Pat was sobbing now. “Damn you!”

“Taken care of a long time ago.” Keogh took an envelope from his pocket and dropped it down. “Five hundred quid, that was the price. Now get yourself to the Royal Victoria Casualty Department. Best in the world for gunshot wounds, but then they get a lot of experience.”

He walked away, whistling the same eerie little tune, and left them there in the rain.

WHEN HE REACHED the cafe, there were no longer any customers, but he could see Kathleen Ryan and the woman Mary standing behind the counter. The girl was on the telephone. Keogh tried the door, but it was locked. Kathleen Ryan turned as the door rattled and nodded to Mary, who came from behind the counter and unlocked it.

As Keogh entered, Mary said, “She told me what you did for her. God bless you.”

Keogh sat on the edge of a table and lit a cigarette. The girl was still talking. “No, I’ll be fine now. I’ll be at the Drum in twenty minutes. Don’t fret.” She put the phone down and turned, her face calm. “My uncle Michael. He worries about me.”

“And why not?” Keogh said. “Desperate times.”

“You don’t take prisoners, do you?”

“I could never see the point.”

“And you’re carrying. A Walther from what I saw.”

“Very knowledgeable for one so young.”

“Oh, I know guns, mister, I was raised on them. What did you do after I left?”

“I sent them on their way.”

“Home was it with a pat on the head?”

“No, the nearest casualty department. They needed a lesson. They got one. The one who seemed to be in charge will be on sticks for a while if that’s a comfort to you.”

She frowned, her eyes dark. “What’s your game?”

“No game. I didn’t like what was going on, that’s all.” He stood up and stubbed out his cigarette. “Still, you seem fine now so I’ll be on my way.”

He got the door open. She said quickly, “No, hang on.” He turned and she added, “You can walk me to my uncle’s pub. That’s the Orange Drum on Connor’s Wharf. It’s about a quarter of a mile. My name is Kathleen Ryan. What’s yours?”