by Kevin Doyle
He shaved and sorted his clothes – they had been thrown about everywhere. Putting on a dark round-necked jumper and jeans, he suddenly remembered the stash of cash that he kept in the flat for emergencies. He found one trainer under his bed, empty. The second was in a corner and that was empty too. €400, gone.
‘Fuck,’ he shouted, and kicked his ruined mattress.
He called Hannah. She was still at work. She commiserated over the money. He told her how the Dalton meeting had gone. She agreed that it had been right to tell them.
Hannah had made enquiries of her own. A detective she knew had confirmed that a notice about Shane had just gone live on the garda system; Mayfield Station was coordinating search operations. There was another thing. An ex-journalist friend of hers had been in contact, to do with an article she had done years back on the IRA and the Northern Bank robbery. She thought he could be worth talking to.
‘Like I said, he’s retired. But apparently he’s been writing this book on the IRA, mainly on their operations in the Cork–Kerry–Limerick–Waterford area. The “geographical” south as he once described it to me. He might know something about Dalton or Sugrue even?’
It sounded promising. As it was they had very little to go on. They agreed to meet later and make a plan.
At the cafe, there was a table free beside the window. It had a view along Cork’s leafy South Mall. Noelie sat down and while he waited he called Ellen. She had just returned from the garda station and was feeling a lot more optimistic. The gardaí had been very helpful and reassuring; they fully expected to find Shane.
Just as he was finishing his call, Lynch appeared. Dressed in a navy canvas jacket and dark trousers, he still had the look of a cop about him. He sat down and reached for the manila envelope on the table. Noelie moved it out of range.
‘Not so quick. What about Shane?’
Even out of uniform, Lynch looked menacing. Noelie recalled the beating he had received. Although it had happened a long time ago, it still affected him.
‘A missing person’s report has been filed so his case is official now. Mayfield Garda Station told me that your brother-in-law had been in touch. All they have to go on so far is the location of his last text message. Oddly it’s from over your way. The beacon on Capwell Road picked it up around 2.30 p.m. yesterday. His phone was switched off a while later.’
Noelie felt a bit sick – Capwell Road was quite near his flat. Shane must have a friend in the area.
‘Isn’t there a way of telling a phone’s location even if it’s switched off?’
‘Yes, but it takes time. The phone company needs to agree access. It’ll be done now.’
The waiter came and they ordered. When he’d gone, Lynch put out his hand and Noelie gave him the packet. He hadn’t included the Glen map, only the typed confession. Lynch examined the document.
‘Says in there that you executed a man called Jim Dalton.’
Lynch cocked an eye at Noelie. ‘Really? Jim Dalton’s in a witness protection programme. His family simply won’t accept that. Cork gardaí have been over and around it with them two hundred times.’
‘The Daltons don’t have a very high opinion of the Cork gardaí.’
Lynch looked up. ‘You know them?’
‘We’ve talked. Actually they were quite taken with what your ex-colleague Sugrue has to say in that statement.’
For the first time Lynch looked uneasy. ‘Sugrue isn’t reliable.’
‘The Daltons seem to think he is.’
‘Towards the end of his career he went strange. Saw all sorts of things, including Padre Pio. You know Pio, the stigmata priest. He told me once that Pio occasionally sat in his car with him.’ Lynch squinted. ‘Is that sane?’
The inspector turned over a page and then another. Noelie waited.
‘Would it complicate matters if a body were to show up?’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Just wondering. Like, what would it mean if a body were to turn up?’
At that moment the waiter returned. He served the cappuccinos. When he left, Lynch said, ‘What body?’
Noelie smiled. He had wondered about the Glen map. When the Daltons saw it they had jumped to the same conclusion. Did the cross and coordinates on the map refer to a grave?
‘Dalton’s.’
Lynch held the document in front of Noelie. ‘Is there more?’
‘Maybe there is.’
Lynch’s expression turned very sour. ‘I’ve explained already that this an active investigation.’
