‘D’Alton is playing a blinder, Hugo. No matter what you say about him, he’s as good as they say he is. He managed to make all those drunks look ridiculous,’ Liam said, batting away the cigarette smoke. ‘And he made mincemeat of your man O’Mahony.’
‘God, he’s terrifying looking, isn’t he?’ asked Helen. ‘No wonder poor little Anna nearly lost her life when she saw him. Mr d’Alton made him look like a right eejit though.’
‘Yes, he’s doing well, I’ll concede that. I still think he’s an idiot.’
‘Well, I hope he never runs into that O’Mahony fella again. Did you see the way he looked at him, like he’d happily have throttled him there and then if he could?’ Father Aquinas smiled.
‘Somehow, Father, I can’t see them mixing in the same social circles.’ Hugo grinned and stubbed out the cigarette. ‘Now, we better get back in, I suppose.’
As they made their way along with everyone else back into the courthouse, they spotted the Garda inspector just outside the door of the courtroom. Liam felt his mother grip his hand and lead him over. The others shuffled back in.
‘Thank you for what you did for Patrick,’ Mrs Tobin began.
‘No need, I was only telling the truth.’ He smiled kindly. ‘I hope it all works out as well as it can,’ he added.
‘What do you think will happen now?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never been to a trial before, thank God.’
‘Well, I suppose the prosecution is now realising that they should have gone for a manslaughter charge first day, but they obviously thought they could make a murder charge stick. Your man d’Alton is after putting paid to that plan anyhow, so if I were a betting man, which I’m not, I’d say the prosecution will have to say they’ll accept the lesser charge. After that, who knows?’
‘Well, thank you for everything you’ve done for us so far, not just now, but before, when my friend was killed, we appreciate it,’ Mrs Tobin said sincerely.
‘Well, Mrs Tobin,’ he began.
‘I’ve told you before, please call me Mary, please.’ Liam was surprised to hear his mam say that.
The detective smiled shyly and went slightly pink. ‘Well, Mary, if there’s any justice, the jury will go easy on him. Now we better get back. Sure maybe I’ll see ye after?’
Liam was bemused as they made their way back to the public gallery. Was he imagining it or did there seem to be a spark of some sort between his mam and the detective? He knew from Mr O’Kelly that D.I. McMullan was a widower and a thought crossed his mind that maybe it would be nice for his mam to have someone in her life. He was probably jumping the gun, it might just have been a friendly chat, but he hoped not. They’d spoken a few times in recent weeks about the custody of the girls. Apparently, he even called in for tea one day.
The entire court was hanging on d’Alton’s every word as he made his closing statement to the jury. Helen on one side and his mother on the other squeezed Liam’s hands so hard he feared the blood supply would be cut off. Hugo chewed the inside of his cheek as he did whenever he was nervous for as long as Liam could remember. Father Aquinas gripped his rosary beads in the pocket of his soutane, fervently praying. The old priest reminded Liam of a swan, serene and collected on the surface, but paddling like mad underneath. Apparently, he and Father Xavier had words when Xavier said Patrick should face the full rigours of the law and his name should be removed from St Bart’s roll of honour in the light of his actions. Liam only heard about it from his mother, who knew the woman that cleaned the monastery and overheard the argument. He didn’t know the outcome of the exchange, but he could guess, and Patrick’s name stayed where it was.
D’Alton walked slowly up and down the length of the courtroom, making eye contact with every member of the jury. After what seemed an interminable wait, he spoke.
‘Gentlemen of the jury, normally, I have my closing address worked out before the trial begins at all.’
Liam looked at Hugo, the plummy tones of the barrister were considerably toned down. There was even a hint of a Cork accent coming from his lips. He realised the jury were ‘salt of the earth’ and decided to speak in their own terms, using their vocabulary. The metamorphosis was remarkable and mesmerising to watch. Liam would swear his hair was a little less shiny, less coiffed, and he had definitely lost his imperious demeanour. All of a sudden, he was like someone you could meet in a bar, not the Glue Pot maybe, but definitely somewhere mere mortals would congregate.
