The Bungalow-20

Continued from Chapter 19: The Bungalow-19 | ABCtales

Hawke was on the computer in his study, again. He had the Home Service (that was what his father called it) burbling away quietly, just to break the silence. He’d checked the BBC News website at eight, just after getting up, but he looked at it again; maybe there was something he’d missed. Nothing much; street disturbances in the North over migrants, and in South Wales…Ah, here was something about Northern Ireland, the story a couple of days old, tucked away at the bottom of the page. He must have missed it. News from there was relegated to a sideshow these days, not like when he was there, when it was never off the front pages, the latest bombing or shooting almost guaranteed top billing on the Nine O’Clock News.

The Independent Commission for Reconciliation and Information Recovery to probe 43-year-old Tommy O’Reilly case following fresh information...

Hawke took his hand off the mouse and sat back in his chair, exhaling, a faint whistle. Did this change anything?

“Ka-BLAM!”

Hawke hit the floor even before the tinkling of shattered glass had fully died away. His ears rang. He fancied he heard the bullet ricocheting away down the hall.

He stayed prone on the study floor for a couple of minutes, just to make sure they’d gone. Clearly just a warning shot. If they’d wanted to kill him, they could have done, no problem.

“But Budgie!” wailed Hayley into the phone. “Why should anyone want to shoot you? Who could want to?”

“Plenty. Look Hales, I think it’d be better if we didn’t see each other for a while…not that I don’t want to, but just in case they come back. Wouldn’t want you to be in the firing line. Collateral damage.”

“Budgie! I always thought all that stuff was…fantasy. You know, Walter..Walter…”

“Walter Mitty”

“I used to make fun of you, to the neighbours.”

“You did?”

“Sorry Budgie. But I really thought it was all made up, like you were trying to invent a mysterious past.”

“It’s real alright. Some of it is, anyway.”

“Mr Hawke. Why didn’t you tell us about the shot being fired? It was your next-door neighbour who alerted us.” Detective Rees looked steadily at him, the fingers of his hands splayed out on the table in front of him.

“I dunno. Guess I was too shaken.”

“Shaken? You’re ex-military.”

“It was a long time ago. Maybe I’m out of practice.”

“Mr Hawke, is there something you’re not telling us? About your time in Northern Ireland?”

“Not telling you what? There’s lots. What do you want to know?”

“The gentleman who was shot behind your house. He was Irish.”

“Was he a Provo?”

“You tell us.”

“I know nothing about him. But he was too young. Troubles were over almost before he as born.”

“How do you know?” The Detective leaned forward; Hawke caught a whiff of his aftershave, Hugo Boss possibly.

“That’s easy. I went on Google, there was the irish news story about the guy’s funeral, and his picture. He was young. Fairly young.”

“OK. But he could have been someone’s son, out for revenge, for something that happened 40 years ago.”

“Revenge? Revenge for what?”

“You tell me…What exactly were you doing in Northern Ireland, a few weeks ago?”

“I told you. Talking to someone about some security work. I can prove it.”

“Could have been a cover for something else.”

“Could have been.”

Hawke walked down Caterham High Street, towards the caff. That was all he needed – the police connecting Northern Ireland with the dead pikey, putting two and two together, making five, six, seven. Policemen cooking up their own theories – it probably wouldn’t end well.

After a chilli con carne and a milky coffee, he walked over to Caterham library and booked a computer. A much classier place than the mouldering Purley place. Bright, comfortable, no water stains, lost of books. He opened Google, then typed in ‘Razor Roy’. There were just a couple of items; Ronald Campbell from the Shankhill Road area convicted of racketeering in Belfast in the 1990s; an assault charge in a bar a couple of years later. Nothing about paramilitary connections.

Continued in Chapter 21: The Bungalow-21 | ABCtales