The Cold, Cold Ground

any of his followers had been bragging about the murders. Seawright denied that they had.
    Seawright’s secretary spoke through the intercom: “Councillor, I’m afraid you have another appointment.”
    Crabbie gave me a “Why are we wasting our time here?” look.
    I nodded and got to my feet.
    “If any of your followers do feel the urge to hasten the work of the Millennium I hope you’ll dissuade them, Councillor Seawright. Murder is a crime too,” I said and left my card on his desk.
    I picked up one of the Proof The Bible Is True pamphlets and walked out into the reception area. It would be an understatement to say that I was surprised to see Freddie Scavanni talking good-naturedly to Councillor Seawright’s secretary. He was wearing a tailored black silk suit with a black shirt and a black tie. Anywhere else you wouldn’t have given Freddie a second look but in Northern Ireland terms Scavanni was a bit of a dandy.
    “Hello, Freddie,” I said cheerfully, “We were just coming to see you. Fancy you hanging out here. With Councillor Seawright of all people. That’s interesting isn’t it, Detective McCrabban?”
    “Very interesting,” McCrabban agreed.
    “What do you want see me about?” Scavanni asked, clearly irritated.
    “We’ll wait for you upstairs and then we’ll talk,” I said, winkedat him and we went up.
    Freddie’s office was buzzing with earnest young men with beards and bell-bottomed corduroys. The women were in miniskirts and tight Aran sweaters and looked as if they’d bang you at the drop of a hat if you said you were on the run from the Johnnie Law.
    I nodded at Scavanni’s secretary and waltzed into his office.
    “Don’t worry, Freddie’s expecting us,” I said.
    McCrabban lit his pipe and I read Proof The Bible Is True until Freddie came in fifteen minutes later.
    “What can I do for you?” he asked, apparently in a better mood.
    I passed him across the DUP pamphlet. “Fascinating stuff, Freddie. Your buddy Seawright down there thinks the fossils were placed under the ground by God to test our faith. Is that what you think?”
    Freddie took the pamphlet and dropped it in the trash can.
    “I don’t have time for games. As you can see, we are very busy at the moment.”
    “What were you doing hanging with George Seawright? Aren’t you supposedly mortal enemies or something?”
    “Don’t be naive, peeler.”
    I nodded. Yeah. I had been naive. Freddie had something that Seawright didn’t. An aura, a charisma, an arrogance. He was relaxed. Too relaxed. Two detectives had come to see him about a murdered man and he didn’t even break a sweat. He was cool as a goddamned Irish summer.
    When people like Freddie came into a room the gravity changed. You could feel it. Freddie had presence, like Billy Wright and Gerry Adams. Perhaps all players had it. Was that what Freddie was … a player?
    I thought about it for a heartbeat or two.
    “This job is largely a front isn’t it?” I suggested.
    “What?”
    “A front, a cover, a beard.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “You work for the Force Research Unit too don’t you, Freddie?”
    McCrabban looked at me in amazement.
    “Never heard of them,” Freddie said.
    “The FRU, the ‘nutting squad’, the IRA internal security unit.”
    “I have no idea what you’re going on about,” he said with a shake of the head.
    “Something’s been troubling me, Freddie. Tommy Little was the head of the Force Research Unit. He was coming over to see you the night he was murdered. If I’m an ordinary foot soldier and the head of the FRU is coming to see me I’d be shitting my pants. I’d be on a plane to fucking Indochina. But not you. Why is that, Freddie?”
    “ I called him. About cars. Remember?”
    “The story about the homosexual serial killer didn’t break for two full days after Tommy went missing. That’s two days in which the IRA knows one fact and one fact only: Tommy Little, the head of their internal security branch, is on his way to see you. Why aren’t you dead, Freddie? Why didn’t they torture you and kill you?”
    He sighed. “I’m assuming these are not rhetorical questions.”
    They had been twenty minutes ago but they weren’t now. If you were setting up a press office why have Councillor Seawright from the DUP in the same building? Surely office space in Belfast wasn’t that precious, was it? Why share a building with Seawright? I suppose the real question was why not? What have you got