by James Green
‘Yes. I don’t know if it will be of any help, but I’ll try to find out how things stand. After that, I’m off. I can’t hang about. I don’t know how long I’ve got.’
‘Don’t get yourself in trouble on our account. Leave as soon as you have to.’
‘The trouble’s not on your account, Sister. I have a couple of days, no more. I’ll do what I can.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Did you ever meet Mr Amhurst?’
‘Once, when he first brought Lucy here.’
‘Can we visit him?’
‘I was going to anyway. It’s the least I could do for the poor man.’
‘If these killings are connected, he’s the connection. As far as I can make out he’s the only money in the frame and if it’s not about his money, it’s not about anything I can help with. These things fall into place or they don’t. If they don’t one ex-copper isn’t any good.’
Philomena nodded. There was a ring on the doorbell. She went to answer it and came back with a detective and a policewoman.
‘I gave Janine something to help her sleep. I’ll bring her as quickly as I can. Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Thank you, Sister,’ said the WPC.
‘Make the tea, Jimmy,’ Philomena said. ‘We can use my office when Janine comes down.’
Jimmy knew the detective by sight. He went into the kitchen, made the tea and brought it out.
‘You’re Costello?’ the WPC asked, lighting a cigarette.
Jimmy got the feeling he wasn’t wanted but sat down anyway.
‘That’s me. Eddy Clarke not on this?’
The detective shook his head. ‘He’s in hospital.’
Jimmy was surprised.
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing that concerns you,’ the WPC answered sharply.
‘He took a beating.’ The detective didn’t mind talking. ‘There was a phone call, some information for sale. Eddy went out and was found smashed up.’
‘Was anybody with him?’
‘A DC. They separated and the DC didn’t see anything.’
‘Last night?’
‘What’s a beaten up copper to you?’ the WPC cut in.
‘It’s for my scrap-album, pieces of interesting information freely given. I press them when I find them, they’re quite rare you know.’
‘Fuck you.’
Silence settled around the table.
Despite her aggressive manner, Jimmy couldn’t help noticing that the WPC was very attractive, even in uniform, and that took some doing. But he imagined how she’d be first thing in the morning with the kind of mouth she had on her. But at least coppers showed you their worst side first, he thought. If you fell in love with one it wasn’t going to be because it was easy.
‘Which hospital is Eddy in?’ Jimmy asked, directing his enquiry to the detective.
‘Central.’
At that moment Philomena came into the dining room to say that Janine was ready to speak to them, and that she would be present during the interview. It wasn’t a request.
Immediately after Philomena and the officers had disappeared into her office, Jimmy left the building and headed for the Tube.
At the hospital he was directed to a small general ward and asked the nurse at the ward desk if he could visit Sergeant Eddy Clarke.
‘Are you a relation?’ she asked.
‘A colleague.’
‘Is it official?’
‘No, I’m visiting as a friend. I’ll just say hello and give him the station’s best wishes.’
‘Very well, but just that.’
Jimmy went to the side room she indicated and stood in the doorway. Sharon was sitting at the bedside. Clarke lay still, his eyes closed.
‘Hello. I just came to see how Eddy is.’
Sharon turned and gave him a wan smile.
‘Have you been here long?’
‘Since not long after they brought him in.’
‘Sharon, why don’t you go and get yourself a hot drink? You look knackered. I’ll sit with Eddy for a bit.’
She thought for a moment. She wasn’t sure, but it was the toilet rather than the tea that persuaded her. She thanked Jimmy and left.
He took her place by the bed and put his mouth close to Clarke’s ear.
‘Eddy, come on, Eddy, wake up.’
He continued until Clarke’s eyelids flickered opened.
He turned his head painfully. ‘Where’s Sharon?’ He spoke with difficulty.
‘Gone for a coffee, she’ll be back soon.’
Clarke turned his head away and looked straight at the ceiling.
‘What happened, Eddy?’
