‘I haven’t called this assistance in because I don’t think we can do this job in-house,’ he said tonelessly. ‘This is not some indirect criticism of our own people, though I am disappointed in the way things have gone up to now. But the plain fact is … we all have other jobs to do, without getting distracted, and without risking that we get into the sort of shooting war that could see a whole lot more of us doing time. But this matter needs taking care of, nevertheless. And this threesome will do it. As from this moment, they are fully authorised to use any methods they deem fit to locate these renegades and completely eradicate them. The rest of you, with the exception of you, Frank, and you, Benny – for reasons we’ve already outlined – can go back to the world and do the job that pays you, and us, so handsomely. And do it better than you normally do, by the way. We’ve got some lost earnings to make up for.’

And that was it. Without so much as an invite to pop into the lounge-bar for a bit of lunch and/or something to drink, the underbosses were summarily dismissed. They shuffled out quietly, without looking back at the kill-team, who waited alongside the Chairman and the Secretary, and Benny B, of course – who seemed even more diminished than usual in such celebrity company – and watched everyone depart. McCracken was the last to go.

‘Problem, Frank?’ Pentecost wondered.

McCracken glanced back, pointedly not meeting any of the six glassy-eyed stares directed at him. ‘None whatsoever, Bill.’

Chapter 29

As always, the CCTV image was infuriatingly indistinct, but as Lucy watched it again and again on her laptop, she increasingly felt that she was making ground. Perhaps only incrementally, but it was ground nevertheless.

The snippet comprised two and a half minutes of film, black and white, fuzzy, constantly pixelating – all the usual nasties that accompanied modern surveillance footage (unlike the hi-def, full-colour, crystal-clear, super-zoomable versions that you saw on movies and TV shows). But there was no denying that what she was looking at, when she viewed it, was someone in a hooded winter waterproof with the hood drawn up, crossing Langley Street on the night of October 29, and placing a square-looking package on the steps to a formerly grand but now dilapidated entranceway. He then ambled away with hands in pockets, walking across the street, possibly towards the vehicle that had brought him there, which inconveniently was parked out of frame.

On first glance, without having facts to hand, it wouldn’t tell you anything. But Lucy, who’d been busy all the previous evening and this morning, had now accrued quite a few facts, and more importantly, thanks to her interview with Father O’Donnell yesterday afternoon, had started chaining them together.