I Hear the Sirens in the Street

nature.”
    “You sent the FBI to look at this guy’s house?”
    “No, I asked the Consul if the local police could do that, but somehow the FBI got involved. It actually got DC McCrabban and myself a little excited, but it was all moot because the Feds didn’t find anything.”
    Brennan glowered at me. “You’re not trying to make things complicated, are you, Duffy?”
    “No, sir, and in any case, like I say, it was a bust. The FBI found nothing suspicious among Mr O’Rourke’s personal effects and nothing in the background check. One speeding ticket from the ’60s.”
    “A model citizen.”
    “Indeed, although I suppose there could be misdemeanours that didn’t make it into the files.”
    “What else?” Brennan said, potting the red and crashing into the yellow with a very lucky lie.
    “The boys and myself have done some leg work and we’ve begun piecing together our victim’s last movements. It seems that he took two trips to Ireland. The first was uneventful. He arrived in Belfast on the train from Dublin on October twenty-sixth of last year, stayed for a week and left again. He stayedin the Europa Hotel in Belfast for all seven nights and then checked out. His family on his father’s side was from Omagh and presumably he went to Tyrone to investigate his roots, but if so, no one remembers him. I called librarians, local history organisations, that kind of thing. They do get a lot of Americans and they don’t keep records. Anyway, he didn’t make an impression.”
    “What about this second trip?”
    “That’s where the story gets interesting, sir. Okay, so he goes back to America. Tells some of his pals that Northern Ireland is a wonderful place and he’s going back for more. This is last year, sir, right after the hunger strikes …”
    I looked at Brennan, who stopped lining up the cue ball and nodded. We both knew what Northern Ireland had been like last year. Worse than now and now was bad.
    “So obviously O’Rourke’s either a deluded old fool or a bit of a liar,” Brennan said.
    “Americans can get sentimental about the Old Country, sir.”
    “Indeed. Carry on, Duffy.”
    “Second time around he arrives in Belfast on November eighteenth, stays at the Europa again for five days. Apparently he ate in the hotel restaurants most nights and he tipped fifteen per cent. He made no fuss, seemed to be enjoying life as a tourist, asked the bell hops no questions about hoors or product. He paid his bill with an American Express Card. Apparently there was no problem with the transaction.”
    “That’ll do nicely,” Brennan said, and potted the blue.
    “Quite a few people in the Europa actually remember him because he was so courteous and pleasant. One of the maids said that he was, quote, a real charmer and a bit of a smoothie, unquote, but again, there was no hint of any impropriety.”
    “That’s when he disappeared?”
    “No. Not quite. He next surfaced in the Londonderry Arms hotel in Carnlough on November twenty-fourth. We drove upthere too and interviewed the staff, and again Bill had been a model citizen, attracting no adverse attention and tipping well.”
    “This is good stuff, Duffy, go on.”
    “Well, this is where it gets tricky, sir. He disappeared for two days after that until he paid a very large credit card bill at a bed and breakfast in Dunmurry called the Dunmurry Country Inn.”
    “How much is very large?”
    “Seven hundred quid.”
    “Jesus!”
    “Yesterday Detective McCrabban went to see the proprietor of the Dunmurry Country Inn and was refused entry. The place is owned by a Richard Coulter, and either he or one of his employees demanded to see DC McCrabban’s search warrant, which is why I’ve come to see you, sir.”
    Brennan potted a red and a black. He was leading by seventy points now and it was mathematically impossible for me to win the frame.
    “So you want me to call up a friendly judge and get you a universal search warrant for the Dunmurry Country Inn?”
    “I’ve already taken care of that, sir. There are some other difficulties. We’ll be stamping all over Dunmurry RUC’s patch and I don’t want to make any waves.”
    Brennan stopped mid-shot and straightened his back.
    He got the message.
    “Coulter’s protected, is he?”
    “In a way, sir.”
    “How so?”
    “He comes from a prominent family in Ballymena. He has money, sir. He runs several small hotels and bed and breakfasts. He’s also well known for his charity work. He