Fight Back

Book 2: Kerry Casey

by Anna Smith

Genres: Female Sleuths; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

'MARTINA COLE FANS WILL LOVE THIS FAST-PACED THRILLER' SUNDAY MIRROR Gangster Kerry Casey has fought her way to the top of the Glasgow crime scene. But can she stay there? Kerry Casey is now a fully-fledged gangland boss. With her business partner Sharon and her wily lawyer Marty at her side, she is busy ridding her organisation of the drug-dealing, people-trafficking scum her dead brother Mickey got them involved with. But her great dream is still to take the Caseys straight. Her plan to turn her organisation around hinges on building a property empire in Spain. But Kerry has some deadly rivals - in Glasgow, on the Costa del Sol, and even further afield. They will never believe she has what it takes to defend her turf, and they won't rest until the Caseys are destroyed. When her enemies strike at the heart of the Casey family, Kerry must prepare for the fight of her life - for her business, her friends and her own survival. 'Gritty and hard-edged, it's not for the faint-hearted' SUNDAY MIRROR

Release date: February 7, 2019

Publisher: Quercus Publishing

Print pages: 294

Sample

They had heard nothing since John O’Driscoll went missing six weeks before. It could only mean one thing. And every day that passed with no news made Kerry’s heart sink further. Maybe she shouldn’t have sent him to Spain to oversee everything after the attempted robbery. Even though she knew it was pointless to blame herself, it troubled her that perhaps she could have done things differently. But Kerry Casey was the head of the Casey family now. There was no going back. From the moment she took revenge for the murder of her brother, Mickey, and the slaying of her mother at his funeral, her life hadn’t been the same. This was who she was now, dealing with the scum of the earth, people she would have crossed the road to avoid just a few months ago. And if that wasn’t enough, she was sitting on a three-million-pound stash of cocaine that every gangster from Glasgow to Dublin was trying take from her. It was well hidden, but the Caseys hadn’t even been able to move it on because right now it was too dangerous. Drugs were a filthy, stinking business, and she’d promised herself that she’d be out of them from the day she took over the family. She was one deal away from the start of her dream to make her gangland empire legit. One deal. And none of the hyenas waiting for the Caseys to keel over and die were going to stop her.

She’d jumped on a plane and come to the Costa del Sol, where Sharon Potter – who’d become her partner in crime – had been holding the fort for the last few weeks after the attempted break-in at the apartments where the coke was hidden. There were two men down already and the body count was rising. Sharon had been the last person to speak to O’Driscoll before he was taken.

‘You’re looking very pale, Kerry,’ Sharon said as Kerry slumped onto the chair. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yeah,’ Kerry nodded wearily. She put her hands behind her head and sat back. ‘Just tired.’

Kerry had been throwing up most of the morning but wasn’t about to admit that. This was no time to be weak.

She could hear approaching footsteps on the marble floor from the hall, and looked as the door opened. She was glad to see her uncle Danny and Jack Reilly, and especially glad to see Jake Cahill among the group of men who entered. They all looked grim as they filed in and sat around the table. Danny came across before he sat and gave her a hug.

‘So what do we know?’ Kerry asked. ‘Anything new?’

Danny looked at one of the other men, a wiry little guy with a shaven head.

‘Paul?’ he said to him. ‘You fill us in. You’ve been here longer.’

Paul cleared his throat and sat forward.

‘Okay. Word on the ground is that the Irish fucker, Durkin, is even more heavily involved with the Colombians than we thought. But he’s not getting much of a say and is being shoved around like Pepe Rodriguez’s bitch. That Colombian bastard is the main man down here, part of the cartel from back in his home, as you know. He’s just steamrolling his way through other dealers and set-ups. I don’t know if people are making deals with him, or standing back, or just shit scared. But he’s getting everything all his own way. He’s bringing stuff in and he wants to be the only guy anyone deals with all over the place. I mean that’s never going to happen, as there are plenty of big shots who won’t buy it. But he’s an evil bastard. The stories about him in Colombia are legend.’

Kerry and the others listened.

‘So there have been no phone calls?’ she asked. ‘Nothing to tell us what they want – if it’s them who’ve got O’Driscoll? That’s unusual, is it not?’

‘A bit,’ Danny said. ‘I thought we’d have heard by now.’

‘Okay. Should I contact him or Durkin or Billy Hill?’

