Bleed a River Deep (11 page)

‘How is he?’ I asked.

‘He’s . . . he’s OK. He got charged with misuse of firearms or something. Bailed at ten thousand to appear in Letterkenny at the end of the month.’

I nodded my head, having guessed as much. He’d never do time for the prank, but a high bail would be a sufficient smack on the wrist. And if he stayed over the border and missed his court appearance, they’d still made ten grand out of him.

‘An expensive prank.’

Fearghal nodded, but did not speak, and I got the impression that something else was preoccupying him.

‘And how’s Kate?’ I asked.

I thought I heard Fearghal groan involuntarily. ‘Weston’s giving her to Hagan as a gift, after what happened. She’s going to be sent to America.’

‘I’m sorry—’ I began, but Fearghal finally said what was really on his mind.

‘I feel shitty doing this, but I need your help. Leon needs your help.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘Have you heard about the Eligius break-in?’

I felt my face muscles tighten, even as I tried to keep smiling. ‘Probably best if we go inside,’ I said.

Eligius was a US defence company which had opened several years ago outside Omagh. At the time it had attracted a lot of bad press, not least due to the US involvement in Iraq and the perception that the newly employed people of the town would be able to watch the fruits of their labours explode over Baghdad on
Sky News.
As it turned out, the factory was producing a microchip for inclusion in armoured personnel carriers, though the offices were also the European headquarters of the firm.

I had heard about the break-in on the news that morning. The previous evening, four people had broken into the Eligius offices and had unrolled an anti-war banner from the windows at the front of the offices. One, a well-known local figure called Seamus Curran, had shouted anti-American slogans through a loud-hailer to the gathering press and police.

At one point, several computers were thrown from a first-floor window and, later, a number of burning sheets of paper. Television images had shown, from a distance, the other three people involved in the break-in, but none of them clearly enough to be identifiable. Fearghal, however, assured me that there was little room for doubt over Leon’s involvement.

‘The fucking idiot called me from the offices last night. They brought him out just after three this morning.’

‘Why did he do it?’ I asked.

‘Another one of these bloody publicity stunts.’

‘Why come to me? What can I do?’

‘We were hoping you could put in a good word for him. With the cops up North.’

I said nothing, but Fearghal obviously read my feelings clearly.

‘Look, I know he’s fucked things up here for you,’ he said. ‘If you don’t want to help him, I’d understand, but help me. Please.’

*

I called Hendry, who was able to give me the name of the arresting officer in Omagh, though by the time I phoned, Leon and his three co-accused were already on their way to appear in court.

I changed out of my paint-splattered clothes as quickly as I could, but by the time we reached Omagh the Eligius Four, as they had been dubbed, had already appeared before the magistrate. The barrister representing them spoke briefly with Fearghal, explaining what had happened during their appearance. He named the four men, though the only name I knew other than Leon’s was Seamus Curran; he had been in the papers some years back over a miscarriage of justice. In the 1970s, Curran had been one of a number of men arrested on terrorism charges in England, who had been denied legal representation and had confessions beaten from them. Curran’s conviction had finally been overturned several years ago with an unspecified settlement and an apology from the Home Office. Whether or not he had been political before his arrest thirty years ago, his time inside had certainly politicized him, and he was frequently pictured in the local papers leading demonstrations against one thing or another, though without affiliation to any particular party. The other two men’s names meant nothing to me.

The hearing had been quick and uneventful, apparently. A PSNI officer who introduced himself to the court as Inspector Sweeney outlined the facts of the case and stated that he could connect the four accused with the break-in.

Leon Bradley spoke only long enough to confirm his name and age. The magistrate set bail at £2,000 for each of the accused, to reappear again on the 28th. Sweeney in turn suggested that Bradley might pose a flight risk following an incident in Donegal and requested that he be refused bail. However, instead the magistrate ruled that his bail be set at £5,000 and that he report to Omagh PSNI station once a day until the trial.

Fearghal organized the bail as quickly as he could, and later that morning we collected Leon from the Gortin Road station where he was being held. Fearghal asked to speak to Leon alone before he was released, and I guessed he was preparing him for my presence.

