Field of Blood (48 page)

some of the Brit soldiers from Ferris's platoon, but their officer had never been with them.

`You promised . . .'

`There's fuck all I can do if he's not out on the streets.'

Ì told the Chief you were taking care of him.' The ferret eyes of Mr Pronsias Reilly gleamed in anger. He should never have gone in so bloody deep. Direct

association with the Organization was walking him out of his depth, too bloody

deep.

`He's not where I can get at him.'

`You bloody said you'd get at him.'

Ì can't bloody ring up the barracks and ask .

`You said you'd stiff him.'

Ìf he's not on the streets, I can't get him.'

`Then you keep looking for him, laddie, because the Chief's waiting on your word.'

They went their separate ways. Mr Pronsias Reilly walked back to the Crown Court and the canteen and a sandwich, and Frankie Conroy took himself off in search of a black taxi and a ride to Turf Lodge.

Rennie rang Aldershot.

In staccato sentences he spelled out to Prentice what he had achieved with the

office of the Director of Public Prosecutions.

The Preliminary in court opening in a week, two days for the Prosecution counsel

before the weekend. McAnally to come in on the Friday, and be ready to perform

on the Monday.

`We reckon he'll be in the box for the rest of the week. He has to see that through

... you've got a holiday after that. It's fixed that

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**you're for Cyprus once he's past the Magistrate. You're bloody lucky, Prentice,

sunshine and cheap plonk to calm down with. You'll have forgotten what bloody

Belfast is by the time you get back. You'll have him ready?'

Prentice said he would have him ready. `How's his chin?'

Prentice said that Sean Pius McAnally's chin was mended.

`He'll be alright?' No more certainty from Rennie.

There was an age‐long pause on the line, like Prentice had gone away

to have a leak.

Ì'll have him ready, and his chin won't look like he's been scrapping. He'll know

his lines, he'll know what to expect, but that's all I know for sure. He doesn't talk to us any more. He's inside himself. The Brit talked to him, you know that. I don't

know what he said because McAnally won't tell me, and because Ferris isn't around to be asked. McAnally's gone inside himself so's I can't reach him. As I said, Mr Rennie, he knows what he has to say, but whether he's going to say it I

just don't know. You won't know whether he's going to deliver right up to the time he goes in the box.'

`You mean he might fall down on his arse.' Ì just don't know.'

`You're a bloody comfort. I'll have his friend on ice for him.' `You do that, Mr Rennie.'

`Not good news, David, I'm afraid,' the Adjutant said. `Cast your memory back.

The day you were shot up in the Falls, the McAnally fellow, that business. You were running down to Hastings Street R.U.C. because there'd been a complaint

from a newsagent chappie or something, about your apes wrecking his place. We

thought the peelers had forgotten about it, seems they haven't, seems you're required in the afternoon for your statement.'

Ì'm supposed to be patrol leading.'

Ìf your chaps can't manage without you then you're a pretty poor platoon commander. Most mortals would be grovelling thanks at the thought of spending

time in the cop shop rather than pavement bashing ... You alright, David?'

Frankie Conroy had a bicycle and a ladder and a bucket, and he smearwiped front

windows in Turf Lodge, and didn't ask for money, and those that didn't know thought he was a fucking eejit, and those that knew him saw the way that his head was most of the time twisted away from his work and watching the Drive

and the Crescent and the Avenue.

And still no officer with them when the patrol came through. And there was a biddy at his shoulder, shouting that the glass was dirtier than when he'd started.

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In a corner of the Mess the Bravo Company commander collared him.

`You're in luck, David. Sunray's got it into his head that the Battalion's short of range firing. You're going down to Ballyclare tomorrow, you and 2 platoon from

Alpha. I don't want Henry crowing over me that my lads can't shoot. If Alpha put

one over us, I'll kick you where it hurts ... Well, don't look so damned miserable.'