‘We should maybe think about it. O’Driscoll would have got in touch by now if he could.’

The room fell silent. Kerry knew they had to move on for the moment. She turned to Sharon, who had been tight lipped and looked tired. The last time she’d seen her was as she was leaving with her son Tony to spend the next few months in Spain to run the construction of the massive hotel complex.

‘How are things with the plans?’ Kerry asked.

‘Well, that’s one thing that’s moving in the right direction,’ Sharon said, fiddling with a pen and some papers. ‘The lawyer here is getting good vibes from the town hall down in Marbella. We should be able to start work in the next few weeks.’

‘Good. Well that’s something,’ Kerry said.

Everyone looked up when there was a gentle knock on the door. Jack got up, crossed the room and opened the door.

‘Señor, there is a man at the gate with a delivery. He say it is for Miss Casey. Should I send him away?’

They all looked at each other. Danny and two of their henchmen stood up.

‘What the fuck is this?’ Danny said. ‘Only a handful of people even know where we are, and most of them are around this table.’ He turned to the man at the door. ‘Is there a car? A delivery?’

‘Is in a taxi. Only the taxi driver.’

Danny, Jake Cahill and Jack moved towards the door.

‘We’ll go and check this out, Kerry,’ Jack said. ‘It might be some kind of trap. We’ve got guards outside all over the place. But I don’t like the sound of this.’

Kerry nodded and looked at Sharon. She felt nauseated. She shouldn’t be this sick with stress, but it had been hanging on her for days.

They came back to the room, carrying a large box wrapped in plastic.

‘We talked to the taxi driver, but he said it was delivered to his office in another taxi,’ Jack said. ‘He didn’t know who sent it. It’s quite heavy.’

‘What if it’s a bomb?’ Kerry said. ‘I’m not sure we should open it. Can we get someone in?’

‘Christ! I don’t know who,’ Danny said.

‘It won’t be a bomb,’ Cahill said, gingerly turning the box a few times. ‘Or if it is, then it’s a crude-looking effort.’ He crossed the room and clicked open his black attaché case as the others looked on. Then he clipped together some kind of gadget and brought it back to the table. ‘This will detect if there are any explosives in the package,’ he said. He pushed a button and scanned the box. The gauge didn’t flash or make any warning noise. ‘It’s not a bomb.’

‘Will we open it?’ Jack asked.

‘Yes. Go ahead.’

Jack took out a penknife and carefully took the plastic wrapping apart. Underneath, there was bubble wrap and then a heavy cardboard box, dark blue in colour.

‘What is it?’

Jack shrugged as he slid his knife under and prised the lid open a little. He gave one more tug, and they all stepped back when the lid came off. The stench nearly knocked them off their feet. Kerry was on the verge of throwing up again, even before her eyes fell on the contents of the blue box. She covered her mouth and nose and peered inside, gasping as the recognition dawned on her. It was the bloodied face of John O’Driscoll. There were fleshy, gaping holes where his eyes had been torn out. But it was definitely him.

Kerry had woken up in a sweat from a fearsome nightmare where she could hear the agonised screams of O’Driscoll as they gouged out his eyes. She’d been crying, and even when she drifted back to sleep the nightmare chased her, until she finally got out of bed at six a.m., a wave of nausea making her bolt to the bathroom, where she promptly threw up. Christ! This was the third day running she’d been sick. For a fleeting, terrifying moment, it occurred to her that she might be pregnant. No way. Don’t even go there, she told herself, pushing away the image of DI Vinny Burns as she stepped into the shower. She had to get ready to meet Danny and her crew here to work out their next move.

They hadn’t called in the police yesterday when O’Driscoll’s head had been delivered in a box. The grisly message had Rodriguez’s fingerprints all over it, and the last thing they wanted to do was call in the Spanish cops. Even though some of Kerry’s people on the ground here had good contacts inside the Guardia Civil, it was best to keep the police out of it. Executing O’Driscoll in the way that Rodriguez had was like marking his territory, that this was what was facing the Caseys if they took him on. Kerry was sure he didn’t think they would come after him. But he was wrong. O’Driscoll had been family to her. People like him and Danny and Jack were all she had now.