‘An active cover-up’s more like it. Think I’m stupid? There’s no investigation. You’re just protecting yourself.’ Noelie nodded to the statement. ‘Religious nut or not I believe Sugrue. Know why? Because I know what you were like. I was on the receiving end. A leopard and his spots, and all of that.’
‘I’ve been good about all this, Noel, but I’ve my limits.’
Noelie smiled. ‘I’m shaking in my boots.’
They held each other’s stare. Lynch glanced at the statement again, flicking back and forth through the pages. When he finished, he repeated his question: ‘Is there more?’
Noelie leaned closer. ‘I’ll make this simple. Help me find Shane and I’ll help you.’
‘I’ll help you with your nephew. That goes without saying.’
‘I mean really help me. Tell me what’s going on. What’s this all about? Don Cronin implied that Shane’s disappearance could be connected to this Sugrue statement.’
Lynch looked surprised again. ‘You talked to Cronin?’
‘Actually he was on his way to the airport. With the missus in tow. Catching a plane to God knows where. He said that I should hope that “that crowd doesn’t have him” or words to that effect. Who is “that crowd”?’
Lynch shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘It’s true.’
Noelie nodded at the statement. ‘That’s going public in a while.’
‘You think anyone will believe this crap? Sugrue went gaga and there’s more people than me know that too.’
‘Which explains perfectly why you’re sitting here with me right now. So who is “that crowd”?’
‘I said I don’t know.’
Noelie stood. ‘You being such a hotshot cop, I’m guessing you’ve heard of Wikileaks? That’s where this statement is going. And the other material with it.’
Lynch nodded to the chair. ‘Sit down.’
‘Please?’
‘Please.’
Noelie did. Lynch looked at Noelie for a long moment.
‘I don’t see how any of this could be connected to your nephew going missing, I really don’t. No one likes to admit it but boys do go missing. He could’ve run off. More than likely he’s with someone …’
Noelie listened. He felt Lynch was being straight with him.
‘Shane’s a decent kid,’ said Noelie. ‘He’s sixteen but he’s level-headed. The problem is he wouldn’t disappear for a whole night and not make any contact.’
Lynch nodded. ‘Missing children, teenagers, are a priority. I’ll make it my business to find out where things are at. Is that good enough?’
Noelie waited. ‘And?’
Lynch sighed. ‘I can tell you a bit about Dalton. At least then you’ll be more in the picture.’ He paused. ‘It’s a legacy issue. There are obligations to people who helped the authorities in the past.’
‘People who helped the authorities,’ repeated Noelie slowly. ‘Informers, you mean?’
Lynch hesitated. ‘That’s not a term I use. The point is the gardaí still have a duty of care to people who cooperated with us during the Troubles. The Dalton matter is about that. Dalton was put in a witness protection scheme to safeguard an identity. That’s the bald truth.’
‘An identity?’
‘I don’t know any more than that. Believe me, I’m not as high ranking as you think. The type of detail you are asking for is handle
d by a special unit that’s only partly linked to Branch. I doubt if there’s more than two people in the entire state who know who this person is. That’s how it’s done, that’s how it has to be done.’
Noelie couldn’t decide if he believed Lynch or not.
‘Has anyone made contact with you or your sister about Shane?’
‘No.’
‘Well, it’s early days.’
Noelie smiled. ‘You’re good, I’ll say that much. Any thoughts of Broadway?’
Lynch frowned. ‘What are you on about?’
‘The past. Legacy issues. Acting responsibly. Duty of care to those who ratted on their comrades and so on. It’s easy to see where this is leading: best to be quiet for now and let the responsible authorities handle the matter. Nice.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘You want to buy yourself time. Find some way to get out from under this. It’s the old tactic: delay, delay, delay.’
‘Can’t you get it into your thick skull that I’m not out to get you. I’m trying to give you advice, Noelie.’
‘Who is Brian Boru?’
Lynch shrugged. ‘The last High King of Ireland.’