Ferris went back to his chair and the dog‐eared Illustrated London News. The pages were bouncing in front of his eyes. For another day he was spared patrolling. He had stiffened himself to accept that in the morning he would be on

the streets of Turf Lodge, a target. There was no one he could tell ... he couldn't

ask for a desk job, or a transfer, or to be shipped out. His pact was made with Gingy McAnally. It was the third time that he had tried the page and the report of

last season's Calcutta Cup match. He couldn't read the words, and couldn't absorb the photographs. He was obsessed by the narrow streets of the Falls, and

by the estates of Whiterock and Ballymurphy and Turf Lodge.

Ìf you saw Frankie then you'd know he was trying.'

Mr Pronsias Reilly was hunched over the interview table. The Chief's

face was a few inches from his. The lawyer saw the licking nervous

strokes of the Chief's tongue against his lips.

`Frankie's doing his best, but his man's off the face of the earth.' `What else is there?

'There's nothing else, there's only the officer.' `Without the officer . . .' `Gingy might retract.'

`With the officer?

'They're going ahead, rushing it, because they reckon he won't retract

if they can get in fast. If he's got the officer ...'

`What if he's t the officer?

'Then it's bad for us, that's all I can say.' `Why isn't there anything else? 'Because there isn't.' `What about his wife? 'Wouldn't matter a shit to him.' `What about his kids?'

Mr Pronsias Reilly gazed into the face of the Chief. He felt the fear

tremor in his belly. He knew of Mattie Blaney's boy ...

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**Ì didn't hear that,' he said. Ìf one of those kids is harmed ‐ so help me, I'll stand in court and cheer when you go down. I'll cheer if you go down, for twenty ‐

'

The Chief grinned. Ì didn't make a threat.' `Then be careful with your words.'

`The Brit officer's different?'

Mr Pronsias Reilly shuffled together his papers. Finally he said, Ì'll do my damnedest to see you walk out a free man, but not if the McAnally kids are harmed.'

`You get that officer, you and Frankie.'

Ì put it to you, McAnally, that you have told a tissue of lies.'

He said stubbornly. Ì've told the truth.'

Ì put it to you, McAnally, that you have lied for one simple reason, to save your

skin.'

`No.'

`You are a man with a violent criminal record, a record of murderous terrorism,

for which you deservedly faced a life sentence of imprisonment, and now you're

lying to wriggle clear of that sentence.'

Prentice walked the room. McAnally sat on a hard wooden chair, and just behind

him and cross‐legged on the carpet was Goss.

Ì'm telling the truth.' McAnally swung to face Prentice, his control was sliding.

Ìt's not lies.'

Goss's hand came up to McAnally's shoulder. `Never turn and face them, it's to goad you into facing the dock, facing the relatives. You just look in front of you,

just at the Magistrate.'

`Would it not be correct to say, McAnally, that by naming names you have won

immunity from prosecution for a number of serious crimes?'

Gingy's hand, clasped tight, slapped down onto his thigh. Ìt's all bloody rubbish

this . . .'

`Just answer my question. I am suggesting that you concocted events to go with

the names of quite innocent men.'

Gingy had turned again to Prentice. Ì know what happened, I know what I've got

to say.'

Goss gestured for Prentice to hold off. He spoke quietly, urgently, in McAnally's

ear. `Gingy, I've told you every blood/ day, and I'll tell you again. It's your word 268

against their word. What it comes down to is this. They are going to try to destroy you, to cut you up in little pieces.'

Gingy sighed dramatically. Prentice caught Goss's glare, of annoyance. Prentice

didn't hold back. There was no requirement for him to mollycoddle the

supergrass. His requirement was to toughen him, strengthen him, so that when

the barristers got their hands on him, he'd have some defence, some armour.

`You say that you were brought back from the South against your

will.

`Yes.'

Ànd you were then dropped at your home?

'Yes.'

Ì put it to you, McAnally, that if you had been brought back from the South against your will, that when you were dropped at home, you were then perfectly

free to return to the South.'

