Chapters (59)
- Copyright Page
- About the Author
- Also by
- Praise
- About the Book
- Dedication
- Part One
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Part Two
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Acknowledgements
- Discover more from Rachael English . . .
- Prologue
- Part One
- Chapter 1
‘Yes,’ said Tom, then recited the lines he’d prepared in the car. ‘As you may know, Conor and I have been friends since childhood. I was shocked to hear about this afternoon’s cowardly attack. Conor has served this country with distinction for the best part of three decades. My thoughts are with him, his wife Sharon and the rest of the family. I think it’s fair to say that what happened today is a reminder of how some of our streets are no longer safe … and of the amazing work carried out on our behalf by the brave men and women of An Garda Síochána.’
‘How is he, do you know?’
‘You’ll have to get the latest information from the hospital, but my understanding is that Conor – Detective Inspector Varley – has had emergency surgery. At least we know he’s getting the very best treatment. Now, if you’ll—’
‘Minist—’ began a reporter, then realising her mistake.
‘Not yet,’ said Tom, prompting a ripple of nervous laughter from the other journalists.
She smiled and started again. ‘Does this mean the talks on government formation are on hold?’
‘For the next few hours, my priority is here. We’ll have to review the situation tomorrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I can’t say anything further.’
Five years after his first election, Tom was still shocked by his ability to sound like a politician. Unlike most of his peers in Leinster House, he hadn’t spent his youth listening to stump speeches or knocking on doors for the greater glory of others. Neither had he spent his twenties perfecting a public face and preparing for office. He’d been to university twice – his unhappy period as a commerce student had been followed by a more successful stint doing social work – yet he’d avoided all the usual political and debating societies. His entry into politics had been haphazard. He had no family connections, no formal party affiliation. None of this mattered. Few parliamentarians could look and sound the part as well as Tom Crossan. He was skilled with the media too, adept at answering questions that hadn’t been asked and ignoring the ones that had.