Ronan wondered if she would put on such an act if he told her he was about to drop dead of terminal cancer or something. He suspected she would order him to pull himself together and get on with the bloody search. Funny how you can have identical twins and still prefer one over the other.
‘I’m getting there now, Mam. I’ve been asking around, and—’
‘Useless twat. The rate you’re going, the police will have them first, and then what will we do, eh? How will we get even if they’re locked up in a cell? Useless bloody imbecile.’
Ronan took a tight grip on the seat of his chair, forcing himself to stay put. He so wanted to walk out and never come back again. His mother seemed to be forgetting that he was also related to Joey, that he might want to get his hands on the murderer every bit as much as she did.
‘Anyway, as I was saying, I’ve been asking around. Ended up talking to Biggo.’
‘Who the fuck’s Biggo?’
‘James O’Rourke. He got the name at school because the teacher kept spelling his name with a lower-case o, and one day he lost it and shouted out, “It’s big O, you plank! Big O!” Funny, really, because he’s actually pretty small.’
Myra stared at him and downed a swig of her gin. ‘Fascinating. What’s your point?’
Ronan took a deep breath. ‘The point is that Biggo told me he often hangs out with his mates at a block of flats called Erskine Court.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Nothing much. Just chilling out. But that’s not what—’
‘Waste of space, all of them. Youth of today. Should be shot, the whole lot of ’em.’
‘Yes, Mam. So what Biggo tells me is that he was there yesterday, and the cops turned up. And not just any cops, but that detective who came to see us. He described her down to a tee. She was asking about Joey, about whether Biggo and his mates had seen him there over the weekend.’
Myra finally showed some interest. ‘Joey was there? Why?’
‘That’s what I wanted to know. Turns out Barrington Daley lives in that building.’
‘Barrington Daley? That piece of shit? He’d sell his own grandmother if he thought she was worth anything.’
‘My thoughts exactly. I wouldn’t put it past him to be involved in Joey’s death.’
Myra mulled it over, and then something ugly crept into her expression. ‘Wait a minute. Why has it taken you this long to get to Barrington? He’d have been top of my list.’
‘It didn’t. I phoned him yesterday. He denied all knowledge. Said he hadn’t seen Joey for ages.’
‘You think he was lying?’
‘Either that or it’s one big fucking coincidence that the police are swarming all over his arse.’
‘Don’t fucking swear in this house, Ronan. I brought you up better than that.’ She glared at him suspiciously. ‘When did you hear all this from your friend Biggo?’
‘This morning.’
‘This morning! Then what the hell are you doing here? Why aren’t you at Barrington’s place, putting thumbscrews on him?’
‘I just told you, Mam. The police are there. They’ve been knocking on every door since last night.’
‘Since last night? Well, they’ve got to be done by now. Get your lazy arse over there and talk to that motherf—that scumbag. I want to know why the police suddenly find him so interesting. And before you go . . .’
She put down her glass. Pushed her chair back. Ronan raised his eyebrows as he watched his mother actually get up from her seat and turn towards the sideboard behind her. It was the most active he’d seen her in ages. As she bent to open one of the doors, Ronan noticed a dark patch on her grey trousers. She’d pissed herself at some point and failed to notice.
She came back to the table with a shortbread tin. Slid it across to Ronan.
Ronan was moved by the simple gesture. ‘Thanks, Mam. Could we have some tea with them? I’m gasping here.’
‘Open it, you prick,’ she said.
He reached across and lifted the lid. Inside, something was wrapped in an oily rag. He unfolded it.
It was a semi-automatic handgun. A Colt .45. Huge and heavy and lethal.
‘Mam. What’s this?’
‘What’s it look like? Take it. You’ll need it with a snake like Barrington.’
‘Mam, I can’t wander into a building full of coppers with a cannon like this on me. That’s just asking to be locked up.’
Myra leaned forward. ‘Did you hear what they said about Joey? He was murdered and then chopped into tiny little pieces. Whoever did that to him were psychopaths. They won’t hesitate to do the same to you. Take the gun, Ronan. You’ll be glad you did.’
With reluctance, he picked up the Colt, hefted its weight in his hand.
‘It’s fully loaded,’ Myra said, ‘so be careful with it.’
Ronan stared at the weapon. He wasn’t going to ask how his mother had acquired such a thing, but he was willing to bet it wasn’t the shopping channel.
23
