Holding by Graham Norton

Author:Graham Norton [Norton, Graham]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton
Published: 2016-10-05T16:00:00+00:00

Back at the bungalow, there was silence. PJ stuck his head around the kitchen door, but there was no sign of Mrs Meany. He considered going down to the pub for a sandwich. People wanted to talk to him again, and he knew that the solution to this case had to be in the collective memory of Duneen. It might only take one person to remember something very simple for everything to become clear. In his office a small corner of paper was on his desk with Mrs Meany’s writing on it. Back soon was all it said. He wondered if he should wait. No, he’d go to the pub.

Byrne’s was the only pub that did food beyond crisps or packets of nuts, so he parked outside and went in. It took his eyes a moment or two to adjust to the gloom, and when they did, it appeared he was the only customer. A radio phone-in was coming through the speakers. A woman was berating the lazy mothers of Ireland for childhood obesity. PJ rolled his eyes. This was the last thing he wanted to listen to. He considered sitting up at the bar but in the end opted for a small table behind the door just under the dartboard. Even after more than a decade there was still a smell of stale cigarettes. Behind the bar was also deserted, so PJ just sat and waited. He was in no hurry.

‘If you loved your kids you would. Sure it’s no effort to peel a couple of spuds.’

‘When I come home from work I’ve only got the energy to put something in the microwave, and sure that’s all they’ll eat. They wouldn’t thank me for a potato.’

Behind the frosted amber glass of the window PJ saw a couple of ghostly passers-by probably heading into O’Driscoll’s. A large truck trundled past, plunging the bar into momentary night.

He wasn’t in a rush, but this waiting was making the sergeant anxious. What if he was some sort of criminal? He could have carried the whole till out to the car by now. He stood up and went to stand by the bar. From somewhere came the noise of bottles being moved. At least he wasn’t alone.

‘Hello?’ he called, his voice sounding flat and tinny in the hollow air.

‘Be with you in a second,’ came the muffled reply from somewhere behind the door at the back of the bar. It was Cormac Byrne’s voice.

Another few minutes ticked by and then Cormac burst through the door rubbing his hands on an old rag.

‘Sorry about that. The deliveries were late.’

‘No problem, Cormac.’

‘Ah, it’s yourself, Sergeant!’ as if he only knew him by the sound of his voice and had been unaware who the very large man in the Garda uniform was. ‘What can I get you?’

‘I’ll just have a ham and cheese sandwich on brown bread if you have it, and a glass of 7Up. Thanks.’

Cormac walked back towards the door and called out PJ’s sandwich order to a nameless helper in an unseen kitchen.

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