‘But as I stand before you today, I’m deliberating. I’ve never defended a client in Cork before, and I imagined it to be like Dublin, or other cities where I’ve conducted cases, but I was wrong. Cork is an unusual place, a city and county with a proud rebel past, a place where people don’t take slights lying down. If you take on a Cork man, I now realise, you’d better be prepared for it to go all the way.’
Liam couldn’t believe it, he was buttering them up, and they didn’t even know it. They were nodding sagely, agreeing with every word. Some allowed themselves a self-satisfied smirk, that this Dublin jackeen came down here expecting to find eejits, but he soon changed his tune.
‘What has this to do with the case, you might wonder? You are intelligent, hard-working men, and you are proud of your city as well you should be. You don’t want murderers roaming around unchallenged, people taking the law into their own hands. Of course, you don’t. Joe Lynch was a violent, malevolent, abusive, bully. He was also an alcoholic, that is true, but he was all of the above, with or without drink. Well, you might say, that’s all well and good but that’s not a reason to kill him. I mean if citizens took it upon themselves to get rid of every person they didn’t like, no matter how valid the reason, then society would be in anarchy, isn’t that right? The Bible tells us that we must not kill, and indeed, we shouldn’t.’ They nod and agree, eating out of the palm of his hand.
‘But gentlemen, as both you and I know very well, that is not what happened here. This was not some vigilante heroism gone mad on the part of my client, quite the contrary. You’ve heard what kind of a lad Patrick is, his employer, his former teacher, a very well-respected man of the cloth, who comes from a long tradition of Christian adherence to God’s law, his many friends, all know him as a kind, upstanding, decent young man. A young lad whose only capacity for causing pain to others is when he puts the sliotar over the bar from the sixty-five-yard line below in the park.’ The gathered crowd chuckled and several jury members smiled. Any reference to the beloved sport of hurling, especially from a Dublin man, would be met with approval. Father Aquinas winked at Liam. D’Alton was like a magician, weaving his spell.
‘Patrick Lynch is not a murderer. He’s one of your own, a grand lad who had the misfortune in life to draw the short straw when it came to fathers. Joe Lynch shoved the four-year-old Patrick in windows to steal, though even at that age he begged him not to. He knew, even at that young age, the difference between right and wrong.’
How d’Alton could tell what was going on in the mind of four-year-old Patrick nobody thought to ask.
‘He watched, before he was big enough to do anything about it, while Joe Lynch beat his wife when he was drunk, but also, and this is vitally important, gentlemen, also when he was sober. It’s not enough to just blame the drink in this case. This man did nothing but irreparable harm to his family, and yet, despite all this, Patrick Lynch pulled himself up by his bootstraps and gained a scholarship to one of the most prestigious boys’ secondary schools in the country. He studied, he made friends, he helped his mother and sisters, and he played hurling. He is on the face of it, a normal lad but as you now know, he is anything but. He is exceptional.
‘The news that his father had murdered his mother shook young Patrick to the core. As well as unimaginable grief, the main thing he felt was guilt. Lynch senior had been missing for weeks, Patrick went off to work that day, never thinking for a moment that his father would turn up, but turn up he did, and with such violent intent that it left his wife Kathlee
n dead on the floor of their home, battered to death with the leg of a table in front of her two terrified little daughters.’
He paused and allowed that horrific image to solidify in the imaginations of the jurors. The muted sounds of the street outside were the only sounds that could be heard. The gathered legal people were as entranced as the jury, even the elderly judge seemed to be captivated.
‘The fact that Patrick couldn’t have been there to defend his family from this brutal and unprovoked attack was playing on his mind, but he focused on the task at hand, helping two little girls cope with the loss of their mother. He was resigned to the Gardaí’s inability to find his father, and he tried as best he could to put it to the back of his mind. He was not a man intent on revenge, he had, along with the diligent members of a Garda Siochana, come to the conclusion that Joe Lynch had absconded to England. Patrick was working and supported by what I must say is one of the most loving and caring groups of people I have ever met. He kept going.’
Liam caught Father Aquinas glance at the compliment and smiled wryly.
‘The girls were back at school, life was going on. He was doing his best. He used to like going to dances, what young lad doesn’t? But that all stopped, every penny was for his sisters, and he slowly was rebuilding the family home into a place where they could feel safe.’