*

Danny came into the room first and Kerry could tell by the look on his face that he had more bad news. She motioned everyone to the terrace and they stepped out of the wide patio doors and sat around the huge glass-top table. The old Spanish lady who had worked in the house for a generation came out with orange juice in jugs and the smell of percolating coffee filled the air from the kitchen. In another life, this would have been a pleasant morning, where the assembled friends could be planning a round of golf. But that was another world. Danny reached across for a jug of orange and poured the juice into glasses, passing them across to people. He sighed and shook his head.

Kerry looked at Danny and glanced at the others as all eyes turned to him, his eyes baggy from lack of sleep. He looked as though he’d aged ten years in recent weeks.

‘I don’t know if any of you have seen the news this morning. But there’s been a headless corpse found in a suitcase in the boot of a car at Málaga airport.’

‘Christ almighty!’ Kerry sank back and looked at Danny. ‘What are they saying?’

‘Officially, not much,’ he replied. ‘But I’ve got one of our guys to make a call. It’s O’Driscoll all right. Bastards left his credit cards and wallet in his jeans so we’d be left in no doubt.’

‘Jesus!’ Sharon said. ‘Cops will have to put that out to the media soon. A Brit butchered on the Costa, it will be all over the front pages tomorrow.’

‘I know.’ Kerry nodded. ‘Police will be contacting his family, so we’d better get that done first. I don’t want them getting a knock on the door without being prepared.’ She turned to Danny. ‘Danny. Have you got John’s wife’s phone number?’

‘Ex-wife, Alice,’ Danny said. ‘They split about two years ago. She’s a bit flaky. But they have two lovely kids – ten and thirteen. Boy and a girl. They’re great kids and Johnny adored them.’ He shook his head. ‘Fuck! They’ll be in bits, poor bastards.’

Nobody spoke for a few moments as Kerry tried to think of how the hell she was going to break this to his family.

‘I’d better phone Alice. What is she likely to do?’ Kerry asked. ‘Will she phone the cops or what?’

Kerry hated herself for even thinking this way. She didn’t want the Scottish cops involved at all and sniffing around her doorstep, but she knew it was inevitable. But she wanted to get to Alice first and make sure she kept quiet. She hated herself for that thought too.

‘She’s all right. I think so anyway. Part of her problem is she didn’t like O’Driscoll working and keeping late hours, as he did sometimes. To be honest, with Johnny though, it wasn’t all work, if you know what I mean. He liked the ladies.’ Danny paused, but nobody said anything. He rubbed his face. ‘Anyway, I think she’ll be okay. I mean she’s not going to go shooting her mouth off to the papers. We’ll look after her. And the kids.’ He shook his head.

Kerry was thinking she should fly home and talk to them after making the initial phone call. But there was such a lot going on here, she had to wait to see what was happening. She didn’t even know the kids, but she could only imagine the desolation they would feel knowing that they would never see their father again. She’d known that agonising pain – she hadn’t been much older than that when she lost her own father. When the dreadful details of O’Driscoll’s murder reached the press, as it inevitably would, she would have to find a way to help them through this.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll make the phone call to Alice once we finish up here. But let’s work out how we hit back for this.’ She looked at Jake Cahill who had been sitting, taking it all in, saying nothing.

The room was silent for a long moment, then Danny spoke.

‘I think the quicker we hit back the better. Rodriguez can’t be everywhere. We already know some of his movements from the Guardia Civil contacts who are on detail to keep tabs on him.’

‘Are you saying we should hit him?’ Sharon asked, frowning at Danny.

‘No,’ Danny said. ‘Not a direct hit at him. But he has several places along the coast here where he does business. Bars that are basically just money-laundering places where he has one or two Colombians to run them. Hitting a couple of them would be one thing we could do. Short and sharp.’

Kerry thought about this for a moment.

‘What about his drugs? Stuff he is moving in and out of the country? Can we hit them?’

‘Probably a bit more difficult. But we could, once we get more intelligence. I think we should look at that too, so that we can hit him again and again.’

Kerry felt perplexed.

‘But he’s going to come back every time we hit him. That’s for sure.’

Danny nodded, and again the table was silent.

‘Well, that’s how it goes, Kerry.’

Christ! The last thing she wanted was another bloodbath on her hands with innocents caught in the crossfire, the way her mother had been at Mickey’s funeral.

‘What about these bastards Billy Hill and Pat Durkin?’ Sharon asked. ‘I take it they’ve not been in touch yet.’

