Bleed a River Deep by Brian McGilloway Read Free Book Online Page B

repeated, as much, I suspected, for something to say. ‘Who’d have thought it?’
    We struggled to make small-talk for a few moments, having not seen one another in over a decade. Finally we parted with the half-hearted promise to meet for a drink sometime. As we shook hands to part he said again, ‘You a Guard!’ Then he added darkly, ‘Did they know about your criminal record?’
    Linda Campbell looked quizzically at me. I laughed as good-humouredly as I could manage.
    After returning to his office, Weston and I discussed the arrangements for the following week. He ran through Hagan’s itinerary with me, and details of the security he would be bringing with him. I in turn outlined the arrangements Patterson and I had discussed. Satisfied with our plans, Weston thanked me for my work and walked me to the door.
    ‘I have to ask,’ he said, smiling. ‘What’s the criminal record your friend mentioned?’ Before I could even respond he continued, ‘I shouldn’t pry, but I’m guessing it’s nothing serious or he wouldn’t have brought it up.’
    ‘It’s nothing,’ I said. ‘When we were students we broke into the admin building of the university. It was a student prank thing.’
    ‘You’ve a bit of the Irish rebel in you, Ben,’ Weston said, slapping me lightly on the back and laughing as if we were old friends. I was reminded again of how I felt on the day he had given me a gold necklace for Debbie. ‘Keep me posted,’ he said, patting me on the upper back once more, then turned back into his office, allowing the door to swing quietly closed behind him.

Chapter Five
     
    Wednesday, 4 October – Thursday, 5 October
     
    On Wednesday I attended the funeral of Ruslan Almurzayev. Karol Walshyk had helped make the arrangements, finding the priest in Derry who said the Polish Mass in the cathedral and persuading him to lead the service.
    The turn-out was tiny. Clearly most of the other immigrants were fearful of Immigration Control attending the event. Natalia Almurzayev stood flanked by two female companions. She wore a simple floral summer dress and a pair of plain shoes. Her face was bleary with tears throughout the service.
    She stood alone by the graveside as her husband was laid to rest, and I wondered how this woman, alone in a foreign country, having lost her unborn child and her husband within the space of a few months, had the strength to even stand. I was certain that, as she had huddled in the back of a lorry making its way across Europe, she must have held her breath and dared to hope that the future could only bring good things.
    Before leaving, I went over to see her to express my condolences in a language she did not understand. Still, she held my gaze with dignity, her jaw set. But behind her strength I could sense a fear of what was to come. She must have realized that the rent collector would be calling on Friday for money she did not have.
    I leant close to her, kissed her lightly on a cheek still damp with tears. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll not let them hurt you. I promise.’ I handed her my card, on which was printed my mobile number. ‘Call me if you need anything,’ I said.
    She looked me in the eye and smiled lightly, as though she understood the sentiment, even if the words meant little to her.
    ‘Anything,’ I repeated.
    The rest of the day passed with meetings to discuss security arrangements for Hagan’s impending visit. Patterson had relieved me of all other duties to focus on the event; my preparations required a visit to Dublin on Thursday with Patterson, to meet with a number of other regional commanders. It was the first such meeting since Patterson had taken over as Superintendent and he took advantage of the opportunity to go for drinks with his new colleagues during the afternoon. For my part, I decided to visit an old friend.
    *
    The girl at the desk of the museum phoned through to Fearghal Bradley for me and as I waited for him to come up from ‘the