20

“He didn’t see me,” Campbell said. He held the phone between his shoulder and his ear while he ate cold beans from a tin. He had slipped out of the park and back to his flat as soon as Fegan started peering in his direction. It was only a few minutes’ walk from Botanic Gardens to his flat on University Street, just off Botanic Avenue.

“Have you reported back to McGinty yet?” the handler asked.

“No, I’ll do that next.”

“What’ll you tell him?”

“The truth. I don’t think Fegan told her to get out. She argued with him for a minute, but they looked like they parted on friendly terms. Didn’t look much like a threat to me.”

Campbell put the tin on the windowsill and lifted a glass of milk. He took a cool swallow as he watched the students wander along the street below. Some swigged from beer cans as they walked, probably on their way to one of the student haunts like The Bot or Lavery’s. They’d wander back in the early hours of the morning, gangs of them singing and shouting, no concern for the people who needed their sleep.

“And what do you think McGinty will do about it? Will he take Fegan out?” The handler sounded hopeful.

“I doubt it,” Campbell said. “Not yet, anyway. He’s still playing the angle that the cops got Caffola. He won’t want to do anything to distract the media from that.”

“What, then?”

“He’ll probably send one of his heavies to put the woman out.”

“Not her, I don’t care about her. What’ll he do about Fegan?”

“I’m not sure,” Campbell said. “He might let it go for now, but it’s only a matter of time. McGinty doesn’t let anyone cross him and get away with it. He’ll make Fegan pay sooner or later.”

“See if you can make it sooner, there’s a good lad,” the handler said. “We’ve got the Northern Ireland Office, the Chief Constable and the Minister of State breathing down our necks. They want it over before any more damage is done. If we can prove it was Fegan who did Caffola, not the police, so much the better.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Campbell said. He hung up and tossed the phone onto the sofa. He pulled the other phone from his pocket and dialled McGinty’s private number. The politician answered, and Campbell told him what he’d seen.

“Gerry will have to be dealt with,” McGinty said, “But not just yet. We’ll leave it until after Vincie’s funeral.”

“What about the woman?” Campbell asked.

“Let me worry about that,” McGinty said.