Tony looked up at the speaker more closely now. Had they been watching him and Karen all this time? Would they know their car? Remember the registration number?

‘We seen ye, sitting here one night. Ye were sitting an hour. We saw her giving you a wank.’

‘Is that what you’re waiting for? A wank?’ the second boy said, laughing.

The lighter popped and Tony handed it to the youth. ‘I need to go,’ he said, hurrying the boy along.

‘Are you not waiting for her?’

‘She must be held up.’

‘He’s getting hee haw the night,’ the first boy sniggered.

The second boy handed him back the lighter, his cigarette lit now. ‘Do you see Rosie over there?’ he said, pointing down towards the chippie. Tony glanced in the rearview and saw a group of youths standing watching over.

‘Rosie’s the one in the white,’ the youth explained. ‘She’ll suck you off, if you buy us two bottles of Mad Dog from the offie down the road.’

‘I have to go, lads. Take her handy,’ Tony said, starting the engine and winding up the window.

‘One bottle then,’ the youth called in negotiation.

They stepped back as Tony made to drive off. ‘Wanker,’ he heard them shout in his wake.

He rounded the corner of the estate, cursing as he saw that the cop’s car was sitting in the driveway; he’d been so preoccupied with the two boys, he’d missed his return. As he drew near the house, he fleetingly saw a figure go the front door, the floral-patterned wallpaper visible as a light switched on. The man must already have gone inside, leaving the door open, perhaps so as to come back out for the rest of the groceries, Tony reasoned.

He was surprised then when he saw the driver’s side of the car open and the sparrow-like man step out and open the rear passenger side. Someone else must have been in the car with him, he thought. Someone had opened the front door.

As he drew level, he saw the man straighten as he lifted bags of shopping from the rear seats along with something else. An old rag doll.

He was passed before it really registered, but had the presence of mind to glance into the open doorway where he saw the retreating figure of a child, small and thin, turn and enter one of the rooms off the hall.

He made it as far as the lay-by on the main road before he had to stop. His heart was thudding in his chest, his breaths short and quick, his head dizzy.

A doll. A child. There was a child in the house. And if Duggan followed through with his plan, planted a bomb in the man’s car, there was no guarantee that the child would not be as likely a victim as the man.