Belfast Confidential

by Bateman, Colin

  It was vaguely familiar. And not at all ethereal.

  'The light,' I whispered.

  'Oh – sorry.' It blinked off again.

  'I'm dead . . .'

  'No, no – I got them.'

  'You . . .'

  'I got them, Dan. I got them.'

  'I'm not . . .'

  'No!'

  'I don't understand. Who are you?'

  Suddenly his smiling face was illuminated, a torch held under his chin. Not St Peter at all.

  'Holy fucking fuck,' I whispered.

  Alec Large.

  51

  Alec grinned like a moron. I pushed myself up, my heart beating like thunder. He flicked the torch off, then on again, still under his chin, then off, then on. He laughed wildly. 'I did it!' he shouted. 'I did it!'

  He swept the torch around my little death scene. There was Mooney, shot in the back of the head. There was Mayne, mouth open, eyes vacant, with a hole in his neck, and there was me, too confused to show how happy I was.

  I stared at him. 'I don't understand, Alec. What the hell are you doing here?'

  'I followed you.'

  'Why? And . . . and how?'

  'I've been training myself to do this properly. You gave me great advice, Dan. My life really sucked, and I think because it sucked I attached myself to good things, hoping they would rub off on me. Like your wife. Not that she ever, you know, rubbed off on me.' He stifled a laugh. 'But as soon as we had our chat, and I thought about things, it was all so clear – and you know, even my tummy is better. I haven't been to the toilet since. I mean, I'm not constipated. I'm fine. Really fine. It was all, y'know, psychological.' He was giddy with joy. And barking mad. 'So I've been watching out for you. You thought you had lost me, but you hadn't really. I staked out Belfast Confidential and followed you following Brian to his club. I watched you beat him up. I've been with you ever since. Couldn't get into the Ball, but I saw them bring you out, and I thought, Being kidnapped once is unfortunate, but twice is murder. So I followed you. Good thing you kept them talking though, or I never would have made it.'

  'You got yourself a real gun.'

  'Well, they're not hard to come by, and since our chat, I thought there's no point in wanking around.'

  I got to my feet. I asked him for his torch, then shone it at Mayne. His gun was lying by his side. I picked it up and slipped it into my coat. Then I turned to Mooney.

  'He doesn't have a gun.'

  'I know. He had a spade. You can do a lot of damage with a spade.'

  'I hate to nitpick, but if you hadn't killed them both, I might have had a chance to get some information out of them. If you'd just made them, like, put their hands up.'

  Alec thought about that. 'Mmmm,' he said after a little while. 'Bit of a miscalculation, that. But it was dark. I couldn't be sure. I did save your life, you know.'

  'Yes, you did,' I said. 'Yes, you did.'

  I went over and gave him a hug. I'm not very demonstrative at the best of times, and this, despite my survival, was one of the worst. But I did it. I think I needed to do it more than he needed to receive it. He didn't hug me back. He stood rather awkwardly. Stiffly, even. Though I was close enough to note that the swelling in his pants had gone down. We were just two guys hugging in the dark and the mud, with two corpses beside them. I stepped back then, and cleared my throat. 'What'll we do with these guys?'

  Alec picked up the shovel. 'We bury them.'

  I nodded. 'At least until this is all straightened out.'

  'What is?'

  'This whole thing.'

  'What whole thing?'

  'Alec – everything that's been going on. Haven't you taken any of it in?'

  'Well, you play your cards pretty close to your chest. So I'm not really sure.'

  'If you're not sure, why the hell did you come and save me?'

  He shrugged. Looked at the ground. 'Because you're married to the woman I love.' Then he shook his head and looked at me. 'I'm sorry, did I say that out loud?'

  I couldn't help but laugh. 'Right, Alec, let's bury these fuckers. Then I'll tell you exactly what's going on, all right?'

  'All right.' He plunged the blade of the shovel into the soil, then smiled up at me. 'I saved your life, you know.'

  'I know,' I said.

  The sky was lightening. I'd lost track of time, what with the party and the drinking and the being knocked out and kidnapped and nearly shot. Alec drove me back to the city. I was fairly confident of moving freely within it. The days of roadblocks and random searches were long gone.

