‘What?’ asked Alberto, looking at her face. ‘What is it?’
‘Well, it’s just… why Orla?’ Annie was frowning. ‘Why would Redmond have left it to her to break into the house – assuming this red-headed man is Redmond. It doesn’t make sense. Orla was never one to actively participate in the hard game.’
‘She was always there to yank Redmond’s choke-chain when he got out of hand,’ said Max thoughtfully.
‘That’s it! Exactly,’ agreed Annie. She glanced between the two men. ‘And there’s something else…’
‘Go on,’ said Max.
‘You knew Redmond,’ she said to him. ‘Planting a car bomb – does that strike you as something Redmond would do, in person? He was always…’
‘I met Redmond too,’ said Alberto. ‘He didn’t seem the hands-on type.’
Annie had a vision of Redmond: the sharp Savile Row suits, the black coat, the black leather gloves; his pale, still face that looked as if it had been carved from ivory; his dark red hair clipped sternly into submission, and those stunning, coldly staring green eyes that seemed to lance straight through to your innermost heart. She felt a shiver run through her.
‘Maybe he’s changed,’ said Max, watching her face. ‘Maybe he don’t have the manpower he once had, maybe now he has to dirty his hands.’
Annie nodded slowly. Max could be right. The police said the man they were looking for was bulky and red-haired. Redmond had never been bulky. But maybe, in his middle years, he’d gained weight. Who knew? ‘The police said Semtex was used in the car.’
‘Suggesting what? IRA?’
‘The Delaneys were heading to Ireland when their plane vanished,’ said Alberto, thinking aloud. ‘If they survived, maybe they became involved in the Irish Troubles. Don’t you think that’s possible?’
‘Anything’s possible,’ said Max. He looked at Annie. ‘You’ve warned Ruthie? And Kath and the kids?’
‘Of course.’ And here they were again, plunging the whole family into crisis, forcing them to scatter. ‘Junior’s being bullish about it, I don’t think he’ll go,’ she said.
‘Your cousin… Kath…?’ asked Alberto.
Annie nodded.
‘And Molly, her daughter. They’ve gone?’
‘Kath and Molly have made themselves scarce, even if Junior won’t,’ she said. ‘And Ruthie’s already gone.’
‘So our next move is…?’ asked Alberto.
‘You’re the fucking Golden Boy. No ideas?’ sneered Max.
Alberto stared at Max. Then he smiled, very slightly. ‘Not one,’ he said. ‘I’ll put the word out, see what I can rustle up.’
Annie felt comforted by that. She knew what a word from Alberto involved. The request for information would be passed from mouth to mouth in bars, restaurants, discos, working men’s clubs, at Salvation Army hostels, on taxi ranks in high streets and outside airports; working girls shivering on the streets would pass it on to doormen; truckers in greasy spoon cafés would be notified. Everyone would be keeping an eye out, searching for the information, anticipating a rich pay-off if they passed on anything valuable.