‘No,’ Kerry said. ‘But they will be. That fat little bastard Durkin will be standing by admiring how the Colombians do business. But I don’t think Durkin has really got the stomach for getting his hands dirty. What do you think?’

‘I think any message or talk that Rodriguez wants to make will now come through Durkin. Maybe he’ll be sent like the lapdog he is to ask for a meeting,’ Danny said. ‘I’ll be surprised if he isn’t on the phone before the day’s out, to offer his condolences.’ He paused, looked at Jake Cahill. ‘We could certainly take out a couple of Durkin’s money-earners down here – bars and two flop-house hotels he owns in Fuengirola and one in Torremolinos. That would hurt the Irish prick – and in turn would get the message back to Rodriguez. We know they’re hand in hand now.’

Jake nodded but he still didn’t speak.

‘Okay,’ Kerry said. ‘Let’s look at that. We can meet back here this evening for dinner. By that time I’ll have spoken to Alice. But I’m thinking I should go back to Glasgow in the next day or so. I don’t want to be so far away from everything we have there to find it in ruins by the time we get back. There’s enough vultures over there to think if we’re getting hit, they might just steam in and get something for themselves. I don’t want that to happen.’

‘I’ve left some good men in charge, Kerry,’ Danny said. ‘Big Pete’s running the show and he’s got a few reliable guys with him. Also, those wee guys – Cal and the Kurdish guy. I think we should look at putting them to good use.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Maybe they could be over here, on the ground. They’re the right age to be working in bars gathering intel and stuff. Getting close to people. That’s something we should look at for the future. I think they’re shaping up to be good hands.’

Kerry listened. The thought of putting her lifelong friend Maria Ahern’s boy Cal in the frontline sent a shiver through her, as an image of O’Driscoll’s severed head flashed up. She couldn’t take the chance of something happening to Cal. He was a good lad, who’d only ended up working for them because Maria had come to her destitute and in hock to loan sharks. Kerry had given Maria a job with the firm, put her and Cal in a flat the Caseys owned in Hyndland, and given him work to do on the fringes. But she hadn’t thought of turning him into a serious criminal.

‘Let me think about it,’ she said. Then she looked around the table. ‘Are there any thoughts or information on how the hell they knew where to send the delivery yesterday? I thought nobody knew we were here.’

‘I just don’t know for sure,’ Danny looked at her. ‘But I’ll tell you this. I got some word on the grapevine from back home yesterday that Frankie Martin was in Spain. Nobody here has seen or heard of the cunt. But it came from a good source. Knowing that treacherous fucker, he could be worming his way in with the Colombians. He’d be useful to them with his background knowledge.’

The thought of Frankie back from the dead, trying to bring them all down after everything that was done for him as a kid, brought an angry flush to Kerry’s cheeks.

‘I need to know more on that, Danny. As much as you can, as quick as you can. If Frankie is out there trying to damage this family, then we take him right out of the game.’

‘I’d be up for that on a personal level, since the slimy bastard was leading me to my execution by my late and less than loving husband,’ Sharon piped up, almost bringing a smile to the faces of everyone around the table.

One by one they filed out of the room, until Kerry was alone. She sat gazing out at the hills to her left and the blue of the ocean in the distance. Winter was still trying its hardest on the Costa del Sol, but a watery sun was breaking through the greyness, and by midday it would be pleasant and warm even though it was January. It was so beautiful and peaceful here, she thought. The kind of perfect hideaway where she would make her base as she flitted from Glasgow to Spain, making sure she was hands-on in the new hotel and property business. Perhaps, eventually, she would even settle here, like a lot of the old hoods did once they had made their money and turned legit. She half smiled to herself at the idea of her being one of those relaxed, suntanned gangsters she used to see on the Costa del Sol, wealthy, but without any obvious means of income. She’d met many of them – associates and friends of her father – while she lived there as a teenager. She’d never really given much thought to how they all got there, rich and respected. Until over the years she listened to them tell their stories of robbery and drugs and wheeling and dealing. She had never judged them, because she knew her father had been a crook and that her family had made their money from crime. Although she had been a corporate lawyer for most of her life and far removed from how her family operated, she had always had a sneaking admiration for their philosophy that if you get dealt a shitty hand from the day you’re born into poverty, then you have to go out and get what you can. Even if it wasn’t all legal.