  I asked him to stop at a twenty-four-hour garage to get some breakfast. He looked at me and said, 'Aye, like I'm going to fall for that one again.' I tried to reassure him, but he wasn't having it. So I got out and bought sausage rolls and coffee, and passed them through the window. Then I went to a call box and phoned Patricia.

  She said, 'Thank God. I thought—'

  'I know. Nearly, but not quite.'

  'Christ, Dan.'

  'I know.'

  I gave her a brief rundown of the night's events. She said, 'Alec saved you?'

  I glanced out at him, sitting in the car. He was still grinning. His face had to be sore by now. 'Yes, kind of. Although I would probably have managed by myself.'

  'Uhuh. So you're safe. Are you coming home to me? I'm naked in my hotel bed.'

  'I can't. Not yet.'

  'You have to sort this out.'

  'Something like that.'

  'It ain't over till it's over.'

  'Yup.'

  'Is there anything I can do?'

  'You can keep safe. You can go back to your sister's.'

  'I feel like I should be doing something. You know, in this day and age it's not enough for me just to lie here looking beautiful.'

  'It's enough for me.'

  'Well, that's always been your problem. Easily pleased. But I'm serious.'

  'I know that. And if I need you, I'll call.'

  'Or if you can't manage it, get Alec to give me a call and I can thank him properly.'

  'Bugger off,' I said.

  She laughed. 'If only.'

  The pips went, and I didn't bother to insert any more change. It was a nice way to leave it. She has a very dirty laugh, my Trish.

  52

  We drove to within a hundred yards of the building site that would soon become Ryan Auto and parked on a slightly elevated part of the road. It was 8.30 a.m. The cutting of the first sod ceremony was due to start at 11 a.m. As well as the Portakabins, I could see that a small stage had been erected, behind which a backdrop emblazoned with a rich red image of a Ryan Jet was attached. A large area of the site now boasted a clear plastic covering, with a single corridor of red carpet leading from the entrance gates, which stood open, towards a section which was being laid out with plastic chairs by what appeared to be teenagers in Ryan Auto plastic smocks.

  I drummed my fingers on the dash.

  Alec said, 'Do you think if you stare at it for long enough, you'll have a brainwave?'

  I shrugged. He didn't seem to have anywhere else to go. But I didn't mind that. He had saved my life.

  The stretch of land before us had once been the home of the yellow diamond daisy. Its sudden demise had led to its reclassification for industrial development. Jacintha Ryan's entrance at the ball and her dress had been a tribute to the daisy. Was that irony? Or rubbing our noses in it? Or was she trying to tell us something? Perhaps there was something shady about the destruction of the yellow diamond daisy, but was it enough to set off such an orgy of murder? No. There had to be a more substantial reason than that.

  Alec said, 'She used to live around here, didn't she?'

  'Yeah. Pearse Street, I think.' I waved vaguely towards the houses on our right.

  'Must be nice to be able to come back and say, "Look what I made of myself." You know, drive up in a limo or something.'

  'I don't think there's anyone left to actually show off to. All the old houses are gone, everyone'
s dispersed.'

  'Pearse Street? They're not all gone.'

  'Yes, they are, Alec. Take a look.'

  He laughed. 'No, they're not. What about Aggie O'Fee?'

  'Aggie who?'

  'O'Fee. She's ninety if she's a day. Sure, do you not remember the big to-do about her? She was the last person still living in Pearse Street, and she refused to budge. It was all over the telly, and the Shinners mounted a big campaign to let her stay in the house she was born in, and then when they got into power they mounted a big campaign to get her out. But she wouldn't move, and they didn't want to have to drag her out, so they ended up building around her. Still there, far as I'm aware.'

  'I didn't realise you were from around here.'

  'Aye well, I don't advertise it.'

  Aggie O'Fee.

  'All right,' I said. 'Take me to her.'

  'To Aggie?'

  'Yup. We're getting nowhere fast here – might as well go back to the very beginning, start from scratch.'

  'Alrighty,' said Alec.

