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She said the name as if expecting Kate to
recognize it, as indeed after a moment she did.  ‘Oh!  Are you anything to
Jimmy
Shiels?’

‘
I’m his wife.  Well,
partner
.  We live together. 
Lived
together.  I was
his girlfriend.’

Kate didn’t know what to say, nor could she imagine what this total s
tranger could want, so she simply blurted out the first thing that came into her head, ‘Did he burgle my flat?’

There was a long pause, then, ‘Yeah.’

‘And was he the one who came to my door the other night?’

Even more reluctantly, ‘Yes.’

Kate nodded to herself, starting to get angry, ‘What for?  To rob me again?’

‘No
, nothing like that.  At least, I don’t think so.  Look, I want to talk to you.’

That’s what your boyfriend
said too,
thought Kate.  ‘What about?’

‘I don’t want to talk on the phone.  Can you meet me somewhere?  Or come to my flat?’

Kate hesitated; she didn’t like the sound of this at all.  For a start this girl didn’t seem the type to be involved with the likes of Jimmy Shiels; she sounded way too up-market for him.  Could this be some sort of set-up?  But to what end?  And by whom?  She didn’t have any enemies.  Well, there was Straub, of course, but he would be locked up for years to come, and subtle plans were not his
forte
anyway.  Her first instinct was to refuse but curiosity got the better of her and she asked noncommittally.  ‘Can you at least give me a clue as to what this is all about?’

There was a silence, and then the girl said, ‘Jimmy didn’t just burgle your flat.  He was
paid
to burgle it.  Hired.  But I don’t want to go into it over the phone.  Besides, I have something for you.’

Kate’s curiosity deepened, ‘What?’

‘Come to my flat and I’ll tell you.’

Kate was torn by ind
ecision, but she had nothing to lose by playing along so she temporized by asking, ‘Where is it?’

‘St. Patrick’s flats in Ballymun.  Flat 31. 
Do you know Silloge Road?  It’s just off the Ballymun roundabout, not half-a-mile from the M50.  Mine’s the second block on your left.  Come today or forget it because I’m not staying here.  After what happened to Jimmy I’m getting the fuck out of here.’

Kate blinked in surprise,
her jaw clenched with tension and the phone receiver pressed so tightly to her ear that it was starting to hurt.  ‘Are you afraid you’re in danger too?’

‘Are you kidding?’  There was a pause, then, with a sigh, the girl said, ‘I don’t know, to be honest.  Maybe.  All I know is that someone k
illed Jimmy and I’m not hanging around to find out why, and if he wants to kill me too.’

Kate made up her mind suddenly and on impulse said, ‘O
kay, I can be there in half-an-hour.  Flat 31, you said?’

‘That’s right, in St. Pat’s.  Th
ough if you’re more than that I might be gone when you get here.’  And with that she hung up.

Kate sat looking stupidly at the phone for a long moment before replacing the receiver, torn by indecision.  Would going to see this Madelyn
be a mistake? 
Probably
.  Finally, and in spite of her reservations, Kate got up and went anyway, hoping that curiosity would not engender the same fate for her it had for the cat.  She had been in Ballymun before, though not since the old tower blocks had been demolished.  Back then the flats had been notorious for crime, poverty and drugs, and to the privileged, middle-class Kate had appeared not just a different country to hers but almost a different
planet
.  The filth and litter had appalled her, and even driving through the estate without stopping had scared her; nothing would have induced her to even pass through the place at night, much less
live
there.  Burnt-out cars had littered the dingy streets and every green space was crammed with horses, caravans and filthy children. 
Thousands
of filthy children, swarming the streets and fields in huge groups.  To Kate’s disbelief, many of them had been riding piebald horses bareback, on the streets as well as in the fields, and their dirt and noise as they swarmed the area had made them seem more like wild animals than children.   She had even seen babies in nappies tottering around the roads, supervised by -or rather, following- children only a couple of years older than themselves.

