I Hear the Sirens in the Street

out.”
    I walked down the slurry slope into the former police station compound.
    The air smelled sweetly of cordite, sawdust, blood and diesel leaking from the portable generator. Now that the rescue portion of the job was over the scene was filled with white boiler-suited forensic officers gathering material and taking photographs.
    I found the chief investigating officer and introduced myself.
    “Detective Inspector Duffy, Carrick RUC,” I said.
    “Detective Chief Superintendent McClure, Special Branch,” he said and offered his hand. I shook it. His handshake was even limper than mine. We were both exhausted. He was a grizzled man with a grey moustache and black eyebrows. About fifty. He favoured his left hand side and was smoking a little cigar.
    “You were up there on traffic duty?” he asked in a faint Scottish accent.
    “Aye.”
    “They’ve got a detective inspector on bloody traffic duty? What’s the bloody world coming to?”
    “I suppose they’re a bit short-handed. Apparently the army units they were going to deploy in East Antrim are off to the Falklands,” I said.
    He spat. “Fucking Falklands. Fucking sheep. That’s all that’sthere. I know, I’ve been. Military Police. You’re not the Duffy that Tony McIlroy’s always going on about, are you?” McClure asked.
    “Tony talks about me?”
    “He said we should recruit you for Special Branch, he says that you’re good.”
    “That’s nice of him.”
    “Can’t stand the man myself. Very showy.”
    “When we arrived last night somebody told us that this is some new IRA technique?” I asked, to change the subject.
    “Oh, yes. Come and see.”
    He lifted the “RUC: Do Not Cross” tape and I followed him across the site of the former police station. He showed me where the lorry had driven through the police station’s barrier and then exploded. “It’s a very impressive new technique,” he said. “We’ll have to re-evaluate security at every barracks in Ulster. Apparently the man who drove the lorry was forced to do it. His family had been taken hostage by the IRA and he was told that if he didn’t drive the vehicle right into the station they’d all be shot. As soon as he breached the barrier another IRA team blew up the lorry by remote control. As you can see it was a big bomb. A thousand pounds, maybe.”
    “You’ve seen this sort of thing before?”
    “Once before. Two makes it a pattern. It’s a pretty devastating new ploy. Between us, Inspector, the higher ups are keeking their whips.”
    “I’ll bet they are. Every police station in Ulster will be vulnerable.”
    “Aye.”
    “What about the guy who drove the lorry? Was he a copper too?”
    “No. Catholic bread-van driver. He delivered to the peelers so they’re calling him a ‘collaborator’. He delivers bread for a living and he’s a collaborator. That’s the world we’re living in,Inspector.”
    We walked among the smoking debris and the Chief Superintendent picked up the twisted remains of a steering wheel. “Look at this,” he said, showing me the plastic wheel which had been warped and melted into an amazing spaghetti sculpture. I noticed a bent ring of metal around the wheel. “They didn’t trust him completely, did they?” I said, pointing at the metal ring.
    “Why do you say that?”
    “They handcuffed the poor bastard to the steering wheel.”
    Davey looked at the wheel and nodded. The sun was burning through the low clouds now. I yawned. It had been a long night. “Listen, sir, I was wondering if my team could be released from traffic duty, I’ve got an interview at the US Consulate later this morning and—”
    “Aye, aye, spare me the details. You and your lads can go. How many CID are up there with you?”
    “Just two.”
    “Good. Leave the others. I can’t afford to lose a man down here.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    I walked back up the hill and grinned at Matty and Crabbie.
    I pointed at Matty. “You can go to bed.”
    “Ta, mate.”
    I pointed at Crabbie. “You can come with me.”
    Some of the other peelers from Carrickfergus looked at me expectantly.
    I shook my head. “Sorry lads, they need the rest of you here for the foreseeable. I’m really sorry.”
    Before there was a police mutiny I got Matty and McCrabban into the nearest Land Rover and we drove off. Up on the hills debris from the explosion had set the gorse on fire. A line of flame was snaking its way over the mountain top. We called it in to the fire