Rough Justice (6 page)

By the time he’d done his countryside route he was bathed in sweat, his shoulders ached from the weight of the rucksack and his feet were sore. He vaulted over a five-bar gate and started running on the pavement again. He upped the pace, his chest heaving, and ran the last two miles at full pelt.

When he got home, Katra was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Shepherd went upstairs, showered and changed into a clean polo shirt and black jeans. By the time he was back in the kitchen, Liam was already tucking into scrambled eggs and bacon, the eggs done with cheese the way he liked them.

Katra gave Shepherd a mug of coffee. ‘What would you like, Dan?’ she asked.

‘Tomato omelette would hit the spot,’ said Shepherd, ruffling his son’s hair and sitting down next to him. ‘Homework done?’

‘Almost.’

‘Need any help?’

Liam shook his head as he shovelled a forkful of egg into his mouth.

‘How’s school?’

‘School’s school.’

‘Don’t speak with your mouth full,’ said Shepherd.

‘You asked me a question!’ protested Liam.

‘And don’t answer back.’ Shepherd grinned and sipped his coffee.

The doorbell rang and Liam sprang up from the table. ‘That’ll be Lady,’ he shouted.

‘Calm down,’ said Shepherd, amused by his son’s enthusiasm. ‘Remember what they said – everything has to be calm until she’s settled. No loud noises, no rough games.’

‘Got it, Dad,’ said Liam, hurrying to the front door.

‘Can you put my breakfast in the oven, please,’ Shepherd asked Katra, as he followed his son out of the kitchen.

Liam had already opened the front door and was on his knees petting the beagle. A girl in her twenties with short, spiky black hair, wearing blue jeans and a grey duffel coat, was holding the dog’s leash and grinning at the fuss Lady was making of her new owner. She grinned at Shepherd and waved. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Zoe, from the dogs’ home.’

‘I guessed that,’ said Shepherd. ‘Come on in. Do you want a coffee or tea or something?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, stepping into the hallway. She handed the leash to Liam. ‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘Take her out into the garden and show her around. Keep her on the leash until she gets used to you.’

Liam grabbed it and ran down the hall. The dog scrabbled after him, her tail lashing wildly. ‘She seems happy enough,’ said Shepherd.

‘She’s a lovely dog, great temperament and already house-trained,’ said Zoe. She took a small notebook from the pocket of her jacket and a ballpoint pen. ‘Have you had a dog before, Mr Shepherd?’

Shepherd shook his head. ‘Lady’s our first, but we’ve bought a couple of books and we’ve already been along to see a local vet in case we have any problems.’

‘Who did you see?’

‘Susan Heaton – she has a surgery on Lanhill Road. We were asking about inoculations – she said if we’d got the dog from you she would have had all her shots. But she said we should take her in for a check-up once she’d settled in.’

‘You’re well prepared,’ she said, making a note in her book.

‘It was one of my conditions for getting a dog that Liam read up on it,’ said Shepherd. ‘What exactly is it you need to see?’

‘Just the state of the house generally,’ said Zoe. ‘And that’s fine – I could tell from the outside.’ She grinned. ‘Actually, it’s a lot better than a lot of the homes I visit. I just need to see where you’ll be feeding her, where she sleeps and where she’ll exercise.’

‘Kitchen’s this way,’ said Shepherd, and took her along the hallway. Katra was loading the dishwasher. Shepherd introduced her to Zoe.

‘I put the food and water bowls by the back door,’ said Katra. ‘I wasn’t sure if inside or outside was best.’

‘Either works,’ said Zoe, making another note in her book. ‘What food will you be giving her?’ Shepherd showed her the dried and tinned food that he and Liam had bought and Zoe nodded her approval. ‘And give her the occasional bone to gnaw on. Beagles can turn into chewers if they get bored,’ she said. ‘Everything looks fine. Just give me a quick look at the garden and I’ll be out of your hair.’

Shepherd opened the kitchen door and Zoe did a quick walk around outside, pronounced herself satisfied and handed Shepherd a printed form, which she’d already signed. She bent down and patted the dog. ‘You’ll have a good life here, Lady,’ she said.

The dog woofed, as if she’d understood what Zoe had said, then sat down by Liam’s feet, her tail still swishing from side to side.