The less said about
the parents, and indeed all the adults on view, the better; suffice to say that most of them had looked like criminals, and probably were.  A pall from all the open fires smoldering in the fields had hung over the area like a dull cloud, which matched the cloud of depression which had settled on Kate as she drove through the place.  About the only positive aspect of seeing the place was that it had made her more appreciative than ever of her own upbringing, first in Stillorgan and then in Dalkey.

This time around, things had changed
at least a little, and in such a place change could only be for the better.  She had heard of the much-vaunted regeneration project on her trips home over the years, and great improvements had indeed been wrought.  The first and most obvious change was that five of the seven massive grey tower blocks were gone, having been replaced by smaller, modern blocks of flats as well rows of neat houses.  Most of the open fields had been converted from rubbish dumps to football pitches, and there was far less piled filth and litter on the streets; even most of the burnt-out cars were gone.  There was still a vague aura of hopelessness and despair, and of course crime, but now it was an undercurrent rather than the prevailing theme.  Kate still wouldn’t have walked down Silloge Road alone at night but it was a vast improvement nonetheless.

Kate
had in ways had more than her fair share of problems, but now as she parked beside St. Patrick’s flats she realized that her life could have been very much worse; she could have had exactly the same abusive childhood, only in a place like this.  She turned off her engine and sat wondering if she dared leave her insanely expensive car unattended in such an area.  Certainly at night it would be stolen as soon as the local delinquents realized that it belonged to a stranger rather than one of the local drug dealers, but would it be safe at this time of day?

Oh well.  F
ear exists only in the imagination,
Kate told herself as she got out and quickly walked into the building,
And anticipation is always worse than the reality.

Inside, St. Patrick’s
block did not match its bright and relatively clean exterior, as there was litter scattered in the dirty foyer and ugly graffiti on the walls.  She tried not to be judgmental, knowing that living in such surroundings would not imbue anyone with community pride, but even so she felt a touch of distaste that she could not repress.  Especially in the lift, which wasn’t just covered in more graffiti but also stank of stale urine, and had a broken syringe lying on the floor to boot.  Luckily Kate had a thick wad of tissues in her coat pocket and she was able to pick it up without danger; she couldn’t have left it there where a child might stand on it, or even pick it up.

Although
quite new the door of flat 31 was battered, with the paint already peeling off, and Kate paused outside, her heart hammering, wondering again what she was letting herself in for.  And why.  Then she gathered her courage and firmly knocked on the door.  A girl of perhaps twenty opened the door a crack and then immediately slammed it shut again.  Kate recoiled in surprise but then heard the rattle of a chain being slid off its catch.  The door opened wider this time and the girl said urgently, ‘Are you Kate?  Come in.’

Kate walked inside nervously, and was pleasantly surprised by what she found.  The interior was no paradise but it was
better than the outside suggested.  It was clean, for a start, and reasonably well furnished with bright, colorful furniture.  The girl, who was dressed in grubby jeans and a clean but unpressed lilac blouse, led her inside to a large sitting-room and sat down on a huge yellow and blue checked sofa.  She stared at Kate with eyes that looked too big for her thin face but said nothing, alternatively puffing on a cigarette and gnawing at her stumps of fingernails.

Before sitting down Kate showed her the syringe and asked if she had some safe way of disposing of it.  With
out much interest the girl nodded to an empty plastic coke bottle on the sideboard and said, ‘Put it in that for the moment.  There’s a safe disposal place on the corner; I’ll drop it off there later.’

Kate carefully sealed the syringe inside
the bottle before putting it in the bin and then sat at the other end of the sofa.  Then she flashed a brief, uncomfortable, smile and said awkwardly, ‘So, Madelyn, why am I here?  What have you got for me?’

