Free Dancing With Mortality by Mark McKay Page B

layers.
    ‘So cold out there. What are you looking at?’ She began
unravelling her scarf.
    ‘Holiday brochures. I need you to help me to decide where we
should go. And when.’
    ‘Alright. I’ll just get this lot off first.’
    A minute later they sat absorbed in the options.
    ‘There are plenty of hotels and cottages on the Dingle
peninsula,’ said Natalie. ‘Maybe we’ll get lucky with the weather. I’m told
it’s beautiful at any time of year.’
    They decided to call a few numbers and see if anyone could
accommodate them the week following boxing day.
    ‘You can do that Harry. I’m going to Netball training
tonight. I need the exercise.’
    She was still an avid Netball player, though not at the
level she’d once enjoyed. She still liked to stay competitive though, and she’d
found a local team to join not long after their arrival to ensure that she did.
    ‘You sure Nat? You look a bit tired actually.’
    ‘I spent most of the day trying to sell the benefits of
cognitive therapy to a group of depressed patients. It was hard work. This will
perk me up a bit.’
    ‘Tell them to exercise more, how’s that for a therapy?’
    She grinned. ‘Works for me. Maybe I should start a hospital
team.’
    Harry took a chair into the hall and started dialling
numbers. A few minutes later Natalie passed him on her way out.
    ‘Can I take the Land Rover?’ she mouthed, while he asked
about the facilities on offer at the third hotel on his list.
    He picked up the keys on the hall table and handed them to
her. She planted a quick kiss on his cheek and was gone.
    Eventually, Harry made a booking at a hotel on the shore of
Dingle Bay. They could leave Dublin on the 27th and take in the New Year
overlooking the sea. In the meantime perhaps he should think about getting a
Christmas tree. And a present for his wife. But before that he needed to make
his last call of the year on Litchfield and Hudson.
     
    Litchfield slid a folder across the
desk.
    ‘Read this, Harry.’
    Harry opened the file. The first thing to meet his eye was a
photograph of a man who looked roughly his own age. It was a black and white
image, taken from the shoulders up. The face wore a half smile, and was broad
and well defined. There was a certain softness around the eyes that didn’t
quite fit Harry’s pre-conceptions of a hardened terrorist.
    ‘Is this O’Reilly? Looks harmless enough.’
    ‘Well, he’s not. Read on.’
    There were a few typed A4 pages under the photo, summarising
what was known or guessed about the man. Harry read out the salient parts.
    ‘Known to have been a member of the Provisional IRA in
excess of five years… Suspected participant in bomb attack on Army barracks
near Crosmaglen… Alleged to have been the gunman responsible for the deaths of
two off duty soldiers in a Belfast pub in 1978… Involved in cross-border arms
smuggling in 1979, not apprehended as his appearance unknown, but seized
documents mention him by name…’ He closed the file and sat staring at the
photo. ‘Lots of allegations here. If they don’t know what he looks like, where
did this come from?’
    ‘Courtesy of O’Riordan. Where he got if from I don’t know,
but he assures me it’s recent and genuine. We’ll check it with the ambulance
crew, just to be sure. Then we’ll let the Garda have it.’
    ‘Can I keep this?’
    ‘Yes. I have copies. Leave the typed pages here.’ Litchfield
leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. ‘I’ve decided to close the office
tomorrow, once I have confirmation of this photo. Jack is on his way back to
England for Christmas, and I’m right behind him.’
    ‘London, is it?’
    ‘For me it is. I think Jack is going to a sister in
Cornwall. Take the spare keys with you Harry. I’m not anticipating any
activity, but you’re our man on site, so to speak.’
    ‘I’ll be out of Dublin from the 27th. Nat and I are taking a
trip to Dingle. I want to use the Land Rover while we have it.’
    Litchfield