mind, paths he did not want to follow. He would only find regret and self-pity there.

Instead, he thought about the chill of moisture on his cheek. He brought his fingertips to that place, remembering the warmth before the cold.

Almost three hours passed before the chill crept to his center, a tingling began in his temples, and the shadows around him came to life.

25.

Eddie Coyle drove in silence. Campbell had greeted him with a friendly hello when he got into the car a few minutes before, but Coyle had not replied. Now they travelled along the Malone Road, approaching the Wellington Park Hotel and the right turn into Eglantine Avenue just beyond.

"So, you're going to do the business, then?" Campbell asked.

Coyle stared ahead. The swelling over his eye had lessened, but the gauze pad on his brow carried an angry red rose.

"I'll just stay in the car and let you get on with it, will I?"

Coyle's mouth twisted. "Shut the fuck up, you cunt," he said. "You've no call to be here. There's plenty of boys could have come with me. Fuck, I'd sooner do it on my own than have to listen to you."

"Don't blame me if McGinty doesn't trust you to do it right," Campbell said.

His body leaned forward as Coyle stood on the brake pedal.

"You what?"

"McGinty thought you might make a balls of it, so he told me to go along," Campbell said. "Believe me, I've got better things to do than put the frighteners on women and wee girls, but I do what I'm told. Now, get moving before the cops come along and wonder why we're sitting in the middle of the Malone Road. The turn's just there."

"I know where the fucking turn is," Coyle said as he gunned the accelerator. He pulled hard on the steering wheel, forcing oncoming traffic to brake. He let the engine drop to a low rumble as they moved slowly along Eglantine Avenue. The Vauxhall Vectra puttered quietly until they reached the woman's place. The flat was in darkness, but her car was parked outside.

Coyle reached behind Campbell's seat, into the foot well, and retrieved two halves of brick. This sort of thing happened all the time in Belfast. The cops called it 'low-level intimidation'. It was just a way for paramilitaries of all shades to keep the locals in line, nothing special, nothing to get excited about. Unless you were on the receiving end, of course. Coyle opened the door, and went to climb out.

"Careful you don't miss," Campbell said.

"Aw, fuck off," Coyle said. He walked around the front of the car, a half-brick in each hand. He cried out, almost dropping them, when Gerry Fegan emerged from the shadows of the small garden to block his path.

"Leave her alone," Fegan said. Campbell could just hear his calm voice above the engine's idling.

"What are you doing here?" Coyle asked.

"I said leave her alone." Fegan took two steps closer to Coyle, the car's headlights glinting in his hard eyes.

Coyle turned to look back at Campbell. Campbell eased himself out of the car.

"Don't look at him, look at me," Fegan said. "Leave her alone. Get out of here and don't come back."

Campbell thought quickly. He had no gun with him; carrying one on an errand like this was too risky. If the cops stopped them, a brick was easier to explain than a loaded weapon. He wondered if Fegan was armed. Probably not, he thought. Fegan knew the risks just as well as he did.

But then again, Fegan was crazy.

"Get out of the way, Gerry," Coyle said. "This has nothing to do with you."

"One last time," Fegan said, his face impassive. "Leave her alone. Go away and don't come back."

Campbell watched with grim fascination. A man like Coyle couldn't hope to take a man like Fegan. Fegan would rip him to pieces. Christ, if Fegan had been in shape, Campbell wasn't sure he could have taken him, either. Even now, it wasn't a certainty. Crazy can make up for a lot. He waited, part of him relishing the idea of seeing Coyle taken apart.

Coyle raised a half-brick above his head. His voice was shrill. "I mean it, Gerry. Fuck off before I do you one."

Campbell saw shapes and movements at some of the windows. The police had probably been called already. The Lisburn Road station was barely half a mile away. They'd be here in minutes. "Fuck," he said, stepping towards Coyle. "Leave it, Eddie."

"You fuck off, too," Coyle said. "I was sent here to do a job, and I'm going to do it."

"Don't, Eddie. He'll break you in two."

Fegan stood silent, his eyes locked on Coyle.

"Eddie, come on."

Coyle brought the piece of brick down in a clumsy arc, and Fegan caught his wrist effortlessly. He kicked Coyle's legs from under him, and took the brick from his hand.

Fegan drew his arm back, the brick held tight in his fist, ready to drive it into Coyle's upturned face. "Get out of here or I'll fucking kill you."

Coyle scrambled backwards, and Fegan turned to Campbell. Campbell's gut chilled when he saw Fegan's eyes. The madman walked towards him and then stopped, lifting his hands up to his temples.

"Not now," he said. "Not here."

"What?" Campbell said.

"No!" Fegan stared at something to Campbell's left. "There'll be another time. I can't do it here. Not with witnesses."

"Jesus Christ," Campbell said, backing towards the car.

"How can I do it here?" Now Fegan's eyes moved to Campbell's right. "If I do it here I'll never be able to finish it."

"Finish what, Gerry?" Campbell took a tentative step forward. "Who are you talking to?"

Fegan's eyes moved from place to place, focused on something at eye level that only he could see. "There'll be another time. I swear."

Before Campbell could scream at him to stop, Coyle swung at Fegan from behind. Fegan ducked, but not quickly enough, and the second piece of brick glanced off his temple. He moved with the lithe speed of a predator, turning to seize Coyle's forearm before the other could react. Fegan swiped his piece of brick across Coyle's face, rocking his head back. He did it again and Campbell heard a sickening crunch. Coyle's legs crumpled beneath him and Fegan swung twice more, sending blood across the pavement.

The roar of an engine pulled Campbell's eyes to the Lisburn Road end of the street. A police Land Rover came barrelling around the corner. He hesitated for just a second, then turned and ran for the Malone Road.

He cut across it, dodging traffic, and ducked into Cloreen Park. He didn't stop running until he was on the Stranmillis Road. He walked purposefully to the warren of streets around Queen's University and wound through them until he reached the church on University Street. He crossed the road, opened the door to his building, trotted up two flights of stairs, and let himself into his flat. In the darkness he collapsed onto the couch, adrenalin sending wave after wave of tremors through his limbs.

"Fuck," he said to the empty room.

26.

Fegan's eyes felt dry and heavy as he sat in his cell. It had been a long night. They'd taken him to the City Hospital on the Lisburn Road to have the abrasion on his temple examined, and the doctor had insisted on a scan. He had to sit on a bed in the Accident and Emergency ward, guarded by two police officers, until the results came back. Coyle had been in the hospital somewhere, too, but Fegan imagined he would have a longer stay.

Now Fegan sat on a thin mattress, his belt and shoelaces removed, waiting for them to let him go. Even if Coyle was in any state to be questioned, he would just clam up. Fegan was sure of that. McGinty would want Fegan away from the cops, out in the open, where he could be gotten to. Besides, despite what the party said in public, it would be considered bad form for Coyle to talk to the cops. That would place him only one step above a common tout. And the party dealt harshly with touts.

Shadows moved along the walls, sometimes taking shape, sometimes fading to nothing. Fegan's temples buzzed. The chill pulsed at his center.