Free The Wolf at the Door by Jack Higgins

troubled, Sean, that is so obvious. Your dear father worked and did so much for the church in his spare time. The lectern in beechwood by the high altar was his work. If I can help you in any way, I am here.”
    “Not right now,” Dillon said. “But before I go, the score for dead cardholders right now is four: Henry Pool, John Docherty, Frank Barry in New York, Jack Flynn on Long Island.”
    “What on earth are you talking about?” Murphy looked shocked.
    “Don’t listen to him, he’s lost his wits entirely.” Caitlin moved close to Dillon and slapped his face. “Get out.”
    “My, but you’re the hard woman. Come on, Billy, let’s go.” Billy opened the great door, and Dillon turned, and Murphy and Caitlin were standing close, he with his head inclined while she whispered to him.
    Dillon called, “If you know anybody named Cochran, tell him we found his wallet, and the prayer card, too. God bless all here.”
    And Caitlin Daly snapped completely. “Get out, you bastard.” Her voice echoed around the church, and Dillon followed Billy to the Cooper, and they drove away.
    “Do you think there’s anything doing?” Billy asked.
    “Oh, yes,” Dillon said. “However bizarre it sounds, I think there’s something going on there.”
    “If that’s so, don’t you think you’ve given a lot away?”
    “I intended to. Back to Holland Park, Billy,” and he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, thinking about it.
     
     
     
    At the sacristy, Caitlin Daly leaned against the door and fumbled in her shoulder bag, pushed aside a Belgian Leon .25 semi-automatic pistol, produced an encrypted mobile phone, and punched in a number. It was answered at once, a man’s voice, the slightest tinge of a Yorkshire accent.
    “Caitlin?”
    “Just listen,” she said. “We’ve got trouble.” She quickly told him what had taken place. “What are we going to do?”
    “How did Murphy take it?”
    “How do you expect? He’s too good for this bloody world. All he feels is pity for Dillon.”
    “Well, he would, wouldn’t he? Leave it with me, I’ll handle it somehow.” The church was very quiet now when she returned, and Murphy knelt before the altar, his head bowed in prayer, and she sat in a front pew and waited. When he stood up and walked to her, she said, “You’ve been praying for Dillon, haven’t you?”
    “Of course. So sad, that business of his father’s death in Belfast all those years ago. His life has so obviously been a hard and bitter one. What else can I do but pray for him?”
    She stifled her anger with difficulty. “Sometimes, Monsignor, I think you’re much too forgiving. But take my arm, and we’ll go back to the presbytery for tea.”
    He did as he was told, and as they walked away he said, “Poor boy, he seems completely unhinged.”

4
    A little earlier, Miller and his sister had been on their way to Dover Street. Since becoming aware that her dearly loved brother was a man of dark secrets, Monica had also learned that anything he told her, however dangerous and extreme, was very probably true. For an academic like her, there was an undeniable thrill to it all, especially her involvement with Sean Dillon. When Miller picked her up at her rooms in Cambridge, she was already packed and waiting for him, and he filled her in on everything, as he knew it, right up to that moment.
    Her reaction to the event in Central Park was highly practical. “Well, all I can say is, thank God you were carrying.”
    He grinned. “I see you’ve picked up the slang of our dark trade already.”
    “I don’t have any option, not with you and Sean round. I’ve checked on George Dunkley, by the way, and he’s doing fine. Thank God.”
    They were halfway to London when Roper called him and filled him in about Belsize Park and what was to happen.
    “What about Sean?”
    Roper said, “He went to see what he could dig up in Kilburn, took Billy with him.”
    “Is something wrong?” Monica asked him when