While I waited in the station foyer, I read through the local newspaper, the
Tyrone Herald
, and was surprised to see a story about Ted Coyle, the Carrowcreel prospector. He claimed to have been attacked, at his campsite by the river, and had been admitted to hospital with fractured ribs and a broken ankle. Gardai believed that the attack was a mugging; someone perhaps looking for his gold nugget. Supt Harry Patterson appealed to people to stay away from the campsite, stating that, in the time that prospectors had been working the river, only Coyle had found anything worth mentioning. The level of human activity on the river was also having an adverse effect on local wildlife, he said, as well as permitting the type of lawlessness that had resulted in the attack on Mr Coyle.

*

Leon smiled at me sheepishly as he was led out from the holding cells. His hair was even more dishevelled than the last time I had seen him and his clothes smelt of the smoke of both cigarettes and wood fires. I noticed he wore faint eyeliner around his eyes and this, coupled with his thin build, the paleness of his skin and his prominent cheekbones, gave him a vaguely feminine appearance – in marked contrast with the bear-like physique and sanguine colouring of his elder brother.

‘Ben,’ he said, raising his head.

‘Leon,’ I replied, folding the newspaper and replacing it on the seat where I’d found it.

‘Right,’ Fearghal said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Let’s get some food, men, shall we?’

We went to a café on the outskirts of Omagh. While Fearghal and I ate cooked breakfasts, Leon contented himself with coffee and a rolled cigarette, despite having not eaten in almost a day. He said little as Fearghal admonished him for his actions and, every so often, read and replied to text messages he received on his mobile.

‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ Fearghal asked. ‘Bad enough the stunt you played in Donegal, never mind breaking into a bloody missile factory.’

‘It was a protest,’ Leon shrugged.

‘Against what?’ his brother replied with exasperation.

‘Against
whom,’
Leon corrected him. ‘Hagan.’

‘What about him?’ I asked.

‘He’s a major shareholder in Eligius,’ Leon replied. ‘Another finger in another pie.’

‘What have you got against him?’ I asked.

‘He’s an arsehole. He funded terrorism over here for years, and now he’s trying to stifle debate in the US over Iraq.’

Neither Fearghal nor I spoke.

‘Of course, what nobody says is that Hagan is part-owner of a company that sells parts to the US Army. He has a vested interest in keeping the war on terror going for as long as he can.’

‘People responsible for wars generally do,’ I said. ‘Breaking into their offices or shooting starter pistols at them won’t make a difference.’

‘We’ll see,’ Leon replied darkly.

‘You used to think it did,’ Fearghal protested, turning to face me. ‘When we were young. You used to think stunts like that could make a difference. You did it yourself, for Christ’s sake!’

I was taken aback by the shift in the tone of the conversation, and realized I had ignored the cardinal rule that blood is thicker than water. Fearghal could take digs at his brother, but when an outsider did so they closed ranks.

I felt I had to defend my position. ‘The only people it affects are those doing it. The university didn’t change its recycling policy because of us, Fearghal, and America won’t change its foreign policy because Hagan had the shit scared out of him with a starter pistol.’

‘You used to have a bit of spirit about you, Benny.’

‘Did you protest against Weston being given Kate? Or Weston giving it to Hagan? Would it have made a difference?’ I knew it to be a sore point with Fearghal. He did not respond. ‘I make what difference I can in my own way,’ I concluded.

The Bradley brothers looked at each other.

‘You hardly expected a cop to understand, did you, Ferg?’ Leon said, looking at his brother. ‘Sure, he’s one of them.’

Fearghal dropped me back home after lunch. We exchanged pleasantries and agreed to keep in touch, though I suspected, and even hoped, that I wouldn’t see him again after our conversation.

Chapter Thirteen

Saturday, 14 October

Debbie and I spent Saturday morning with the kids, shopping in Derry. On the way to town, Penny complained of being thirsty, so we stopped at the shop on the border and I took her inside to buy drinks for the family.

