10

The air was cold and raw, but there was no wind. Mickey shut the door softly and stuck to the shadows so Byrne couldn’t see him from the dining-room window.

No one was outside. He was alone.

The house sat on the street corner. Mickey turned, stepping up on to the sidewalk, and looked at the front of the house. The same rotting waist-high redwood picket fence was here, although Byrne had nailed a pair of neon-yellow plastic signs made of reflective material to the front pickets: NO SOLICITING NO LOITERING NO TRESPASSING ALL VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED.

Mickey flipped up the latch for the gate and was about to open it when he heard a voice behind him say, ‘Stop.’

Mickey flinched, face flushed with guilt and anxiety at having been caught. He turned and saw Darby McCormick step out from the shadow of an oak tree on the sidewalk. She walked towards him, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her black leather jacket, puffs of steam blowing around her hard-set face.

‘What are you doing here?’ Darby asked. She sounded more concerned than angry, and he was sure he heard some sympathy in her tone.

He also felt a wave of relief. The business card she had given him earlier said she was a forensic consultant. She wasn’t a cop any more. He was safe.

‘You’re violating the terms of your probation,’ Darby said, keeping her voice low. ‘If you don’t turn around and leave –’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘You need to get out of here, Mickey, right now.’

‘You’re here to talk to him, aren’t you?’

‘Do you want to go to jail?’

‘Answer my question.’

‘You actually think he’s going to talk to you?’ Darby asked, Mickey noticing the way she glanced down the road, as if someone were hidden there in the dark, watching. ‘That he’s going to invite you in for a sit-down?’

‘I could say the same thing to you.’ He shifted his stance and leaned closer, holding her gaze when he said, ‘You wouldn’t have come here unless you’d found out something. Something you can use against him.’

‘Mickey –’

‘Tell me what it is.’

‘I haven’t found anything. I –’

‘Then why are you here? And why are you following me?’

‘I don’t have time for this. Leave. I’ll fill you in tomorrow, okay?’

‘You’re not a cop any more. You don’t get to order me around.’

Darby took out her phone.

Mickey felt like she’d spat in his face. ‘You’re going to rat me out?’

‘Mickey –’

‘This is my daughter we’re talking about. He hasn’t got much time left – he may die tonight for all I know, and I have a right to know if –’

‘You need to leave. Now. If you don’t, I’ll have someone come here and take you away.’

Anger exploded inside his head. His eyes burned and his limbs shook with rage. ‘They were right about you, what they said. You are a rat.’

She flinched at the last word. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he had crossed a line – knew too that what he’d just said wasn’t entirely true. She had exposed crooked cops and crooked politicians, one of them the Boston Police Commissioner, the first woman who’d ever held the job, for getting in bed with a well-known Irish gangster Sean had worked for once upon a time. She had stood up and done the right thing, and she’d lost her job because of it.

Her voice was calm when she spoke. ‘You’re a good man, Mickey. I’ve always respected you, and I can’t even begin to explain how truly sorry I am for your situation. And you probably won’t believe me when I say this, but I’m on your side, and I’m trying to protect you. Which is why I’m going to ask you one last time to leave. I won’t ask you again.’

Mickey looked away from her, at the dimly lit windows of the house, and felt as though every inch of his skin were wrapped in barbed wire.

Get arrested and risk going to jail, or trust her to do whatever job she’s come here to do?

Darby’s gaze dropped to her phone. She began to dial. Mickey turned around, his heart tearing in half, and when he took that first step, heading back to his truck, he was so light-headed he thought he might pass out.