the initials ‘RUF’ had been carved into his chest with a razor. Callan hadn’t hesitated. He’d fired his sniper rifle, spitting two bullets into the boy’s forehead.
‘And they’re inside the final two furlongs!’ The commentator was in a frenzy, the yells from the crowd filling the stands. ‘It’s Rottweiler’s Lad, but here comes Honest Bill surging up on the outside!’
Callan remembered standing over the boy’s body. He’d stared at the bloody initials where the rebels had rubbed cocaine to induce the boy’s savagery. Beside him stood a line of wailing children. The child soldier had been about to hack off their arms.
‘It’s Rottweiler’s Lad from Honest Bill, I’ve never seen anything like it, Devlin has turned him loose, calling on him for everything he has!’
The boy on Jordan’s shoulders turned away. Callan’s chest tightened, the memories choking him. He took a deep breath, then descended the final step. He was right behind Jordan, close enough to smell the scent of cigars from his clothes.
The commentator was yelling now. ‘It’s the final furlong, it’s Rottweiler’s Lad and Honest Bill, stride for stride, Honest Bill digging deep.’
Callan stretched the canvas of his bag taut around the gun barrel.
‘They’re neck and neck, what a race between these two!’
The roars had reached a deafening pitch. It was the crescendo he’d been waiting for, the perfect cover. He pressed the gun barrel into Jordan’s back.
The commentator hadn’t drawn breath. ‘It’s a desperate finish as they come up to the line, Rottweiler’s Lad trying to fight back!’
The stands were a blaring wall of noise. Callan squeezed the trigger twice. The commentator’s voice was off the scale.
‘And it’s Honest Bill the winner! What a horse!’
Callan stepped backwards and sidled through the heaving crowd. From the corner of his eye he saw the boy tumble to the ground, his father crumpling beneath him.
Callan strolled towards the exit.
Winner all right.
The most important thing about pilfering confidential data was not to get caught. Harry flicked a glance in her rear-view mirror and wondered how she’d get away with it this time.
A flash of heat washed over her. What the hell was she thinking? She should have taken Garvin’s laptop back to Hunter the minute she’d realized the mistake. The longer she held on to it, the worse it would get. Already, she felt as if something radioactive was glowing through the boot of her car.
Harry geared down into third, negotiating the bends on the coast road. Waves slapped against the wall to her left, tossing spray into the air like confetti.
She came to a T-junction and slowed down, considering her options. Turn right, and she could loop back to Garvin Oliver’s house and hand the laptop over.
Turn left, and she could be home in fifteen minutes. Harry chewed her bottom lip.
When you got right down to it, the police had been the ones who’d screwed up, not her. After all, it wasn’t her fault the officer had snatched the first laptop case he’d seen.
She checked left and right. Naturally, she wouldn’t dream of withholding evidence. She gripped the steering wheel and swung left. She’d hand over the laptop just as soon as she could, but not until she’d peeked at it herself first.
Harry wound her way south, her whole body clenched, her eyes darting to her mirror. No one seemed to be following her, but it was hard to tell. On her left the beach curved like a bow, the slate-grey water reflecting the rain clouds above. Her arms ached from gripping the wheel, but relaxing them was beyond her.
She cruised through Killiney Village, cutting left down a rough track tucked in behind a row of new builds. She pulled up in front of the only house on the lot: a small, stone cottage with double-glazed windows and matching white UPVC door. She stared at it and felt herself droop.
Six months ago she’d been renting an apartment close to the city, where she’d basked in Dublin’s lively buzz and felt that she belonged. But lately she’d had an urge to buy her own place. She’d rented the cottage as an experiment. Living close to the sea was supposed to be soothing. But instead, there was something unsettling about the greyness of the beach and the isolation of her new home.
Harry sighed and climbed out of the car. Maybe it wasn’t just her professional instincts that were becoming unreliable.
She hauled her case out of the boot and trudged inside the cottage, passing through the narrow hall into the cramped kitchen beyond. She dumped the case on the table, then flung open the small windows at the rear of the house. Sharp, salty air perked up the room, but she didn’t stop to enjoy the view. Right now, she had other things on her mind.
She eyed up the case. Beth had only been interested in the diamonds, but the laptop must have had some importance if Garvin locked it up in a vault. She wiped her palms along her thighs. It was a long shot to hope it might lead her to Beth, but it was worth a try.
Harry slid the laptop out of the bag. Something small rattled out with it, clattering on to the floor. She peered under the table, and her whole body froze. Almost invisible against the stone tiles was a smooth, pea-sized pebble. Harry bent to retrieve it, then rolled it between her fingers, holding it close to her face. Beth’s uncut diamond. It felt cold, as though it had been kept in the fridge. She watched its steely lustre catch the light for a moment. Then she buried the stone in her fist.
Beth must have slipped it deliberately into her bag. Had she been leaving her a gift, or planting evidence? Harry was inclined to believe the worst, but either way, it’d be hard to explain to the police. She shook her head and dropped the pebble into her jacket pocket. She’d work out what to do with it later, but right now, she had a laptop to cross-examine.
She reached out to flip open the lid, then hesitated. Any snooping she did on the laptop could probably be traced. Worse still, her activities might overwrite valuable data on the hard drive. Apart from getting caught, the last thing she wanted was to compromise a murder investigation.
She frowned. Then she marched to the spare bedroom where she kept her field kits and retrieved a stash of hardware: a digital camera, a screwdriver, a sanitized hard drive, a spare laptop and a bunch of cables and switches. Adding a clutch of paperwork to the mix, she set the lot on the kitchen table and went to work.
First, she grabbed the camera and took some shots of the laptop, recording the make, model and serial number and documenting her actions as she went. Next, she unscrewed the laptop chassis, exposing the hard drive and releasing it from its caddy. She photographed the disembowelled hardware, labelled each component, then photographed it all again. It was tedious work, but she needed a record of her activities. If the integrity of the hard drive was ever in doubt, at least she could prove chain of custody. Inwardly, she winced. Her own integrity might be a little trickier to establish.
Snatching at the cables, she hooked up the hard drive to a set of switches, connecting it to the blank drive which in turn was plugged into the spare
