Death to Pay by Derek Fee

it in his hand as it went. ‘You should be careful who you push against. Some people are apt to push back harder. You must take great care of yourself, Miss Cummerford. You may think that you have won a battle, but this was simply a skirmish. The battle is yet to come. Now get out of my office.’
     
     
    Wilson was walking up and down outside Jennings’ office when Maggie Cummerford exited. ‘What in God’s name are you up to?’ he asked as he towered over her.
    ‘I told you months ago that I wanted to do a profile on you,’ she stood staring up into his face. The combination of American and Ulster accents was as soft as a summer rain. ‘You should have said yes then. You’re an interesting fellow – former sports star, head of the Belfast Murder Squad and partnered up with a leading light of the legal establishment with a baby on the way.’
    ‘Surely to God you could have done your profile without looking over my shoulder during a murder investigation.’
    ‘The opportunity was too good to waste. This case alone is a career maker for a journalist with the inside track. At the same time, I get to know you as well as any human can,’ she smiled. ‘Not in the biblical sense, although I might be up for that too before we’re finished.’
    ‘I need to get back to the station, and we need to establish some ground rules.’
    ‘I’ll take a lift. I don’t think DCC Jennings likes me.’
    ‘Join the club.’ 
     

CHAPTER 19
     
     
     
    Lizzie Rice’s body was released at midday. Sammy Rice had barred his father from the mortuary. He was in control of events, and he wasn’t going to allow the auld fool to screw things up. Since the night of the murder, Billy had been buried in a whiskey bottle, and every now and then he came out with some shit about murdering ten Taigs for Lizzie. Luckily, nobody was listening to the bastard. The house in Malvern Street was still a mess. The crime-scene tape was gone, but Sammy hadn’t had time to have the blood and brain cleaned up. The hearse delivered the coffin bearing Lizzie’s body to Sammy’s house in Ballygomartin Road. Sammy had moved on from the two up two down in Malvern Street that he had been born in. The house in which Lizzie body would lie was a three-story bay-windowed Victorian red brick consisting of five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a large modern kitchen and two reception rooms. Although it was a big step up from the family home, it was well below Sammy’s spending power. Sammy Rice could afford to live among the wealthiest in Belfast, but he needed to be close to his people and the source of his power – the Shankill Road. Sammy had arranged for family members to carry the coffin into the large downstairs living room where Lizzie would lie in state. It was a tradition in Ireland to hold the wake with the coffin open. The funeral home had used all their arts to give the impression that Lizzie’s head was still intact. Chairs had been placed around the edge of the living room, and Sammy placed himself next to the coffin. Word had been spread throughout the Shankill that Lizzie could be viewed and food and drink would be available at the Ballygomartin house.
    ‘I want a major kick-off in the Shankill this evening,’ Rice said to Ivan McIlroy. ‘Last night was only a parade. I want to mark Lizzie’s wake with a full-on riot, burning busses, Molotov cocktails, baton charges by the peelers, the whole nine yards. Are you with me? Get every mad fucker out onto the streets.’
    ‘I’ll get on it,’ McIlroy said.
    ‘What about getting’ someone close to Wilson?’
    ‘I’m meetin’ one of Wilson’s team this evenin’.’
    ‘Is it money?’
    ‘Aye.’
    ‘Give him what he asks for. I want the man who killed my mother. Make that clear.’
    ‘I thought that you were connected higher up,’ McIlroy smiled exposing a row of rotten teeth.
    ‘Our friend, Wilson, doesn’t always play by the book. He tends to keep his cards close to his chest. We need