Part 3 (2/2)

*Okay, just a second.'

She called out. William from your office. Too refined to shout. I heard hurried footsteps on bare floorboards. They would be French polished. There'd be lots of expensive antiques and tea in china cups. I sipped my beer.

*Who is this?'

*It's Dan Starkey.'

His voice dropped. *Oh. h.e.l.lo,' he said flatly, then followed it quickly with a chirpy, *William. Yes. Indeed. What's up?'

*Patricia had a baby boy last night.'

He gulped. *Mmm-hmm, yes, I phoned the hospital,' he whispered, then hurriedly added, louder: *Yes, I know the file. Is it okay?'

*It was touch and go for a while, but I think he's okay now.'

*Good!' he boomed. *I was hoping to get a good look at it earlier, but I've been tied up.'

*I think Patricia was expecting a visit today.'

*Mmmm. Yes. Indeed. Like I say. I've been exceptionally busy.'

*Listen. The little b.a.s.t.a.r.d's half yours, now get off your a.r.s.e and go and see him.'

*It's been difficult to get away,' Tony hissed. *I am married.'

*Yes, I know you're f.u.c.king married. So was I.'

*I didn't like to intrude.'

*If you hadn't intruded in her f.u.c.king v.a.g.i.n.a in the first place you wouldn't be in this situation, would you?'

Tony began some serious coughing. I held the receiver away from my ear for half a minute.

*Well,' he said eventually, loud again, *I understood the file was closed. Obviously there are some loose ends that need tidying up.'

*You're a smarmy b.a.s.t.a.r.d, aren't you?'

*Obviously.'

*You owe her. You said all along you wanted to look after the child. You have a funny way of showing it.'

*Yes. Like I say, I've been tied up with those other files. But I'll certainly give that one my full attention tomorrow. It's good of you to take the trouble to call me at home. Yes. Indeed. See you soon then, William.'

*Aye,' I said and put the phone down.

I went to get another beer. Three, in fact. I needed another football.

Wrathlin sits about thirty miles off the north-west coast. It has a population of about a thousand, or had the last time I'd done any research on it: that was for a primary school composition. It's famous for two things, Robert the Bruce's cave, where he had an encounter with a spider, and the fact that Marconi, or at least some of his henchmen, carried out some of their earliest wireless experiments there. Oh yeah a and I remembered something fairly recently about Virgin boss Richard Branson doing one of his famous balloon crash landings there a few years back and the locals bartering a new community centre or something out of him in return for their invaluable help.

Not much.

Next morning, a Sat.u.r.day, I wandered into the News Letter and sought out Mark Gale. Mark and I had trained together as reporters way back in the mists of time before the Pistols broke up.

He saw me crossing the newsroom. He sat back from his computer and stretched. He scratched idly at his paunch. Then he smiled at me.

*Dan, just the man. Perhaps you could answer a question for me.'

*Sure.'

*Who was Sam Andreas and why was it his fault?'

*I have no idea.'

*I thought not.'

I placed my thumbs on the edge of his desk and bent in over his computer. *In that case,' I said, *perhaps you could tell me who Sam Quinton was and why they hated every inch of him?'

*I have no idea.'

*I thought not.'

He reached for his cigarettes. Berkeley Mild. A healthier death. *Maybe we could settle this by you telling me who Sam Francisco was and why they were going to him?'

I shook my head. He shook his.

*Busy?' I asked.

*Nah, you joking?' He offered me a cigarette. I refused. He lit one up. *Ever since that b.l.o.o.d.y truce there's been nothing doing. The sooner they get back to blowing each other up the better. If you're looking for a s.h.i.+ft you better give the Provos a call and demand a resumption of the campaign.'

I sat on the edge of his desk. The computer system the News Letter had recently installed was supposed to have created a paper-free environment and thus help conservation. Mark hated conservation. He liked things made with real trees. Rare ones, preferably. His desk had enough paper piled on it to reconst.i.tute a small forest.

*Not interested in work, Mark. Just wanted to pick your brains. Do you fancy a pint?'

He shook his head mournfully. *Off it for Lent.'

*Seriously? I thought Lent finished . . .'

*The wife insists.'

*Jesus. How the mighty have fallen.'

*Tell me all about it,' he said miserably. *So. Pick away.'

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