‘I’m glad you did,’ he said. ‘I think I dealt with it better because of that.’

‘Poor girl,’ Karen said. ‘And her father.’

They were sitting in Liverpool Betty’s again. Karen told him that Duggan had contacted her to ask for her help on something, and told her to bring Tony too. When they arrived, Duggan was standing at one of the snugs, chatting with the group sitting there. They’d got in their own drinks and sat at a table away from the bar a distance, in case he wanted to talk to them about something away from listening ears.

Duggan wandered across to them after a few minutes, his head turning as he acknowledged various different patrons of the bar as he passed, some with a nod, some with a smile, some with a shouted obscenity delivered with a laugh.

‘How’s the love birds?’ he asked, dropping down onto the stool at their table. He held a pint of stout in his hand, his other resting on the table, already tapping out a tattoo with restless fingers.

He glanced over his shoulder as the door opened, and raised his drink in greeting to Martin Kelly who had just come into the bar. Kelly waved at him with an upraised hand, then shuffled across, pulling the sleeves of his jumper down over his hands and balling it into his fists. His bag was strung diagonally across his chest and, just before sitting, he shifted the bag from his hip to his groin.

‘All right,’ he said by way of greeting.

‘Martin, you know Karen. This is Tony. He’s a good man. Home-grown.’

‘What’s the craic?’ Kelly said.

‘How are you?’ Tony managed. Karen smiled and nodded, but offered no comment.

‘Listen, folks, I need a bit of a hand with something,’ Duggan said, his tapping finished, now that the real business of the evening had started. ‘We’re looking at a man; Martin here recognised him. He’s an ex-cop from the North. He’d been stationed in Derry.’

Tony felt his stomach stir, excitement and fear butterflying in his belly.

‘He’s a prick,’ Kelly offered. ‘He lifted me a few times back home. Real arsehole.’

‘For what?’ Karen asked, speaking for the first time since Kelly had sat down.

‘You know, this and that,’ Kelly said, breaking into a crooked smile. ‘He wasn’t slow to confiscate anything he found, and then the other side would be selling it a few days later.’

Tony shrugged, unclear as to why this would be of interest to them.

‘The fucker blinded a twelve-year-old in Derry a few years back. There was a riot, the usual, and some of the school kids were out watching it. The cops were firing all over the place. This wee lassie, Paula, comes running out of the house to get her brother in for his tea and this fucker turns and shoots her in the face with it. He was about ten feet away from her.’

‘I vaguely remember that,’ Tony said, though he couldn’t be sure if he actually did, or if it was simply because Duggan had described it in some detail.