Davey hugged his brother and, as he was taking his leave, he stopped by the doorway, and said seriously, ‘Do you think that whoever was behind the bombing might be lulling us into a false sense of security? I mean, why ain’t they fucking following through? Even the Russians have said as much to me. That big one, Sergei – who, incidentally, I personally think is gayer than a Mexican tablecloth – said that a bombing was generally a first strike, that it was about confusing your enemy, and while they were regrouping you then had the opportunity to do even more damage.’

Danny could see the logic; the same had already occurred to him, but he was keeping his own counsel for the time being. He wasn’t willing to share his thoughts until he had some kind of proof.

‘I think that is something we should bear in mind but, until we have a name, or at the very least a fucking reason for it, there’s nothing we can do.’

Davey sighed in frustration. ‘I suppose so, but it’s fucking doing my head in, I know that much.’

Danny laughed. ‘Join the fucking club.’

When his brother left, Danny Bailey opened the desk drawer and, taking out a large wad of money, he placed it in an envelope. Then he waited patiently for his guest to arrive.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Five

Theresa was tired; the last few weeks had taken more of a toll than she was willing to admit. She wasn’t a spring chicken any more, that was for sure. She loved her little house and her boys had always looked after her – she was a fortunate woman in that respect. Tommy Barker was still with her, and they made a good couple – they both liked a few drinks, a good meal and, more to the point, they were both of a like mind about most things. She was sad that her days of wild coupling were over, but there was more to life than that. She and Tommy still had their moments; they were few and far between but, as he said, there was life in the old dogs yet! Most importantly, they were company for each other, and she felt she was lucky to have found someone like him to end her days with.

Lena’s death had hit her harder than she let on – that she had outlived her daughter-in-law was difficult to comprehend. Her Daniel was a man bereft, he had worshipped that woman, and he was not coping well. He had cried in her arms the night she died, and she had held him like a child for the first time in over fifty years. It had been so painful to watch – he had tried to get to the car, or what was left of it anyway. He had acted like a man demented.