They would tell her that, at the end of the day, they were all gangsters – the lawyers who kept them out of jail, the crooked accountants who laundered their money, the politicians at local and national level who took bungs to make things happen, and worst of all the bankers. The suits who moved your money around didn’t give a toss where it came from, as long as they could get their cut. Meanwhile the rest of the punters, toiling away in their nine to fives and weekend shifts, got shat upon from a great height. By everyone.

And so, many of them had come to the Costa del Sol, to capitalise on the proceeds of crime, just like her – even though her route here had been one of private schools and university degrees. She was here nonetheless, among them. And now she was planning on how the Caseys were going to hit back to avenge the execution of John O’Driscoll, one of her most trusted lieutenants. John had served and protected her father and their family since as far back as she could remember, and now he had paid for it with his life. She had to be ready for this fight.

Marty Kane watched his little grandson Finbar, relishing the moment. Days like this, relaxing in a café with his wife, and delighting in the chatter of the three-year-old boy were all too rare. And he’d promised himself and Elizabeth that things would be different in the future.

The most sought-after criminal defence lawyer in the country was rarely in court these days. He was winding down. The bulk of his legal firm was run by his son Joe, a chip off the old block, making a name for himself as a more than able brief. Now Marty’s main work was with Kerry Casey, steering her empire out of the swamp of drugs and bloodshed, and turning it into a legitimate and enviable property kingdom here and abroad. Such was Kerry’s dream, and so it had been for her father, his old friend Tim Casey, a very long time ago. But it was proving to be a difficult task. And the body count was already piling up. The news from Spain last night about Johnny O’Driscoll being executed by the Colombians had turned his stomach. Marty remembered Johnny’s father, and the swashbuckling character he’d been back in the day when Tim Casey and his gang were building up a name for themselves in Glasgow and beyond. They were hard men, lawless men who carved a massive niche for themselves in the underworld. But they didn’t gouge out the eyes of their enemies. It took a certain kind of pond life to do that.

‘You’re miles away, Marty,’ Elizabeth said, picking up her handbag from the floor.

Marty shook himself back and looked at her.

‘Just thinking how pleasant this is,’ he lied.

Marty knew that Elizabeth could read him like a book, but he also knew she would never ask too many questions about his work.

‘Sweetheart,’ Elizabeth finished her coffee and placed the cup down, ‘I’m nipping across there. See if the sales are up to much.’ She stood up, pointing to the big designer clothes shop in the mall opposite the café. ‘You stay here and keep an eye on Fin.’

‘I want to go with you, Gran,’ Finbar piped up from blowing bubbles with a straw into his chocolate milkshake.

‘Darling,’ she touched his cheek, ‘you stay here with Grandad. I’ll only be ten minutes.’

‘Okay.’ Finbar turned to Marty.

‘That’s my boy.’ Marty ruffled his shock of blond hair as Elizabeth walked off.

They’d only been sitting a few minutes when Fin slid himself out of his seat and took his hand.

‘We go to the toy shop, Grandad?’

Marty drained his coffee, left some notes on the table beside the bill, and got up. They walked two shops down, Fin eagerly pulling his hand, leading him towards the big, bright toy store.

‘Look, Grandad. Zillions of toys.’

They stepped inside amid the garish balloons and toys piled high on shelves: every kind of motorised car and dolls and soft toys lining the aisles. Other children ambled up and down, some with parents, some alone. Finbar let go of Marty’s hand.

‘I go up here, Grandad.’ He skipped off without waiting for an answer.

Marty watched as his grandson stopped at several displays, pushing buttons, lifting toys off the shelves and onto the floor and trying them out. Then he went up and around the corner into the next aisle, as Marty crossed from the bottom to where he could watch him play. Then Marty’s mobile pinged with a message. Automatically, he opened it and scrolled down to read. It was from Kerry – there was more grief from Spain – O’Driscoll’s headless corpse had been found in a suitcase in the boot of a car at Málaga airport. Bad news was coming thick and fast – only five days before another of their boys had been shot dead outside a bar in Fuengirola on the Costa del Sol. The papers were saying it was mistaken identity, as that’s what Kerry had made sure was drip-fed to the press. He was about to text her back, but he decided it could wait. He looked up from his phone, but suddenly Finbar was no longer in the aisle. He crossed to the next aisle expecting to see him. He wasn’t there either. An explosion went off in Marty’s chest as he went to the last aisle, this time his steps quickening to his thumping heartbeat. Nothing. Blind panic swept through him. He hurried back along the aisles calling for Fin, his legs heavy with every step. But no sign of the boy. Then Marty rushed towards the young man on the till.

