I Remember You by Martin Edwards

I’m not a man who cares to be rushed - far less have a bomb go off at the vital moment. Talk about stealing my thunder.’
    â€˜What exactly happened?’
    â€˜There was this almighty boom, followed by the sound of glass shattering. Then a few moments of silence, before someone somewhere started to scream.’ He shivered. ‘I’ve lived through bomb blasts before, of course, I’ve spent plenty of time in Belfast in days gone by. In a way that silence is the most terrifying of all. I’ve always dreaded the despair that churns up your guts, no matter how grand the cause the bomb was meant to help. I could never convince myself that broken bodies are a price worth paying ... Anyway, I rolled off the lovely Sophie and onto the floor. Crawled to the window to have a look-see and saw bits of my motor strewn all over the place. There was a young girl, I doubt if she was sixteen - she was the one screaming, just outside the front door of the hotel. I slipped on my trousers and shirt and raced downstairs to grab hold of her and ask if she’d seen anything. She was beside herself, she’d been walking past when the bomb went off.’
    Finbar closed his eyes. His voice had become hoarse. ‘That’s another thing no bomber ever seems to understand. It’s not just those who lose their lives or their legs who suffer: everyone involved goes through their own kind of agony. I bundled the girl indoors, told Reg to take care of her. Then I phoned you. Sorry if I sounded panic-stricken - the thought that someone wants you dead is a bit of a downer. Anyway, I wanted to have your advice first before I started shooting off my mouth.’
    â€˜Advice? About what?’
    â€˜How to play it with the police.’
    â€˜I don’t follow. You don’t have to play at anything. Just tell them the facts.’ Then light began to dawn. ‘Finbar, do you have any idea who planted the bomb?’
    For a second Finbar hesitated. Then he said, ‘No, that’s just what I’m getting at. I haven’t clue who could have done this. And I don’t want to start pointing the finger at anyone if they’re not guilty.’
    Harry grunted. He doubted the profession of ignorance, but if Finbar was determined to camouflage the truth he thought it better to let the matter rest for the present and return to the attack later.
    â€˜When did you arrive here?’
    â€˜Half past two. At least, that was when I brought Sophie. But I’d left the car here in the morning. I often do, on a hopeful day. It avoids the rip-off parking fees in the city centre and makes for a quick getaway if the need arises: say the lady I’m with gets twitchy about the kids or her old feller and wants to fly back to the nest. I like to offer a lift. Simply paying for a taxi seems so clinical.’
    Resisting the temptation to explore the complex contradictions that comprised Finbar’s moral code, Harry said, ‘So the bomb might have been planted during the morning?’
    â€˜Put it that way and the answer must be yes.’
    â€˜You need to tell the police everything. Whoever is responsible for this has come close to committing murder. More than likely he torched your studio into the bargain. You can’t afford finer feelings, your life’s at stake.’
    Finbar looked mulish. ‘Harry, the police and me, we’ve never got on. They may reckon it’s an insurance fiddle, anyway.’
    â€˜And is it?’
    â€˜No.’ Course not. But I had a good policy on the car, and to tell you the truth it had crossed my mind that if something were to happen to the blessed thing, it was such a rust heap, I’d be quids in.’
    A fierce banging on the door forestalled Harry’s reply.
    â€˜Finbar,’ said a voice, muffled but urgent, ‘this is Reg. Let me in.’
    The Irishman opened the door to admit the proprietor of the Blue Moon: a balding middle-aged man