  It was literally around the corner. There were rows and rows of nice neat new houses, each and every one bearing a satellite dish. Then, in one corner, slightly elevated and with what must once have been a fine view across the fields of yellow diamond daisies, there was a single two-up two-down terraced house. Its partners had all been knocked down and now it stood, bent out of shape, broken and lonely, on a narrow band of wasteland overlooking the Ryan Auto factory site.

  We parked outside. Alec waited in the car while I knocked the door. When there was no response I tried again, then peered through the age-thin net curtain hanging across the window to my left. As I looked in, Aggie O'Fee looked out. We both jumped a little. She put a hand to her lips and hissed: 'Shhhhhhh! He's sleeping upstairs. What do you want?'

  I said, 'I'm a journalist, I just wanted a quick chat.'

  'Who do you work for?'

  'Belfast Telegraph.'

  She pulled the net curtain back, and stared out at me properly. She was small and wrinkled and her hair was white and tied back; she had wispy clumps of hair growing out of her chin and huge liver spots on her spindly arms. But it wasn't a beauty competition, and even if it was she would still have finished in front of me.

  She said, 'You don't look like a journalist.'

  'Thank you.'

  'Do you have any identification?'

  'No. I'm sorry.'

  'Then I can't let you in. I let someone in last week and they stole my spoons.'

  'You spoke to another journalist?'

  'No, they said they were here to check for rats. They didn't have ID either. Mr Graves was most upset with me.'

  'Mr Graves?'

  She put a finger to her lips again and lowered her voice. 'Lodger. Peace and quiet, doesn't like strangers in the house.'

  'I understand. I don't need to come in. I just need to ask you a few questions about Jacintha Ryan. She's the—'

  'I know who she is. I'm ninety years old and I still have all my own teeth.'

  'She used to live right here in Pearse Street. Back in the early seventies. You were here then too, weren't you?'

  'Aye. But they weren't Ryans.'

  'What?'

  'I've seen her on TV, she's the dead spit of her mum, but they weren't Ryans.'

  'I'm not sure what you mean.'

  'They weren't Ryans, they were McAuleys. Must have changed her name. The McAuleys were a great wee family and she's done awful well for herself. It was just a real shame what happened.' She nodded, then seemed to lose herself in some distant memory.

  I tapped the window gently. 'Mrs O'Fee? What happened?'

  At first I wasn't sure that she'd heard me, and I was about to repeat my question, but then her eyes seemed to clear and she looked directly at me. 'Well, they were chased out because of the soldier.'

  'Soldier?'

  'Aye. The soldier.' She seemed to be warming to me a little. The lounge window was made up of three panels, and the side ones both opened outwards. She pushed the closest one open, and set herself gently down on the inside sill. 'Them were awful days, weren't they?'

  I nodded. I was only a nipper myself then, but I remembered. Everyone does.

  'There was so much trouble, but I remember this because they were such a nice family, and we were neighbours, and it was so different in those days. Your neighbours were like your friends, not like today.' She smiled sadly. 'Not that I have any neighbours left. They're all upstairs now.'

  'The soldier?' I prompted gently.

  'All right,' she snapped suddenly, 'I'm getting there. Did I tell you I'm ninety years old?'

  'Yes, Aggie, you did.'

  'Aye, well. The soldier. There was always shootin' an' all goin' on. But this day, this young soldier was just passing outside the street here, just where your car is, and he got shot and he was just lying there and, I don't know, he must have been separated from his patrol or something, and he was crying for help and for his mum, but everyone knew better than to go and help him because, you know, in those days you couldn't do that. But Mrs McAuley, she couldn't bear to see him lying there and she went out and comforted him and held him while he died. Terrible. And then when he was taken away, the soldiers came and they searched the houses and they smashed them up, and everyone pointed the finger at the McAuleys, saying they'd squealed an' all, but she'd done nothing of the sort, she'd only held a dying boy's hand. But there was a meeting, and a big gang came up and Mrs McAuley and the girls were dragged out, taken down to the field over there and they were tarred and feathered and beaten up. If the dad had of been there, he might have protected them, or died trying, but he was at work, and there were no mobile phones in those days. Hardly any phones, even. It was really awful. They were taken to hospital, and they never came back to the house after that. 'Twas the last time I saw them – till I saw Jacintha on TV. Knew her straight away, so I did. The dead spit of her ma, so she is. Dead spit.' She nodded to herself for a few moments. 'I wonder if she remembers me? She was only a wee girl, like.'