Liam nudged Hugo and cast a glance at the other side. The prosecution looked worried. If ever there was a David and Goliath situation, this was it. D’Alton was unstoppable.
‘It took two events to drive this young man to do what he did. Firstly, Joe Lynch arrived to the little girls’ school and terrified them. Patrick was trying valiantly to assure them that they were safe, and they were just starting to believe it when their father arrived outside the classroom window of the youngest little girl, only six years of age. The poor mite was petrified. The second was when Patrick tracked him down. Lynch was mid flow of a story. This story cast Lynch himself as the hero, a formidable force, who was, much to the delight of his gathered comrades, relating the tale of beating his wife to death, for not having his dinner ready.’ D’Alton cast a disdainful glance in the direction of the witness box, and Liam was sure each juror could visualise the tramps as they lied one by one. Silence again. D’Alton stood, as if observing a moment’s silence out of respect to Kathleen Lynch.
‘Patrick watched this macabre pantomime progress through a broken window and when, to rapturous applause and gales of laughter, his father left the building to relieve himself, Joseph Lynch was singing, singing to himself, a man without a care in the world, in Patrick’s own words. He saw in his mind’s eye the haunted looks on his little sisters’ terrified faces, the image of his dead mother, unrecognisable due to her injuries, lying on a slab in a hospital morgue, and the reason for all this misery and pain was laughing and singing. Well, he just snapped. He beat him and kicked him, he punched him, and yes, he choked him. But Patrick Lynch did not plan to murder his father; he did not set out with slaughter on his mind. He was just a boy, who was trying to defend his family from a man who should have been their protector but was, in fact, their tormentor.
‘Joe Lynch, a man whose health was in a very poor state, due to years of alcohol abuse and living rough, did not survive the attack. Patrick did not call the emergency services because he realised there was no point. Lynch was dead. It was over, and he went in a daze of distress to his friend’s house where he confessed and agreed to be taken into custody.’
The silence crackled in the dry courtroom air. The entire courtroom hung on d’Alton’s words.
‘Gentlemen, Patrick Lynch is in jail on remand. He has two little sisters who need him, he is not a violent man, but he was driven to extremes by the extreme nature of the abuse the Lynch family suffered at the hands of his father. Patrick’s attack was almost certainly a factor in the death of Joe Lynch, but he did not murder him. On those grounds, gentlemen of the jury, you must acquit him.’
D’Alton addressed the judge, ‘The defence rests your honour.’
Hugo and Liam watched in frustration as the clerk of the prosecution approached the clerk of the defence and handed him a note, which was quickly passed on to d’Alton. They longed to know what it contained, and d’Alton remained pokerfaced. After a moment, he inclined his head slightly in the direction of the young barrister for the state, John Delaney.
He spoke up, ‘Your honour, in the light of the evidence and testimonies heard, we would be willing to accept the lesser charge of manslaughter in this case.’ Liam could hear the desperation in his voice, he now realised he should never have pushed for a murder conviction; d’Alton was just too good an opponent.
The judge considered for a moment and raised his gavel but there was no need to bang it, a silence had fallen over the courthouse once more.
‘I want to see both counsels in my chambers now please.’ He waited for the clerk to call everyone to rise, and he slowly moved in behind, followed by Delaney and d’Alton.
‘What’s going to happen now? This is good, isn’t it?’ Helen was worried. O’Kelly was talking to Patrick from beneath the dock, and Patrick had to lean down to hear what he said.
‘Yes, very. Inspector McMullan said this might happen. D’Alton wanted a manslaughter charge first day but that young prosecutor wanted to make a name for himself by beating the celebrity lawyer in court,’ Liam said.
‘O’Kelly said he was warned that d’Alton would wipe the floor with him, but he was too cocky. The fact that they’re now saying they’ll take manslaughter is good news.’ Hugo prayed he was right.
Before the conversation could continue, the judge re-entered, followed by the two men. Liam wished he could be down in the dock with Patrick, he must be sick with nerves. They couldn’t see his face as he had his back to the court, but Liam and Hugo knew he was doing his best to remain stoic.