‘What does it fucking look like?’ Clarke answered weakly.
Jimmy knew what he meant, he could only see what was above the sheets but undoubtedly Clarke was a mess.
‘You know what I mean, who did it?’
‘Who do you think?’
‘Why?’
‘Because I gave Tommy Flavin’s name to Deal.’
‘Because Deal wanted to know about me?’
Clarke started to nod but stopped immediately, giving a small cry of pain.
‘Why didn’t you tell him yourself, why put him on to Flavin?’
‘I didn’t tell him the first night I saw you. After that, I had to make out I didn’t know you.’
‘And Flavin had this done to you?’
‘Him or someone else. Why did you fucking well come back, Jimmy? Look at me, look at what they did to me just because I put Deal on to somebody who knew you.’
Tears started running from his blackened eyes, soaking into the bandages on his face.
‘You’ll be OK, Eddy, they’ve made their point. You’ll get out of here and still get your pension.’
Clarke was too weak to make the appropriate reply. ‘Anyway,’ said Jimmy, ‘it wasn’t Tommy who put you in here. It was Deal, by giving Tommy your name.’
Clarke’s eyes were no longer full of self-pity, something else showed there now.
‘I’ll say goodbye now, Eddy. Sharon will be back in a minute.’
Jimmy left the hospital. Flavin couldn’t arrange it so that detective sergeants got beaten to a pulp, but he knew the people who could. Jimmy stood outside the hospital entrance, lost in thought.
When Nat had heard he was back he decided he wanted some of Jimmy’s money, but now he probably knew he could do better by co-operating with the important people who were pulling strings. A hundred grand was just pocket-money to Nat and now important people wanted to be sure Jimmy wouldn’t talk to anyone.
He didn’t waste any time kidding himself, he was as dead as those two old ladies. He just hadn’t lain down yet.
He went back into Reception, found a public phone, and dialled Bart’s.
Philomena answered. ‘Hello. Yes, they’ve gone. She’s all right, she’s resting. Of course I think it’s a good idea to visit Mr Amhurst today. We can be back in time to open for the night shift if Janine’s up to it. I’ll phone him and see what time this afternoon is best.’
Jimmy decided his next port of call was worth a cab fare. The Green Man was just off Kilburn High Road. He went to the bar and ordered a pint. Although the pub was half empty, he went and put his beer on a table that was already occupied.
The man at the table ignored him and took a drink from his glass. He was wearing a dirty coat and a greasy cap. The whiskers around his mouth were stained with nicotine and his fingernails were blackened and broken. His face, what could be seen of it, was an unhealthy red.
‘Hello, Father Liam.’
The old man slowly lifted his head and looked at him, gave a hacking cough and finished his drink.
‘Another?’
Wordlessly, the glass was pushed towards him. Jimmy went and got another pint and brought it back to the table.
‘I need two things from you, Father.’
‘Don’t call me Father,’ came the growled response in a thick West of Irel
and accent.
‘You were a priest when you married Bernadette and me.’
‘Fuck off.’ The old man took another drink and sat with his head down.
‘Always a priest for some things, like when a man is in extremis.’
‘You’re not fucking well in extremis.’
‘I think I am, Father, I really think I am.’
‘If I was a priest and you were as you say you are, what would you want?’
‘Just for you to listen for a minute and say a few words if you can.’
‘You said two things?’
‘Let’s get the important one over first. I’m going to kill somebody.’
‘If you mean that, you’re an idiot to tell anybody before you do it.’
‘Not you, Father, you’ll tell no one.’
‘Don’t be sure what I won’t do for a drink. One more broken vow won’t make much difference.’
‘That’s my chance to take.’
‘Deliberate killing is always a sin, confessing in advance makes no difference.’
‘Is it wrong to kill to save your own life, self-defence?’
In the dark recesses of the old man’s mind something from the past stirred. ‘Maybe not, not if it’s the only way.’