Katra took Zoe back into the house while Shepherd watched Liam try to teach the dog to walk to heel. The beagle kept getting herself tangled in Liam’s feet and Shepherd laughed out loud as the boy stumbled. ‘Dad!’ Liam protested.

‘We’ll fix you up with training classes, don’t worry,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’ll teach her,’ said Liam.

‘I meant for you,’ said Shepherd. ‘The dog’s fine – it’s you that can’t walk in a straight line.’ Liam grinned and took his Nokia mobile phone from his pocket. ‘Video me, Dad,’ he said.

‘What’s the magic word?’

‘Please,’ said Liam. He held out the phone. ‘Come on, Dad, I want a video of the first time I walked her.’

Shepherd took the phone from his son. He scrolled through the menu to the video camera and filmed Liam as he walked the dog around the garden. Every few steps Lady would jump up at him and by the time he’d gone around the lawn his jeans were splattered with mud.

‘Make sure you clean her paws before you take her inside,’ warned Shepherd, as he gave Liam back the phone.

He went back into the kitchen. Katra took his breakfast out of the oven and put the plate on the table. ‘She’s a lovely dog,’ she said.

‘Just make sure that Liam looks after her,’ said Shepherd, sitting down. ‘I don’t want to find you feeding and exercising her. She’s Liam’s responsibility, that’s the deal.’

Katra brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘I understand, Dan,’ she said. ‘Do you want more coffee?’

‘Please.’

She refilled his mug. Liam rushed in, grabbed a kitchen roll and rushed out. A few minutes later he came in with Lady. ‘I’ve cleaned her paws, Dad.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘Can she go in the sitting room and watch TV?’

‘Dogs don’t watch TV, Liam,’ said Shepherd.

‘You know what I mean,’ said Liam.

‘She stays off the furniture, remember,’ said Shepherd.

Liam hurried into the sitting room and the dog scurried after him. Shepherd polished off his omelette, then picked up his coffee mug and went to join his son. Liam was sprawled on one of the sofas, using the remote to flick through the channels. The dog was lying on the floor, her head resting on her paws.

‘Just choose something and watch it,’ said Shepherd, as Liam continued to channel-hop. ‘You’re making me dizzy.’

‘It’s all rubbish,’ said Liam.

‘Put on a DVD, then.’

Liam carried on switching channels as Shepherd sipped his coffee. Five head-and-shoulders photographs of soldiers in uniform flashed onto the screen. It was Sky News and Shepherd was only half listening, but he heard, ‘Real IRA,’ just before Liam changed channels again. ‘Back, back, back, quick,’ he said.

Liam fumbled with the remote but after a few seconds he managed to get back to Sky News. The five photographs had been replaced by a video outside a Chinese restaurant. There were ambulances with lights flashing and officers of the Police Service of Northern Ireland hurrying back and forth while helmeted soldiers cradled their carbines.

‘Hit the volume,’ said Shepherd, and Liam did as he was told.

‘The five soldiers were eating a meal in a Chinese restaurant last night when the gunmen burst in,’ said a female voice. ‘Witnesses said they fired Kalashnikovs and fled to a waiting car outside. A waiter was also shot but is recovering in hospital. The five men were all with the 2nd Battalion, The Rifles, based at Ballykinler Barracks in County Down, and were due to fly out to Afghanistan on Wednesday. Last night the Prime Minister paid tribute to the murdered servicemen and called the attack a cowardly assault on brave men who were serving their country. He said the attack was not a political act but was premeditated mass murder and he had no doubt that the perpetrators would be brought to justice.’

The Prime Minister appeared on the screen, standing in front of 10 Downing Street, looking sombre. ‘This was not a political act, but was premeditated mass murder. Those who are trying to disrupt and destroy the political process that is working for the people of Northern Ireland are doomed to fail and will be brought to justice. The people of Northern Ireland do not want a return to guns on the street, and the murderers of our brave soldiers will not be allowed to destroy or undermine the political process.’

‘What is it, Dad?’ asked Liam.

‘Hush, Liam, let me listen,’ said Shepherd, leaning forward.

The newsreader reported that the Northern Ireland Secretary had said that he was sure the attack would not spell the end to the Peace Process and that everything possible would be done to track down the killers. The pictures of the five soldiers flashed up again. Under each picture was the soldier’s name and rank. Shepherd’s stomach churned as he stared at the screen.