‘Snap. Except Don Cronin knew. When I asked him who Brian Boru was it caused quite a reaction. Not a good one either. He told to me to forget I had ever heard of Brian Boru. Is that the identity then, the one you are all being so careful to protect?’
‘I don’t know. What I do know is that you’re making a mistake going public with any of this and I mean that. Wait a day even. In case someone makes contact?’
It was Noelie’s turn to feel unsure of himself.
‘It’s worth thinking about who you’re dealing with here, Noel. Say there is someone highly placed inside the Provos with a hidden past – what do you think that person might be thinking about right now? If there was the remotest chance of some information getting out that would reveal that person’s true role, what do you think she or he would do? Someone told me once you’re of above average intelligence. Work it out.’
‘Find Shane. You have a few hours.’
Lynch folded the Sugrue statement and slipped it inside his jacket. He stood up. ‘I’m giving you good advice. Don’t be rash.’
Noelie was left to settle the bill – a minor matter but annoying all the same. When he was done he went out to the hotel foyer. A group of American tourists with overloaded luggage trolleys were making their way to reception. At the hotel entrance Noelie looked up and down South Mall. Lynch was nowhere to be seen. The meeting hadn’t gone well for either of them.
12
Every nook, cranny, small box and crevice had been searched. So they hadn’t just been looking for the records. Noelie figured whoever had been through his place knew about the statement and the map. Clearly Branch were suspects but it just didn’t feel like them. The mess was too chaotic and there was something personal about the damage that Noelie couldn’t understand. The framed picture of his parents had been smashed and the photo had been taken out and torn in two. Also, his posters had been pulled down and ripped up. Even his precious framed Tom Campbell, a strange depiction of a woman’s elongated face, had been jabbed through in the centre.
Standing there, he knew he needed to clean up but he was sickened by the wanton damage. Martin’s sudden arrival startled him.
‘You’re nervous.’
‘And shattered.’
Noelie realised he was exhausted. Maybe that was why he felt so low, so hopeless. Martin suggested he come downstairs. He could make tea or Noelie could get some sleep.
As the tea was being poured, Hannah arrived. She went up to look at Noelie’s place and returned shaking her head. ‘Pure destruction. It’s like someone wanted to rip the place apart.’
They agreed that having someone break into your flat was one of the worst things that could happen. Noelie wondered again who it could’ve been. Martin reminded him of the man who had called, the one with the large ears.
‘What time was that, d’you think?’
‘I was only in from work. Six or so.’
‘He could’ve been waiting of course. Watching for who came and went. He say what he wanted?’
‘You. Were you around? I said no but that I was. I was on guard, given what I’d seen upstairs, so I camped it up a little for him. He didn’t hang around.’
‘Was he threatening?’
‘Not really. He looked unsure.’
‘A cop?’ enquired Hannah.
‘Didn’t look like one.’ Martin said, then added, ‘Actually definitely not a cop. He was on the shabby side. There was something strange about him, like he hadn’t been out in sunlight for a long time.’
Hannah laughed at this but Martin was adamant. ‘I mean it, he was on the strange side and I don’t say that about many people. Okay, it was partly his ears. They were like shovels. But there was something else too.’
Hannah reminded Noelie about her ex-journalist friend, Tommy Keogh. ‘I called him and asked generally. He said he had met Sugrue once.’
‘Where does he live?’ asked Noelie.
‘Crosshaven.’
‘Could we go there now?’
‘Let’s do it.’
The drive took them south out of Cork in the direction of Carrigaline. Keogh lived at Church Bay, a rocky cove not far from the mouth of Cork harbour. It was about two miles on from Crosshaven itself.
‘Church Bay was one of our seaside destinations when we were young,’ said Noelie. ‘We’d take the bus from town. Ma, Da, Ellen and me. Church Bay or Youghal, those were our two options.’
They drove in silence for a while. Noelie realised his phone was almost out of credit so he asked if he could borrow Hannah’s.
He called Ellen. Her optimism from earlier had vanished. She pointed out that they were heading into a second evening without having heard from Shane. She was really worried.
