of office and bachelor’s den, and smelled of leather and grilled cheese. In front of the television was an oversized armchair complete with footrest and beer holder. Harry had a hard time picturing Dillon with his feet up watching TV.
Dominating one wall was a large black-and-white photograph, maybe five foot by four. It was a recent shot of Dillon, taken from an aerial viewpoint. He was sitting cross-legged on a deserted beach, and all around him were a series of lines and spirals traced in the sand. The pattern was Celtic in effect, and formed an ornate grid that took up half the beach.
‘It’s a simply connected maze.’
Harry spun round to find Dillon standing in the doorway watching her. He’d changed into smart chinos and a blue rugby shirt, and he carried a silver tray in his hands. He nodded towards the photograph as he moved into the room.
‘I used to carve them out everywhere I went. In the grass, in the snow. Once I even built one with mirrors.’
Harry turned back to the photograph. The confusing swirls reassembled themselves into paths and dead-ends, and she recognized it as the sort of maze she used to do as a child.
‘What does simply connected mean?’ she said.
‘Every path you choose leads either to another path or to a dead-end.’ The tray rattled as he set it down on the coffee table. ‘The paths never re-connect with one another, so it’s the simplest kind of maze to solve.’
Harry squinted at the maze and tried to follow one of its paths, but her eyes started to cross and she gave it up.
‘I never knew you were so hooked on mazes,’ she said.
‘Didn’t you ever wonder how I named my company?’
She threw him a questioning look.
‘Lúbra is the Irish for labyrinth,’ he said.
Harry smiled. ‘Nice.’
She eyed up the tray. He’d brought a bottle of brandy, two crystal balloon glasses and a plate piled high with sandwiches. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten all day.
Helping herself to a sandwich, she sank into one of the chairs. Dillon handed her a brandy. He raised his eyebrows at the men’s shirt and jeans, but made no comment.
Harry slugged down a mouthful of brandy. ‘Look, I’m sorry about all that stuff with Ashford.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And I’m sorry about earlier, too. When I clammed up on you. I do that sometimes.’
Dillon busied himself with a sandwich. ‘That’s okay, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.’
Harry sighed. She may as well come right out with it. ‘It’s because of my father. I think he’s involved.’
Dillon frowned. ‘In what? The break-in?’
‘All of it.’
‘The guy at the train station as well? But that’s crazy. Why?’
‘Because of what that guy said. The Sorohan deal, the ring – it all points to my father.’
‘I don’t get it.’
She held his gaze. ‘The Sorohan deal was the one that blew up in my father’s face and got him arrested.’
Dillon’s expression cleared. ‘Oh. I see. But what –’
She shook her head. ‘Don’t ask me any more, I haven’t worked it all out yet. The point is, you know how I get about my father.’
Dillon rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah. Prickly.’
She smiled and shrugged. ‘Yeah, well.’
‘Have you mentioned any of this to the police?’
Harry flashed on an image of the silent detective who’d come to her apartment that evening. She shook her head. ‘I can’t. They might start investigating him again.’
‘Well, he’s already in prison. What else can they do to him?’
Harry put her sandwich down. Suddenly she wasn’t hungry any more. ‘He’s getting out.’
‘I thought he got eight years.’
‘Remission.’ Harry’s throat seemed to be closing up. ‘He could be out any time.’
Dillon seemed to work it out. ‘So if he gets investigated for any of this, his remission will be on hold?’
‘Or thrown out altogether.’
There was a pause. She could feel Dillon’s eyes on her.
‘Look, you need to talk to your father,’ he said. ‘I’ve been telling you that for months.’
She shook her head and stared at her glass. She cupped it in one hand and swirled the golden liquid around in it. ‘When I was a kid, I thought he was wonderful. He made all these marvellous promises, and the ones he kept were magical.’ She traced a nail through the grooves in the diamond-cut crystal. ‘Almost worth the disappointment of the ones that he forgot.’
‘Sounds like you and he had quite a bond.’
She smiled. ‘My sister Amaranta had a hand in that. When I was five, she told me our parents had found me on the street as a baby. She said they were going to keep me for a while, but that later, they planned to sell me on to the neighbours.’
Dillon laughed. ‘Typical big sister stunt.’
‘Trouble was, I believed her. For months I felt like an outsider in my own home. My mother was distant with me anyway, for reasons of her own, so that didn’t help. I finally blurted it all out to my father, and he cleared things up for me. I suppose from then on, I saw him as some kind of ally.’
Dillon sipped his brandy. ‘And that all changed when he was arrested?’
She shook her head. ‘I’d already had enough long before that. Living with constant let-downs gets to you after a while. When he got sent to jail, that was kind of the end.’ She shrugged and smiled. ‘We don’t get to choose our parents, do we?’
‘I suppose not. Although you could say my parents chose me.’
Harry raised her eyebrows.
‘I was adopted,’ he explained. ‘My adoptive parents couldn’t have children so they took me in when I was a baby. But by the time I was two, my mother was miraculously pregnant.’
‘Don’t tell me, you got overlooked in favour of the natural child and it gave you a mass of complexes.’
Dillon paused. ‘For a while, maybe. I certainly know what it’s like to feel you’re an outsider in your own home.’ He shrugged. ‘But then they tried to make amends and ended up over-compensating. I got all the attention, and it was my brother who got the complexes. He went right off the rails in the end. Drugs, prison – the works.’
She
