I Hear the Sirens in the Street

fact that Rockford got shat on all the time and was living in penury with his old man in a caravan. Seemed about right for a detective.
    The phone rang. “Tell me about the bint and her alibi,” Tony asked.
    “No alibi. She said she was reading George Eliot.”
    “ Animal Farm and all that?”
    “You’re thinking of George Orwell.”
    “Did Dougherty come to see her?”
    “He did. She said that he was drunk and raving, not making a lot of sense.”
    “Does that sound like him?”
    “Yeah, it does. I asked her if she’d ever shot a pistol,” I said.
    “And what did she say?”
    “She said she hadn’t, but she’d fired a shotgun many times.”
    “Who hasn’t? So what do you think? Did she kill him?”
    “Which ‘him’?”
    “Dougherty.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You gave her the third degree?”
    “Yes. Well, maybe the second degree.”
    “And?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “Jesus. You’re no help, are you?”
    “No.”
    “I suppose I’ll have to see her too, then.”
    “I suppose you will.”
    Tony decided to let it go at that. He detected some note in my voice that he didn’t quite like. “Are you all right, mate? I mean, are you doing all right?” he asked in a big brother tone.
    “Yeah, I’m fine.”
    A long pause.
    “When I’m over the water I can look for a place for you, too, you know,” he said.
    “Thanks…but you know how I feel.”
    “Have a wee think. I mean, really, this place is finished, there’s no future here. Especially not for bright boys like you and me.”
    “Sure, Tony. I’ll think about it.”
    “I know you won’t, but you should. That doctor friend of yours. She’s doing the right thing.”
    “I know.”
    “Any more mysterious women leaving you Valentines?”
    “Not today.”
    “If it was anything serious she would have just told you, she wouldn’t have left you a cryptic note. That stuff’s strictly for the flicks.”
    “I was thinking the same thing myself.”
    Dead air for a second or two. “Don’t let the job get to you. Okay?”
    “Okay.”
    “Take care now.”
    “I will.”
    He hung up. I made another vodka gimlet, dimmed the lights and put on Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here . I moved the stylus to “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” – the song about Syd Barrett’s mental breakdown – and put the record player on repeat. I called up Carrick RUC and asked for DC McCrabban.
    “McCrabban,” he said.
    “Christ, are you still there?”
    “You shouldn’t take the Lord’s name. And yeah, I am still here.”
    “What are you doing, Crabbie, studying?”
    “Aye. Got the old law books out. It’s quiet here, although intelligence has been coming through about prep for trouble in Belfast.”
    “You better get out of there before you get dragooned into riot duty.”
    “I wouldn’t mind riot duty. Double time and danger money. We could do with the cash.”
    “Just don’t put in for triple-time, that wee shite Dalziel will be all over you.”
    “I’ve been working on the case, too,” he said, without much enthusiasm.
    “What are your thoughts?”
    “Not just thoughts. I just spoke to your man. The FBI guy. Special Agent Anthony Grimm.”
    “How?” I said stupidly.
    “The time zones. They’re five hours behind.”
    “Oh, yeah.”
    “Nothing new about O’Rourke. War hero. Adjusted well to civilian life. Good civil servant. There were a couple of other speeding tickets that weren’t in the file. Thirty years in the IRS.”
    “Anything controversial? Did he ever audit the wrong guy?”
    “Nothing controversial. He was a mid-level IRS inspector. He wouldn’t have been a prosecutor or have made any enemies.”
    “What was this Grimm like? Weird tone of voice, evasive, anything like that?”
    “Nothing that I noticed. Happy to speak to me, it seemed like. Broke the routine. Sounded a bit bored by his lot.”
    Not what I was hoping for.
    “There was one thing …” McCrabban said.
    “Yes?”
    “Well, when I called up the FBI’s number in Virginia and asked to speak to Special Agent Anthony Grimm, I was put on hold and then the operator said that she was transferring me to the Secret Service.”
    “The Secret Service? Shite! What’s that all about? Aren’t they the ones that protect the President?”
    “I asked Grimm and he laughed and he said that it wasn’t as dramatic as it sounded. He’d just been seconded to the currency protection department of the US Treasury. The most boring possible assignment in the