Winterland Read Free

Christy nudges him again in the elbow.
    ‘Jesus,’ he says, lifting his pint, ‘it’s all go here tonight, what?’

2
    One of the mobile calls made out of the beer garden is to a guy in Dolphin’s Barn, a ‘business associate’ of Noel’s. This business associate calls someone who lives in Stonybatter, and the person who lives in Stonybatter calls a cousin of his in Crumlin, who in turn calls someone he knows in Dolanstown. Within minutes, everyone in Dublin knows what’s happened. Well, not every one – that comes with the next news bulletin on the radio at ten or eleven o’clock – but everyone who matters.
    Noel’s mother, Catherine, hears about it from her brother – who’s also called Noel. He’s in a hotel bar in the city centre with an associate of his own, Paddy Norton, the chairman of Winterland Properties. The two men are in the middle of a heated argument when Noel gets the call from Jackie, and though it’s awkward he holds a hand up, excuses himself and goes outside. He then gets on the phone to Catherine, breaks the news and tells her he’ll be out to her gaff in twenty minutes. She’s hysterical, but what can he do? He’s barely able to get his head around the news himself.
    He walks to the multilevel car park down the street and takes the elemore or up to the top.
    The weird thing is, although his nephew was undoubtedly a pain in the arse – unpredictable, hard to get along with, maybe even a little messed up in the head (not unlike his old man, come to think of it) – he wasn’t stupid, and by all accounts he was pretty level-headed when it came to business.
    So what happened?
    Noel can only guess. Most gangland killings, apparently, in the end, come down to one of three things: a turf dispute, someone creaming off the top, or a clash of personalities. All three are possible in this case, he supposes, though knowing his nephew, only the last one seems really likely.
    Noel climbs into his SUV and makes his way down the five levels to the entrance as fast as he can, tyres screeching at every turn. But Dublin’s nightlife is hopping and when he pulls out onto Drury Street the traffic is practically at a standstill. He hunches over the steering wheel.
    He doesn’t need this, just as he doesn’t need the band of pain that starts throbbing now behind his eyes.
    The traffic moves forward, but only a yard or two. It stops again.
    Rubbing his eyes, Noel thinks back to what happened in the hotel bar. He didn’t need that either. He didn’t need Paddy Norton jabbing him in the chest with his finger, and he certainly didn’t need another rundown of the arguments – arguments he’s been hearing incessantly now for the last two or three days. The timing of Jackie’s call didn’t help either, of course. Leaving in a hurry like that made it seem as if he were running away. It was – Noel shakes his head.
    What he does need here, maybe, is a little perspective. Richmond Plaza, like any big development, is going to have its fair share of problems. All the ones so far have been surmountable, and this one won’t be any different.
    His nephew, on the other hand, is dead .
    As they approach George’s Street, the traffic loosens up a bit. Noel takes his mobile out again. He needs to talk to someone. He calls Jackie and asks him if he’s heard anything else.
    ‘No, and it’s a little strange to tell you the truth. I called around, but pretty much hit a brick wall.’
    A detective superintendent based in Harcourt Street, Jackie Merrigan is a good friend of Noel’s and – important in the construction industry – a valuable source of information inside Garda headquarters. Over the last year or so, as a favour to Noel, he’s also been providing updates of a different kind.
    ‘So, what do you think?’ Noel asks. ‘Was it a professional hit?’
    ‘Oh, I’d say so, yeah.’
    ‘Jesus.’
    ‘It has all the hallmarks.’
    Noel pauses, shaking his head. ‘I’m still in shock here. I mean, I