‘Is it wrong to kill to save an innocent life, somebody else’s life?’
The old man took the glass from his lips and his blood-shot eyes took on a faraway look.
‘In such a situation one might well apply the Just War Principle.’
Somewhere in his head the mists of alcohol began to clear. He was not a drunken, dirty derelict, he was priest-scholar, newly ordained out of Maynooth. He was a young priest asked a difficult theological question in a complex pastoral situation. He became again tall and strong, handsome in his black suit with the startlingly white Roman collar, and the words came. In his own mind he spoke clearly with confidence. Jimmy strained to make out his slurred speech.
‘… damage by aggressor … only means open … reasonable chance of success … evil produced not greater than good obtained …’
Jimmy waited. The rambling finally ceased, the old man sat still and silent.
‘The next thing I want, Father, will mean a phone call. I want to meet somebody.’
‘I don’t know anybody any more.’ The old man’s mind had clouded over again. He picked up his glass.
‘You know people, it was knowing these people that got you put away.’
The old man put down his drink.
Suddenly, there was the banging in the night at the presbytery door and the respected parish priest taken away while Special Branch officers looked on.
He had upheld the just struggle of his people against a foreign tyrant and their secret police had taken him away.
It had been the beginning of his own personal Calvary and Crucifixion and it had been the beginning of the end of his priesthood. He saw again for the thousandth time the descent of the priest-scholar to the alcoholic outcast, living on the charity of the community where he had once served and been respected.
‘You still know people, they keep in touch. I need them to save an innocent life. It really is a Just War this time, Father.’
The old man held out his hand. ‘Give me the money for the phone and get me a Jamieson’s, a big one.’
‘You remember me, Father? Jimmy Costello. You know who to tell them it is?’
The old man stood up and looked at him. ‘I remember you, Jimmy. You were the best boxer and the worst fucking altar server I ever had.’
Jimmy smiled and the old man stumbled off. Jimmy waited. The old man returned after a short time.
‘Take down this name and number while I can still say
it.’
Jimmy took out a pen and paper and wrote a name and phone number.
‘Are you sure about this?’
‘I’m not sure about anything but that’s all you’ll get from me. That name and number won’t mean anything to anyone else and I’ve already forgotten them.’
Jimmy stood up. He went to the bar and bought the Irish whiskey and put it on the table.
‘There’ll be a couple of drinks at the bar each day for the rest of the week, Father.’
But the old man had begun his drink and was already far away in the wild west country of Ireland, a young boy surrounded by beauty with a heart burning with a love of God and his native country.
Jimmy left the pub and found a phone box, where he spoke to Sister Philomena. They arranged to meet at a Tube station and go on together to see Mr Amhurst.
‘By the way, Jimmy, you had another visitor.’
‘Police?’
‘No, not police and not the same man as before, not your businessman.’
Philomena gave a brief description.
‘Yes, I know him.’ Jimmy put the phone down. Things were moving fast now. He was running out of time. He looked at the scrap of paper and dialled the number and asked the voice that answered for the name on the paper.
Kilburn, May 1976
‘Fancy a pint?’
Why not? thought Jimmy. He didn’t like Eddy Clarke much but he felt like a pint. It had been a long, difficult day. ‘OK. The club?’
‘No, let’s go to The Sun, it’ll be quiet there and no coppers, eh?’ Eddy tried to laugh but it didn’t quite come off.
‘OK, have it your way. The Sun and no coppers.’
They went out of the station and walked in silence to the back street where The Sun Inn was located. It was small and clean with good beer. Jimmy had been in a few times. It was a place you could talk without being overheard. They went in.
‘My shout.’ Eddy made to go to the bar but Jimmy caught his arm.
‘No, Eddy, when someone sells me information, I get the first round.’
Eddy tried to look surprised, but that didn’t quite come off either.
‘Tell me I’m wrong.’
‘All right, Jimmy, a pint.’
