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Back The Last Drop of Blood Save as PDF
Chapters (60)
  1. Cover
  2. INTRODUCINGKATIE MAGUIRE
  3. ALSO BY GRAHAM MASTERTON
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright
  6. Epigraph
  7. Contents
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. About the Author
  60. An Invitation from the Publisher

Katie gave him a wry smile. ‘Some hopes of that, Sean. But after this, I swear that I’m going to wipe out these drug gangs if it’s the last thing I do.’

24

Patrin was following his mongrel, Sooblik, along the Ballyhooly Road when he saw seven or eight hooded crows fluttering and squawking by the hedgerow about fifty metres up ahead of him.

Sooblik saw them at the same time. He let out one of his aggressive barks, which was more like a smoker’s cough, and started to shamble along the pavement a little faster. Although his name meant ‘boy’, Sooblik was fifteen years old at least, a tangled brownish cross between a lurcher and a water spaniel, with perhaps a dash of Irish terrier, too.

Patrin was nine, and he should have been at school today but he was on the hop. His pa and his ma had gone to Cloughmacsimon for a Pavee wedding and his Uncle Bartley, who was supposed to be taking care of him, had a monumental hangover and had still been too drunk this morning to speak, let alone make him breakfast and drive him to school. Patrin was a thin boy, with slitty eyes that always made him look suspicious, and hair that stuck up on top of his head like a thistle.

Sooblik began to shamble along faster as he neared the spot where the crows were fighting with each other. He barked again, and they flapped away, but they didn’t go far, perching on a nearby fence and the branches of an overhanging ash tree as if they were waiting reluctantly for Sooblik to mowsie on so that they could carry on squabbling.

Patrin caught up with Sooblik just as the dog went snuffling into the undergrowth. It was then that he saw what the crows had been bickering over. Half-hidden beneath a blackthorn bush was a grey-haired man, lying on his side with his back towards the road. He was wearing a tan leather jerkin and a check shirt, although the crows had already torn at the shoulder of his shirt and pecked at the flesh underneath, which was crawling with white maggots.

To his horror, he recognized the man by his jerkin. It was Timbo Coffey, who had gone missing from the halting site at Water Lane three days ago. Timbo was notorious for going out on the lash and spending the night in shop doorways and bus shelters and people’s front gardens, but this was the first time that he had been away for so long.