‘A little blond-haired boy? Three years old. My grandson, Finbar. I came in with him. He was in that aisle, just a second ago, but he’s not there now. Did you see him go out?’ Marty blurted.

‘No, sir. Place is quite busy. But I didn’t see a kid wandering out by himself. Mind you, I’ve been tied up on the till.’ The boy called to another staff member on the floor, ‘You see a little blond boy leave?’ The boy shook his head and shrugged.

Marty rushed out on weak legs, his eyes scanning the length and breadth of the shopping mall on the first floor where they were, and down the escalators to the ground. A sea of weekend shoppers. He looked across to the clothes shop Elizabeth had gone into to see her coming towards him. Christ! She was alone. When she saw his anxious expression and she realised he too was alone, Elizabeth went white. Marty opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

‘Marty! Where’s Fin?’

He heard the question somewhere in the distance as the place swam in front of him. He gripped the handrail of the escalator.

‘He . . . He was here, in that shop just one minute ago. But . . . he’s vanished. Oh Christ, Elizabeth! I can’t find him.’

‘Marty, don’t say that! Finbar! Finbar!’ She began running up and down the mall, screaming, ‘Finbar!’

But Marty knew Fin was gone. He knew even before his mobile rang with the caller identity hidden from his screen.

‘Marty Kane. We’ve got your boy,’ the voice said in a strong Glasgow accent.

The line went dead before he could draw breath.

Within minutes the mall was crawling with police and security, as Marty and Elizabeth were escorted to an office on the ground floor. Marty’s whole body was trembling and he could barely make it to the chair, slumping down, his head in his hands as his wife, flushed and crying, pleaded with everyone, ‘Please. You have to find him. He must be here somewhere . . .’

Marty put his arm around her as her voice trailed off and she buried her head in his shoulder. He swallowed hard and tried to square his shoulders a little to pull himself together. He looked up at the big uniformed police Inspector standing over him, legs apart, his walkie-talkie crackling on his jacket.

‘Mr Kane?’ the man said. ‘I’m chief Inspector Richard Marsh. I know it’s hard, sir. Try to stay calm. We need a description. As much as you can tell us right now – what was Finbar wearing, for instance?’

Marty’s mind was suddenly blank. He tried to think back, watching Fin’s little legs swinging on the chair. But he couldn’t remember anything else.

‘I . . . I . . . Christ! I can’t remember what he was wearing . . . Oh! Brown boots! You know. Like the ones kids wear. Suede, I think.’ He turned to Elizabeth, who tried to sit up straight.

‘A dark blue jacket,’ she managed to say. ‘One of those little bomber college type things, with a striped collar. He had beige trousers on. And a red jumper. He has thick blond hair . . .’ Her voice began to catch. ‘And blue eyes. Beautiful big blue eyes.’ She broke down. ‘Oh, Inspector. Please hurry. Fin wouldn’t run off. He’s not that kind of boy. He’s a good wee boy. Kind. He . . . I know he wouldn’t run off.’

Marty’s eyes darted from the inspector to the PC standing behind him, her lips pulled back in a sympathetic grimace. He knew what she was thinking. Some pervert had lifted the boy. That was the fear of everyone these days. But Marty sat there, knowing that he knew differently, but unable to admit that. If his wife knew what he was hiding she would completely lose it. But he didn’t dare do anything. He would have to phone Kerry. He stood up.

‘Excuse me. I need to go to the bathroom.’ He went outside, his head still light and slightly dizzy, and rushed to the toilets nearby. He punched in Kerry’s number.

‘Marty,’ she answered after two rings.

‘Kerry. I’ve only got a minute.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Kerry.’ Marty could feel his voice quiver. ‘Someone’s taken our Finbar. My wee Finbar. We were in the shopping mall in Princes Square. With Elizabeth – she went into a shop and left me with him. I was with Fin in a toy shop. I looked at my phone to see your text, and when I looked up he was gone. Christ, Kerry. My boy. Then within two minutes I got a phone call. . .