The Devil I Know by Claire Kilroy Page A

supervision.’
    ‘Disapplied?’
    ‘Yeah. Disapplied.’
    ‘That’s not a word.’
    Hickey shrugged. ‘That’s what it says in the IDA brochure. Quote: “The Financial Regulator has disapplied its powers of supervision.” To cut a long story short,’ he concluded, ‘ global corporations can establish unsupervised banks in Ireland. Banks like Castle Holdings. You’re routing money through the Irish State to avail a the low corporation tax.’ He dealt my arm a fond right hook. ‘I didn’t think you had it in ya. Personally, I hate the Tax Man. Any enemy a his is a friend a mine.’
    I stared at him. What class of racket had I put my family name to? M. Deauville had some questions to answer. At that moment, my mobile rang. Unknown . Speak of the devil. I excused myself and climbed out of the truck.
    ‘We need to talk, Monsieur Deauville,’ I said. ‘I’ve a man here,’ – I glanced back at the truck to make sure that Hickey couldn’t hear me – ‘who seems to think that I’ll loan him money. Capital,’ I corrected myself, as seven figures commanded a more imperious title than money. ‘This man seems to think that Castle Holdings is some class of bank, and that I’m some class of bank manager.’
    I waited for M. Deauville to dismiss Hickey’s ludicrous allegation. ‘I see,’ he said instead. I waited for him to say more. He did not.
    ‘Well?’ I prompted him. ‘Is this man correct in his assertions?’
    ‘What is his name?’
    ‘It’s Hickey again.’ The door of the truck slammed. The accused was on his way over.
    ‘Hickey, the property developer?’
    ‘He’s a builder.’
    Tocka tocka . M. Deauville’s fleet fingers flying across the keyboard. The man could type as quickly as he could think. I turned my back on Hickey and put some distance between us.
    ‘And where is the site located?’
    I stopped walking. How did he know about the site? ‘I never mentioned a site.’
    ‘Mr Hickey is a developer. I assume he requires finance to develop a site. I am endeavouring to establish where this site is located.’
    I turned to the perimeter wall and came face to face with Ireland’s Eye across the sound – russet against the blue of sea and sky, Lambay Island mauve in the distance. ‘It’s on the coast,’ I told him. ‘Along Claremont Beach. Just before you come to Howth Harbour.’
    Tocka tocka . ‘Indeed,’ M. Deauville said. ‘Area of high scenic amenity. Beaches and mountains. Yacht club, fishing village. Seafood restaurants, a proliferation of golf courses. Twenty-six minute journey by commuter train to the city centre. A most sought-after location. Castle Holdings is interested in investments of this nature.’
    ‘Is that so?’
    A firm ‘Yes.’
    I looked at Hickey. He was leaning against the truck. Arms folded, head cocked; ever the hard man. Glowering at me as he had glowered across the schoolyard while raising the smoke held pincered between thumb and index finger to his lips, aged what . . . eight? Daring me to rat him out, positively willing me to, so that he could kick my head in after school, the pinched yellow bloodthirsty face of him. And although I did not open my mouth to the teacher, he kicked my head in anyway.
    ‘With all due respect,’ I said to M. Deauville, pronouncing my words slowly and with care, seeking to communicate that the subject of our discussion was standing within earshot, ‘I don’t think Castle Holdings should be interested in investments of this nature.’
    The tocka tocka on the keyboard ceased. ‘With all due respect, Tristram,’ M. Deauville countered, ‘this is business.’
    ‘What kind of business?’ I had to ask. ‘What exactly is Castle Holdings?’
    ‘Castle Holdings is a specialist lender. We finance exciting business ventures from the ground up. Desmond Hickey has an established track record. How much does he wish to borrow?’
    I lowered the phone and met Hickey’s eye. ‘How much do you need?’
    ‘Ten million,’