The girl
did not answer.  She was young and almost pretty, though her skin was poor like that of so many junkies, and she had limp, untidy brown hair.  Her features were even and finely drawn, but it was her big brown eyes that captured the attention; they were open and gentle, if currently scared.  She would have been attractive save that she was far too thin and her nervous, twitchy movements and shifting, darting gaze betrayed her as a drug user, as did the unfocused look in her eyes on the rare occasions that she met Kate’s steady gaze.  She put out her cigarette and began wringing her narrow, bony hands together as if trying to crush the life out of them, but still she remained silent.

Kate loo
ked at her with compassion, wondering what background she had come from, and how she had ended up here, living with a thief and drug pusher who used his own goods.  But the answer to the second part at least was self-evident, for drugs were no respecter of class or background or anything else.  ‘Why did you ring me?’

Madelyn lit another cigarette before replying with a question of her own, ‘Did you have anything to do with Jimmy’s death?’

Kate was partly shocked and partly amused, and after gawping in astonishment for a moment she uttered a horrified little bark of laughter and answered, ‘Of course not!  What do you take me for?’

Madelyn looked at her moodily, her fear evident, ‘I don’t know anything about you.  If you were working for -or even just friends with- the right people and Jimmy robbed you...’  Her hopeless shrug finished off her statement eloquently enough.

‘I’m a psychologist.  And a teacher,’ said Kate patiently. 
At least, for now.
‘I don’t have any connections with criminals, and certainly not with killers.  I know nothing about Jimmy or why he was killed.  All I know is that I was burgled -by him according to you- and the next night a stranger called to my door, saying he wanted to speak to me.  Again Jimmy, according to you.  Next thing I know there are policemen at my door, telling me that some guy called Shiels is dead, that he has my name and address in his pocket, and asking me how I know him.  I was hoping
you
might tell me what all this is about.’

The girl gave a short, ironic laugh that wasn’t far from a
sob, ‘I don’t know anything!  Or at least, not much.’  She took a deep pull on her cigarette and said, in a steadier tone, ‘Like I said, he was paid to rob your flat.  Some guy rang him at his own place in town.’  She paused, ‘Although he stayed here most of the time Jimmy kept his old flat in the city center for…business purposes.’  She shrugged, ‘Plus, when the baby’s born I’ll get more money if I’m on my own; the Lone Parent Allowance or something.  So Jimmy said anyway, and he usually knows about that sort of thing.’

The use of the present
tense in her last sentence seemed to throw her and she paused to take several deep, sniffly breaths before continuing, ‘Anyway, some guy rang him there with a proposition. He wouldn’t give a name, but I think Jimmy had an idea who it was just the same.  Anyway, Jimmy was to burgle your apartment and bring everything he could lay his hands on to this guy, who’d give him two grand for it.  Plus, he’d get to keep any cash he found in your flat.  So you tell me; why anyone would pay to steal your stuff.’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea!’ replied the astonished Kate, ‘The stuff I lost wouldn’t have cost
three thousand bran new, and stolen could only fetch a couple of hundred, tops.  No one in their right mind would pay two thousand for it.  But if that was the deal, what went wrong?  How come he was killed?’

‘Jimmy went wrong!’ said the girl bitterly, ‘Just like he always did.  He always had some fucking brilliant schem
e to set us up for life, and they
always
went wrong.’  She shook her head in despair, setting her lank hair flying, ‘I think the guy specified your briefcase as one of the items he wanted, and when he saw how old and shabby it was Jimmy started wondering why this guy wanted it.  So instead of handing it over he went through it first, looking for whatever it was that made such an old wreck so valuable.  He said he didn’t find anything but it didn’t matter; this job was going to make him a fortune anyway.  He wouldn’t tell me how but I’m sure blackmail came into it somewhere.  I think he knew the identity of the guy who hired him or something.  From years ago, maybe.  Anyway, instead of handing the stuff over as arranged, he told the guy on the phone that he wanted ten grand, not two, and the guy agreed.’  She shook her head again, sadly this time, ‘Poor, gullible Jimmy.  He really thought he could blackmail this guy.  Instead he got himself killed.’