‘Goodbye, comrade. Enjoy what’s left of your life. Oh, and remember, I will be watching!’

He threw the little black object. Cormac fell to his knees to catch it.

The door slammed.

Cormac looked at his watch.

It told him he had twenty-four hours to live.

35

He called Annie again. Her phone was switched off. He called Tom and after some casual small talk asked him if he knew where Maggie and Jack were. Tom said they sometimes took off for trips like this. They could be anywhere in Ireland, Their favourite destinations were Donegal, if it was a short trip, and Mayo for longer ones. His brother sensed his anxiety and offered to come around but he put him off. The last thing he wanted was to involve Tom in this. He told Tom he loved him, he couldn’t help it. It bubbled to the surface towards the end of the conversation and was out before he realised what he’d said. His big brother was obviously embarrassed and mumbled something like ‘thanks very much’ and promptly hung up. He thought about driving to Harry’s to tell the big man all about what had happened. For the same reason he didn’t tell Tom he couldn’t tell Harry. Harry made his own way in the world and he made his. Harry’s decisions gave him a life far removed from the mess he’d made. No, Harry did not deserve to be dragged into this. He thought again about calling the PM and telling him everything. All the things he buried a long time ago. It would end his career, of that there was no doubt, and he deserved whatever fate would befall him. He resisted the temptation. He could not take even a small chance he was jeopardising Annie’s life by revealing Liam’s plans. Instead he settled for ransacking Maggie’s house. He told himself he was searching for vital evidence that might lead him to Annie. He suspected he simply wanted to destroy everything she owned. How could his sister be involved in something like this? Someone who professed to be a God-fearing Christian, kidnapping and maybe even killing her own niece, standing by as a complicit witness to the mass murder of innocents and the torture of her own brother? Those thoughts ensured that by the time he crept out of her back door, the inside of the cottage resembled the aftermath of a hurricane.

Now as the light faded on what could be his last night, he was suddenly aware he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten all day; not since the half-eaten biscuit at Maggie’s. He made his way to his mother’s kitchen. When he got there, he realised there was something else he had to do before satisfying his hunger. It took him twenty minutes and nearly cost him his little finger on two occasions, but his father’s table now made the little kitchen resemble the one in which his mother had cooked the stew he was now defrosting in the microwave. He ate it slowly and savoured every mouthful: a condemned man eating a dead woman’s food.