Silence descended once more as the shuffling of people rising and sitting subsided.
The judge seemed to be looking at some papers on his bench, and Delaney and d’Alton sat back in their places. D’Alton looked calm and relaxed, almost smug, while the prosecution team were tense.
‘Will the defendant please rise?’ the judge said.
Patrick rose to his feet and faced the judge.
‘Patrick Joseph Lynch, as you are aware the prosecution has now changed the charge against you to manslaughter. So, to the charge that on the eighteenth of December 1977, you did commit the crime of manslaughter of Joseph Thomas Lynch at the premises of Tinker’s Cross, Cork. How do you plead?’
Hugo observed Patrick from the back and was afraid the whole courtroom could hear his heart beating.
‘Guilty.’
Urgent whispers and sighs of either excitement or relief or grief filled the air.
‘Very well, your plea has been noted.’ The judge then turned his attention to the jury. ‘Gentlemen of the jury, thank you for your time and patience. You have performed your civic duty admirably and I now exempt you from jury duty for life in recognition of your service to the state. Thank you, you are dismissed.’
The jury remained seated as did everyone else in the courtroom.
‘I will now put this case forward for sentencing two weeks from today in order that a probation report can be filed. Take him down.’
Patrick was led through the door at the back of the stand and didn’t even get to catch their eyes before he was led away.
Father Aquinas and Liam were chatting with Helen and a few other friends of Patrick’s inside the courthouse but Hugo needed a cigarette. The case was becoming of more and more interest to the press and Hugo watched as they clamoured for a photograph of d’Alton as he emerged onto the slushy street. Most unusually for him, d’Alton was attempting to slip away unnoticed and despite the press efforts to get a statement from him, he resolutely ignored their questions. He seemed to have ditched the team of young lawyers and even the secretary who followed him everywhere. The barrister seemed to b
e scanning the streets for a taxi. Impulsively, Hugo went to the corner where he’d left his car, he jumped in and seconds later was at the front of the building. Leaning over at the kerb, he opened the passenger door.
‘Jump in,’ he called to d’Alton, who was elbowing his way through the throng.
Gratefully, the barrister sat into the Ford GT40. Hugo revved the loud growling engine, sending the pressmen with their cameras jumping back in fear of their lives. Taking advantage of the space in the crowd, he drove out into the street and turned away from the busy city traffic. Once they were several streets away, d’Alton spoke.
‘Nice car,’ he remarked.
‘Yes, it’s the one extravagance I allow myself. My father would probably have a stroke if he saw it, but I do love it. The seats are a little low to the ground. Are you comfortable?’ Hugo asked as he manoeuvred around cars, pedestrians, and delivery trucks.
‘Yeah fine. Thanks.’
Hugo was a bit taken aback at his casual speech and the fact that the plumy accent was by now altogether gone.
‘Where shall I take you?’ Hugo asked. ‘You’d better lay low for an hour or so, I suppose, if you don’t want to talk to the press. I would imagine they’ll make for the Intercontinental; every paper has been full of it for weeks.’
‘Indeed. They love a bit of salacious gossip, but we’ve left it as we want it. We can’t do anything further until the sentencing. Can we just get out of the city for a bit? I’m tired and hungry.’
‘Er...okay,’ Hugo said, unsure of what he should do with him.
Hugo glanced over at him as he drove along country roads. He seemed so different to before. Not the supercilious snob he was used to, or even the practical but dismissive way he was when Hugo apologised months earlier, and certainly not the larger than life character he presented in the courtroom. It struck him how peculiar this Geoffrey d’Alton was. It was like he had different personas, and he could alternate them at will. The pompous attitude, along with the affectations of dress and gestures were gone. Patrick said that whenever he spoke to him in the prison, he was calm and practical and quite approachable. O’Kelly told Hugo that he’s never seen anyone with such an encyclopaedic knowledge of the intricacies of the law as he instructed him to look for precedents that could be implemented in the defence. Then that performance today, just an ordinary man asking other ordinary men to be fair and decent and do the right thing. Despite his dislike, Hugo found himself intrigued by him.
Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars Page 102