After the call Noelie felt panicked too. Hannah tried to reassure him. ‘It’s only a day and a bit. He’ll turn up, Noelie – you have to believe that.’
She changed the subject, and told Noelie a bit more about Keogh. She had visited him before.
‘Not long after he retired, he had a few of us down to dinner. He was missing the company. Hacks’ night out. I always got on with him. I heard he had some good sources so I’ve kept in with him.’
They reached Crosshaven and joined the winding road up to the coast. Noelie spoke again. ‘Lynch didn’t think this was connected with Shane’s disappearance though. That’s something.’
‘Did you believe him?’
Noelie thought about his answer. ‘I think so. Lynch was out of sorts in fact. I can’t put my finger on it but it’s like he didn’t know what was going on either.’
Keogh was expecting them. There was something familiar about him. Noelie wondered if had he seen him on TV. He was in his mid-sixties, had dyed black hair and a bushy beard. It looked as though he had broken his nose at some point.
He greeted Hannah warmly and led them into a glass-fronted sunroom. Ahead, at the bottom of a precipitous cliff, there was a rocky cove; beyond that the flat expanse of the Celtic sea. The vista was spectacular.
Seafaring knick-knacks abounded. A trawler net suspended from the ceiling held conch shells, life buoys and a boathouse steering wheel. Keogh produced lemonade. As he poured them a glass each he told them that he had heard something: a tipoff from an ex-colleague about a press conference for the next morning.
‘Sugrue’s name was mentioned.’ He looked at Noelie. ‘Is that your work?’
Noelie reluctantly nodded. ‘It’s possible.’ The news was alarming though. If there was a press conference, then everything would be out in the open. Everything would move very quickly.
Noelie told Keogh the entire story, from the serendipitous discovery of his records to the realisation that there was something hidden in them, and on from there. In turn Keogh explained about the book he was writing.
He had heard about Jim Dalton
and knew of the various rumours surrounding him. He pointed out that the Cork gardaí had previous, and reminded them of the case of Sean Corcoran. The Corkman was found shot dead on a back road outside the city and branded an informer. However, when the IRA commander Sean O’Callaghan turned himself over to the British police in 1988 he said he’d made repeated efforts to warn Branch about the threat to Corcoran’s life. Branch didn’t act and one theory was that Corcoran had been sacrificed to protect a more highly valued informer inside the IRA in the Cork area.
Noelie didn’t like what he was hearing. He also realised now that he was running out of time.
‘The main reason we wanted to talk to you is in regard to my nephew. I discovered this information about Jim Dalton, and then the boy vanished. Didn’t come home and his mobile went dead too.’
Hannah added, ‘It’s over twenty-four hours since anyone’s heard from him. He’s only sixteen and never not been in contact with home. Noelie’s worried; everyone is.’
Keogh nodded understandingly. Hannah continued, ‘Noelie spoke to Inspector Lynch about it. He was, let’s say, circumspect but he admitted that it was possible that Shane’s disappearance could be connected to the Dalton matter.’
Keogh was surprised. ‘He said that?’
‘Not in as many words. Look, he denied Jim Dalton was dead but he did admit that his disappearance had to do with protecting what he called “an identity” inside the IRA.’
Noelie put his head in his hands. ‘In truth I don’t know what’s going on. But Shane disappearing right now feels too much like a coincidence.’
Keogh looked at Hannah and then at Noelie again. ‘I guess there’s some sense in his reasoning.’
‘But no one’s been in contact,’ continued Noelie. ‘Surely if someone had taken Shane to put pressure on me or whatever, they would have made contact?’
Keogh nodded. ‘So maybe there isn’t any connection. Maybe there’s no need to panic.’
There was silence.
‘Except that I went to see Don Cronin. He’s ex-Branch, Cronin Security Group.’
‘I’ve heard of him.’
‘He was cagey. He as good as admitted to me that there’s something nasty at the back of all of this.’