Jimmy brought the drinks to the table and sat down.
Eddy picked up his pint. ‘Cheers.’
Jimmy took a drink, but he didn’t say cheers. ‘Let’s have it then, and I’ll see what it’s worth.’
Eddy tried to look offended, but gave it up.
‘I saw some papers yesterday, I thought you might be interested in what they were about. Special Branch have got that Irish priest friend of yours under surveillance.’
He stopped there and took a drink.
Jimmy took a drink. ‘That’s it, nothing else?’
‘It’s enough. You know what Special Branch watching someone with an Irish connection means. It doesn’t need spelling out, does it?’
Jimmy thought. No, it didn’t need spelling out. ‘Special Branch don’t leave those sort of papers lying about.’
Eddy took a drink. ‘Well, Jimmy, you know, they were sort of lying about.’
‘In an unattended brief case?’
‘Sort of, what’s the difference? I know and now I’m telling you. It can’t be bent info, what good would that do anybody? I’m telling you as a favour, stay away from him. If he goes down it will make a big splash, big enough to get serious questions asked about anybody on the surveillance pictures. Just go to another church and another priest if you need one. There’s plenty about.’
Jimmy considered the advice. Eddy was right, this information was no good. The only way it could be used was to tip off the IRA or Father Liam himself and anyone would have to be mad to try to do either. Surveillance of IRA suspects was top priority and total.
‘OK, Eddy, thanks for the info but why bring it to me?’
‘I know he’s a friend of yours, he married you and Bernie, didn’t he? I thought you’d want to know to keep out of the way.’
‘And the price, Eddy?’
At first Eddy was going to laugh but he didn’t and he didn’t try to look surprised or offended either. He just said, ‘You’ll think of something, no hurry.’ He finished his pint. ‘Another?’
Jimm
y shook his head.
‘No, neither will I.’ Eddy got up. ‘I think I’ll be going. See you, Jimmy.’
As he left, two men came in and went to the bar, got their beer, and went to a table on the other side of the room. Jimmy sat and turned over what Eddy had told him. He didn’t know why he had come to him. Maybe it was because he couldn’t go to anyone else. IRA info only interested Special Branch and the IRA themselves and, of course, the Security Services, who were about as trustworthy as a whore with your wallet. Poor old Eddy, some really valuable material comes his way and the only people who would pay the market price were terrorist psychos or spook psychos, and as it probably came from the spooks, it had to be the IRA or nothing. Eddy didn’t have the bottle to try finding the IRA, never mind trying to sell them anything. So he has to take what he could get from me, poor sod, just a favour if and when.
Then Jimmy began to turn it all over slowly again. He didn’t like it, it was wrong. Somehow it was wrong. This kind of info was the very hardest to come by, yet according to Eddy someone had left it lying around. That didn’t work. Eddy had no contacts who might let something like this slip so where did it come from? Someone had to have given it to him for a reason. If there was no one else he could go to then he brings it to me and gives it to me as a favour, because I know the priest. Now that didn’t work. But if the info was true and it was given to Eddy to pass on, there had to be a reason.
What was it all about? A light began to dawn.
What if someone, someone with real clout, was making damn sure that a humble DS didn’t pick up the kind of Special Branch black mark that put the stopper on any chance of promotion. Did that work? What if whoever had given the priest to Special Branch had given the information to Eddy Clarke and pointed him straight at me. Was someone looking after him? Was he already in someone’s pocket and they wanted to make sure he could move right on up? Jimmy didn’t like where his thinking was taking him. He took his empty glass back to the bar and left.
That Sunday Father Liam was outside church after Mass as usual, shaking hands and talking to people. He was greatly loved by the people, he brought such a breath of joy as parish priest now that Father McGinty had finally retired. Jimmy, Bernadette, and the two children regularly came to this Mass and always had a few words with him as they left church.
‘Good sermon, Father, I managed to pay attention till almost halfway through.’