‘Dad, what’s wrong?’

Shepherd stood up. ‘I’ve just got to make a call, Liam. I’ll explain when I’ve finished.’

He went back into the hall, picked up his mobile phone and pulled out the charger. He scrolled through his contacts list and called Major Gannon’s number as he walked through the kitchen and into the back garden. The Major answered almost immediately. ‘Hi, Spider, you’ve seen the news, then?’

‘I’m so sorry about your loss, boss,’ said Shepherd. ‘If there’s anything you need, you know you just have to ask.’

‘I’m on the way to the airport as we speak. I’ll call you from Ireland.’

‘Tell your brother my thoughts are with him,’ said Shepherd. ‘And, Major, anything you need – anything, okay?’

‘I understand, Spider, and thanks for that. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.’

The Major ended the call. Lady ran up and began to sniff at Shepherd’s shoes. Shepherd bent down to pat her and saw that Liam was standing at the kitchen door. ‘Sorry about that, Liam. I had to call the Major.’

‘Major Gannon?’

Shepherd nodded. The dog began biting his hand, playful nips but painful nevertheless. He straightened up and the dog tried to nibble his ankles. ‘Hey, put her on the lead for a while and stop her biting,’ said Shepherd.

‘How do I do that?’ asked Liam.

‘Just give the lead a jerk and say, “No,” whenever she does it.’

‘She’s got a name, Dad.’

‘She’s a dog,’ said Shepherd. ‘And dogs, like children, have to be trained.’

‘That’s a joke, right?’

‘It’s sort of a joke.’

Shepherd went back into the kitchen with his son. Liam picked up the lead and clipped it to the beagle’s collar.

‘You saw the story on TV about the soldiers getting shot?’ asked Shepherd.

Liam nodded.

‘One of the soldiers was Major Gannon’s nephew.’

‘Who killed them?’

‘The Real IRA. Terrorists.’

‘I thought the IRA had given up?’

‘They had, supposedly. Their political wing is now a political party, part of the government, but the terrorists were supposed to have given up their guns. But that was the IRA. The men who killed the soldiers say they are with the Real IRA.’

‘And what’s the difference between the IRA and the Real IRA?’

‘That’s a very good question,’ said Shepherd. ‘There are some people who say there’s no difference, that the IRA terrorists just started using a different name.’

‘And why are they killing soldiers now?’

‘That’s another very good question, Liam. I would guess that the politicians are trying to answer that themselves, as we speak.’

Shepherd got to Paddington station ten minutes before he was due to meet Jimmy Sharpe and waited for him at Caffè Ritazza. He sipped a coffee and read the
Daily Mail
. The killings in Downpatrick were the main story on the front page. There were five head–and-shoulders photographs of the soldiers, identical to the ones that had been shown on the television news, and inside the paper was a large photograph of the inside of the Chinese restaurant. There were two bodies covered with sheets under one of the tables. Shepherd scanned the article. According to the newspaper’s security correspondent, the South Antrim unit of the Real IRA had claimed responsibility in a phone call to the
Sunday Tribune
paper in Dublin, using an established codeword to confirm their identity.

The Real IRA said they intended to continue killing members of the British armed forces until they withdrew in full from the island of Ireland, and that they made no apologies for the death of the soldiers or for the injuries of the Chinese waiter who was hurt in the attack. According to the Real IRA, the restaurant staff ‘were collaborating with the British by servicing them and were therefore legitimate targets’.

Shepherd read through the story. ‘Dinosaurs,’ he muttered. The public had assumed that when the Provisional IRA announced it had given up its armed struggle it would be the end of violence in Northern Ireland, but sectarian killings had continued under the guise of criminal activity. Now troops were being targeted again, even though the British government was clearly moving towards granting everything the IRA had ever wanted or demanded. The men behind the restaurant killings weren’t motivated by politics, or by a desire for a united Ireland. They were hate-filled, vicious sociopaths who killed because it was in their nature to do so. The soldiers they had murdered had been about to go to Afghanistan, to fight for democracy, and the cowardly thugs had ambushed them while they were out for a Chinese. Shepherd had respect for soldiers, for men who put on a uniform and picked up a weapon to fight for their country or for their beliefs, but he had no respect for terrorists who killed unarmed men while they ate, or used bombs to kill and maim civilians. He put down the paper, shaking his head.