As we waited in the queue to pay, I recognized the man at the front. Dressed in a suit and bow-tie, his hand covering his mouth as he attempted to stifle a yawn, stood Karol Walshyk. He apologized to the girl at the till, lifted his milk and bread and turned towards us. His eyes were slits in his face from lack of sleep and I guessed he had just completed another night shift. As he passed us, he smiled in semi-recognition, then seemed to realize how he knew me and stopped.

‘Inspector Divine?’ he said, pointing at me.

‘Devlin,’ I nodded. ‘Good morning, Doctor. Late night?’

‘Busy night,’ he replied. Then he looked down at Penny, who was peering up at him, one hand gripping the front of my trouser leg.

‘And who’s this young lady?’ he asked.

‘This is my daughter, Penelope,’ I said, ruffling her hair as I spoke. She squinted up at me, then glanced back at Walshyk.

‘How do you do?’ Walshyk said, extending his hand. Penny looked at me once more, smiled uncertainly, then shook his hand quickly before wrapping both her arms around my leg.

‘I called to see our mutual friend,’ he said, straightening up. ‘Her house was burnt down.’

‘That’s right,’ I said.

‘Do you know where she is now?’

I shook my head, uneasy about the direction our conversation was taking, both because I was reluctant to discuss the case with him professionally, and also because I was aware of the fact that it had been my fault that Natalia had vanished.

‘Did you not help her?’

‘I did,’ I protested. ‘I tried to. She – we lost her,’ I said, as quietly as I could.

‘You told her you would help her,’ he stated, his gaze steely. I was aware of Penny looking up at me with concern, seemingly following the direction of our conversation. ‘You promised her you’d help,’ he continued, the accusation clear.

‘I tried my best.’

‘Is that so? I was wrong to trust you.’

I felt Penny’s hold on my leg loosen slightly.

‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ I said, my face flushed. ‘I have to get my daughter a drink. Excuse me.’

*

In the car afterwards, Penny asked me about the conversation. Debbie looked at me quizzically and I attempted to shrug off her concern as I started the engine.

‘Why was that man cross, Daddy?’ she asked, twisting the lid off her drink.

‘He . . . I told him I would do something and I wasn’t able to.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s complicated. He asked me to look after someone and I wasn’t able to do it.’

‘He said you promised. Did you break a promise?’ she asked.

‘It’s complicated,’ Debbie said, though the response did nothing to reduce the judgemental look I saw reflected in the rear-view mirror.

‘You have to keep your promises, Daddy.’

‘I know, sweetie. I know.’

I attempted to forget the events of the day before, though the comments of Fearghal and his brother had stung me more than I cared to admit. I had convinced myself that joining the Guards was the only way I could make a difference and apply my own beliefs and principles in a manner that would have a real and lasting impact. But increasingly I was beginning to suspect that that was not the case. Caroline Williams, my former partner, had taken a leave of absence because she no longer felt that the rewards of the job justified the risks. Increasingly I was aware that, no matter what we did or how we acted, it didn’t stop crime, and it certainly didn’t stop people like Cathal Hagan delivering hawkish speeches about the need for military intervention while lining his pockets with the prof its of such action.

I tried to explain this to Debbie as we drove back home that afternoon, the two children asleep in the back.

‘You can’t change the world,’ she said, fiddling with the radio. ‘You can only make your little corner of it a nicer place to live.’

‘Is that good enough?’ I asked.

‘It has to be,’ she stated with a simplicity of reason I found difficult to dispute.

She found a station to her liking, turned the volume up slightly, and settled down in the passenger seat, pulling her knees up against her chest and resting her feet on the dash in front of her.

I was considering what she had said when the news headlines were read on the radio. The first headline concerned the discovery of a dead body near Orcas goldmine. A man’s body had been pulled from the Carrowcreel.

Five minutes later, Fearghal Bradley phoned my mobile to tell me that he believed the body was Leon’s.

*

He called at our house and collected me before driving on towards the Carrowcreel.

‘Leon has been missing since last night,’ he explained. ‘I called the Guards and that arsehole Patterson told me he couldn’t help me, but that a body had been found out by the river. It was too early to tell anything, he said.’