`You don't understand . . .'

Ì suggest to you that you were a willing member of a murder gang, who when

arrested plucked names out of the air and signed a statement which was traded

in for immunity for a life sentence of penal servitude.'

`That's a bloody joke . . .'

`Try, Gingy,' Goss hissed. `Try and help yourself.'

Ìs that what they're going to say to meet

'That's what they're going to say to you,' Prentice said. His voice had roughened,

lost the court‐room gloss.

`Jesus . . .' McAnally had slumped forward in his chair, his hands covered his face.

`Do you know what's happening now, if this was the court?' Prentice crowded close to McAnally's chair.

`What's happening?' The reply muffled from behind McAnally's fingers.

`Defence are on their feet. They're pleading there's no case to answer, that it doesn't even go to the Crown Court, because the witness is a half‐wit, and they

might just get away with it ... and the Chief's cracking a bloody smile, because he

might be walking down the steps of the Crumlin in half an hour's time. And if he's

walking out then he's thinking bloody well of Gingy McAnally. And if the Chief's

out, then out with him are Shay and Dommy and Fatsy and Bugsy and Phonsie

and Dusty, and they're all talking bloody well of Gingy McAnally, tout ... Don't be

a pathetic bastard, McAnally.'

Goss waved Prentice back. McAnally's shoulders were shaking, convulsing, and his hand couldn't steady them. His mouth was against McAnally's ear. `We have

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to do this, Gingy, it's for your own good. By hurting you now, we're trying to make sure they don't hurt you in court. You sit in the box you don't turn round,

you take your time.'

Ì didn't know

'

`.. it would be like this? We're teaching you because it's better you find out now,

than find out when you're in the box.'

Ì can't . . .'

Ì don't know that bloody word,' Prentice shouted.

Ì gave you your statement. I'm not going through with being ripped.'

`Your statement didn't buy you immunity.'

`Where's Ferris?' McAnally's head jerked up. He stared at Prentice.

,

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**`Back in Belfast,' Prentice said warily.

`He's really back there, no bloody lie?

'He went back to Belfast, back to his unit.' `He's not transferred out?

'He's back on the Springfield Road.'

`You know that? You're not lying to me?'

A puzzled frown cut Goss's forehead. `Why, Gingy? 'You wouldn't lie to meet

'He's with his unit, soldiering. That's certain. Rennie rang him. We're going back

on Friday, right. We're staying up the coast of the Lough for the weekend.

Rennie's called him out for a piss‐up on Friday night, that's how I know that Ferris is in Belfast.'

`Could he sit in court?

'Christ, Gingy, what for?' Prentice stalked away from McAnally's chair.

`Where I could see him,' McAnally said quietly.

Goss summoned a little gentleness, didn't bloody know where he found it. Ì'll get

it fixed.'

Ànd he went back to Belfast?'

Prentice leaned against the wall behind McAnally. He said keenly,

`Why shouldn't he have gone back to Belfast?'

McAnally stared at the carpet pattern between his feet. He pursed

his lips in concentration and he drove his fingers through his hair, and

he lit a cigarette, and drew deeply onto the butt.

A calm settled on his face, and his shoulders no longer shuddered. Without warning, he smiled, and shrugged. `Can we go over that again?' McAnally asked.

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Goss shook his head at Prentice, nothing for either of them to say.

He went and sat at the table. He was to the left of McAnally's eyeline,

but McAnally could see him if he was staring straight ahead. He sat

where they would fix for the officer to sit.

Prentice stated, Ì suggest to you, McAnally, that you were a willing member of

the murder gang, who, when you were arrested, plucked names out of the air and

signed a statement which was traded in for immunity from a life sentence of penal servitude.'

McAnally gazed at Goss who sat in front of him. He seemed to see the officer, and he saw a mountainside and the rain was lashing from the officer's face, and

he heard the words of the officer quiet and caring, in his ears.