  I made some more small talk with her, then thanked her for her time. I was just turning away when I had a sudden thought. 'I'm sorry, Mrs O'Fee – you said Mrs McAuley and the girls were tarred and feathered. You meant girl, didn't you?'

  'I'm ninety. Doesn't mean I'm stupid. Girls. The twins. Carmel. That's it, Carmel. Ah, they were like two peas in a pod.'

  'And you wouldn't happen to know where the sister is, Carmel?'

  She smiled sadly. 'I do, as a matter of fact. It's awful sad.'

  'How do you mean?'

  'Well, Jacintha making such a success of herself, and Carmel locked away like that.'

  'Locked away?'

  'Well, I don't know if she's locked away, but I think she's still in Purdysburn. You know, the big Home where they put all the daft ones. She . . . well, I don't think she ever recovered. They were all going off to America, and I don't think she was well enough to go. I think she was supposed to follow on later, but she never did. Awful sad. Awful. They were such beautiful girls. Beautiful.'

  Then there was the sound of footsteps on wooden floorboards behind her. 'Mrs O'Fee!' an angry voice growled.

  'Better go, better go,' whispered the old woman. 'Sorry, Mr Graves,' she began as she closed the window and ducked back under the net curtain.

  53

  Purdysburn has a new name these days. It's part of a hospital trust. And there are lots of new buildings and different wings. You can tart things up as much as you want, but once something has entered the public psyche, it's very difficult to shift it. For decades Purdysburn had been synonymous with madhouse. Or mental asylum. Or looney bin. It still conjures up images of gothic horror and bedlam. There's hardly a misbehaving child or errant adult in the land who hasn't been warned at one time or another that they'll 'end up in Purdysburn'.

  Purdysburn.

  Carmel.

  Sister of Jacintha Ryan. Terrorised and abused as children. Carmel moves to Purdysburn, Jacintha heads f
or America.

  There was more to find out. There had to be.

  We drove around the outer ring, then turned left by the big new shopping centre where Supermac used to be, and headed out towards Saintfield. One always thinks of places like Purdysburn being hidden away, secret, but it was surprisingly well-signposted. The gates were open and unguarded, and once through them there was only a short drive up to the main building, which was a huge Victorian-era redbrick effort, set amongst wide, sweeping lawns. It was actually quite picturesque. I'd half-expected to find screaming women in nightdresses being chased across the grass by white-T-shirted heavies with butterfly nets. But it was all calm and quiet, yet busy. There were half a dozen small car parks, all of them full. Alec left me off by the door to the main reception area, then went looking for a space.

  Luckily, it was quite busy inside, so that for a few minutes I was able to stand and take in the area without having to explain myself and my bruises. I noted that relatives visiting patients were free to come at any time, but it was advised that such visits be restricted to outside of mealtimes. When I approached the desk, a pretty receptionist smiled at me.

  'Hi. Ivan Carruthers – I'm a solicitor representing the estate of the late Mr Marcus McAuley. His daughter Carmel is a patient here.'

  'Yes?'

  'She was left a small amount of money by her father, but it's been sitting in an account gaining interest for twenty-five years.'

  'Well for some,' said the receptionist.

  'Once a year the office has to send someone out to check that Carmel does not wish to access those funds.'

  'Uhuh.'

  'So I'll need to see her.'

  The nurse nodded, then checked her computer. She did some tapping. 'Yes, she's in Sinclair House, Ward Three.'

  'Thank you.' I started to turn away.

  'Sir, I'll need to see some kind of ID.'

  'The office did call ahead.'

  'Nevertheless.'

  I began to pat my pockets. 'I don't seem to have . . .'

  'Unfortunately we have strict guidelines.'

  'I don't even need to talk to her, just satisfy myself that she's still a patient here.'