Joshua’s eyes narrowed as he watched Benjamin Grant leap from the Land Rover. Sitting in an inconspicuous rented Fiat Brava, he could see everything without being noticed. It was a perfect car for the job and had kept him close to the action for the past few hours.
The early part of the evening had been spent in the darkest corners of Belfast, visiting the many locations associated with Liam Casey. The 32 Counties Bar had been discounted as a realistic possibility. It was an obvious front for Liam’s illegal activities and so he would not risk bringing trouble to his one clean door.
Joshua had instead concentrated on the list’s murkier addresses.
The last location Joshua had visited was the Craven Street Repairs and Servicing Centre. An innocuous garage that sat down a backstreet in the South Belfast suburbs. The interior lights – still illuminated past 10 p.m. – suggested that it operated unlikely hours.
Those lights convinced Joshua to examine the area more closely. Parking his car in an adjacent street, he made his way through the shadows and into the grounds of the garage on foot. Once there he located the motion-sensitive security lights on the front wall of the unkempt garage forecourt. A closer look revealed that the device was of a very high standard for such a run-down establishment; he had come to the right place.
Joshua flattened himself against the closest wall, to fool the motion sensors that he was a part of the structure. Safely concealed, he edged his body towards the battered garage doors, never losing contact with the wall. Not even when he reached the doors themselves. Joshua slid his way across their aged, rotting wood. Felt brittle splinters break off and catch on his clothes. His body stayed in contact with the doors, neither he nor they making a sound.
Once at the centre of the doorway Joshua manoeuvred his body for a clear view through the thin and uneven gap where the doors joined. The line of sight was direct but limited. Through the space he could see three men standing, Michael Devlin among them. Liam Casey was nowhere to be seen. All were facing the side. Watching. Listening. Joshua could only assume that it was Liam Casey who was somehow captivating their attention. It was unlikely he was doing so for their entertainment.
Joshua could tell from the movements of the light that there was at least one other person in the lock-up. Or more likely two.
Whatever else was going on inside – whoever else was in there – did not matter. All Joshua needed to know was that he had found the brothers. Satisfied, he slowly retraced his steps, first against the doors and then the wall, and then back to his parked car. Once there, Joshua waited for them to emerge.
He did not have to wait long.
Less than twenty minutes later the dim glow of the interior lighting cast itself across the darkened forecourt. It was followed within seconds by the high beam of the forecourt security light. Joshua held his thin telescopic sight in his hand, ready to catch the details of who emerged. It was not needed. The group of five men who climbed into the waiting Land Rover parked on the forecourt were plainly the lock-up’s full complement.
Joshua slid himself down into his seat. The brothers’ vehicle had to pass him on route to the main road into Belfast and so Joshua needed to be concealed. Once the Land Rover had passed he waited to allow for a respectable but manageable following distance. The brothers deserved more respect than Joshua would usually allow, and he would not forget that the driver was probably experienced in avoiding both surveillance and pursuit.
The journey to Grant’s home took around five minutes. Joshua parked a safe distance from the property, on a long street that led to a small, run-down terraced house. From here he observed Grant’s near leap from a rear passenger’s door.
As the Land Rover sped away, Joshua mentally noted every detail. Stanton would want them all. He watched Grant run along his garden path before shifting into first gear and – when the vehicle was far enough ahead – he pulled back into the road and continued to follow.
As he passed Grant’s house Joshua took note of the door number, invisible from where he had parked. The detail memorised, he returned his eyes to the road and, in doing so, he almost missed the smooth, swift movement on the nearside pavement.
Almost.
Joshua’s peripheral vision was just one of the factors that made him so good at his job. Without it he might have overlooked the same sight that had delayed him just days ago. The sight of a stone-faced Joe Dempsey, stalking his prey.
‘Shit!’
Joshua weaved through traffic as he watched Dempsey, now in his rear-view mirror. It was no surprise to him to see Dempsey turn from the pavement, onto the path that led to Grant’s front door. If Liam Casey could find whatever had led them to Grant, Dempsey could sure as hell do the same.
‘Shit!’
Joshua’s mind was suddenly torn between two choices. He could continue after Devlin and Casey, as Stanton had instructed. Or he could go back and deal with the threat posed by Dempsey while the man didn’t expect it.
The first choice meant following orders. But the second could save his life.
Ordinarily there would be no dilemma. Stanton would be ignored. The brothers would be abandoned. Dempsey would be dead. But these were not normal circumstances. With Joshua’s family at risk, he did something unnatural.
He asked for permission.
‘What can I do for you, Sergeant?’ Stanton answered on the second ring. He always did.
‘Guidance,’ Joshua replied, still keeping pace with the speeding Land Rover. ‘I’m following Devlin and Casey. I’ve just seen them interrogate a guy and then watched them bring him home. Which means he must have told them everything or else I doubt he’d be walking. Now they’re heading somewhere else and I’m following like you said. But there’s a problem.’
‘What problem?’
‘The man they were questioning, he’s about to get a visit from Joe Dempsey. So what do I do? Follow them or go back and deal with Dempsey? I need to know. Now!’
‘Calm down, Sergeant, there’s no need to become agitated.’ Stanton’s voice was as flat as always. ‘Describe the person they were interrogating.’
‘Do we have time for this?’
‘Yes, Sergeant, we do. Describe him.’
‘He was young. Early twenties. Looked like a bookworm. I don’t know other than that. Does that help?’
‘It does. I think I know who it is. I want you to stay with Michael Devlin. We don’t know what he and his brother have found out so it’s important we keep close.’
‘But what about Dempsey? What about what this guy tells him? We have to keep a lid on that too.’
‘We do, Sergeant, and I will. You’re not the only asset I have in play. Now, please, stay with them and leave Joe Dempsey to me.’
Dempsey moved along the pavement at speed. Benjamin Grant was in his sights. The young academic moved fast along the path into his house, closing the door behind him.
There are times when it helps to give notice of your arrival. There are times when it does not. Grant was coming home with fresh wounds from a determined interrogation. Dempsey saw these details and knew that, tonight, the second approach was best.
Dempsey increased his speed as he turned onto Grant’s path. It grew until he hit the front door, just moments after it had closed. Hard and fast, the force took the heavy wooden structure off of its frame and hinges.
Grant had got no further than his hallway.
Dempsey did not lose a step of pace. He caught up with Grant and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck before he had a chance to run.
‘I want to know everything about Eamon McGale.’ Dempsey’s voice carried no hint of compromise. ‘And I want to know what you told Michael Devlin.’
‘I, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Grant’s legs buckled beneath him. ‘I don’t know a Michael Devlin.’
‘Don’t lie to me! What did you tell him?’
‘OK, OK.’
Grant offered no resistance at all further. The night had destroyed his resolve.
‘I told them everything.’
Dempsey moved his face closer. So that Grant could feel the heat of his breath as he spoke.
‘Then it’s good you’re used to the story, because now you’re going to tell it to me.’