by Chris Petit
The children were still playing in the street. Everything looked strangely normal. Westerby felt she had been away an age, and the innocence of what had happened between her and Cross belonged to another life.
49
AFTER double-locking and bolting her front door, Westerby turned the pages of Candlestick’s notebook. It immediately struck her as a weird mixture of frighteningly keen intelligence and barely controlled violence. At times the pen had scratched through the page. The writing itself was tense and angular. The misplaced capitals and weird spellings were an obvious sign to her that they were dealing with a highly individual mind.
Westerby had been incapable of speech when she’d got back to Cross. She had shown him the book and asked him to take her home. After what she’d seen she needed to be alone but she didn’t tell him that.
First they’d gone back briefly to the flat at Cross’s insistence. Westerby had waited outside by the front door, keeping a nervous watch, expecting Candlestick at any moment, while Cross made his inspection. He spent about five minutes inside and came out looking pale. Then they knocked on the door of the flat upstairs which was eventually opened by a large slovenly woman with a nicotine moustache who said she’d never seen anyone enter or leave the basement, though sometimes in the middle of the night she thought she heard movements downstairs.
On closer inspection, Candlestick’s book appeared to consist of a mixture of messianic conundrums and statistics of violence. Westerby started at the beginning and read:
Candel stick makers and Bakers were made Generals and toilet attendants were made colnals. People who Never Had any miliTary experence or anyThing else just came ouT may it be through some form of agression, because they could diG someBody a wee bit harder.
What your talkinG about in terms of separation of the comunities is BarBed wire, hurdles, and peace walls at tHat Time. It was like going into a room tHat has six doors in it, but all those doors are locked up and theres only one door to Go in or out, and on the other side of the door you have the fear of a posible hostile enviroment. You have half a Dozen doors and someBody Blocks off five of them. People Get frigHtened. There’s only one way into a catholic or protestant area and theres only one way out. ‘I’m not going in there.’
THe inocent will suffer so tHe innocent shall be freed.
Ecce AGnus Dei
My God, she thought, Cross had been right after all. He had made the connection. She wished he was there with her now and that she hadn’t sent him away.
Out of the Depths I cry unto you O Lord! How lonG?
When tHere are two, one betrays.
Show me The man who will lead these people from BondaGe.
I have But one talent, for an exactinG crafT. Would that I could puT this craft aside, But too laTe. No one is lonelier than the samurai, except for the TiGer in the jungle, purhaps. If we are here for a purpose then what is mine if noT To acT as the insTrumenT? From tHis staTegy will come undreamed of peace.
She read the last sentence again and wondered if there was a perverse logic to the murders. Did Candlestick see them as a way of drawing attention to the senselessness of the larger project?
WhaT is to Destroy if noT To Build? In the power of Destruction lies the Beuaty of creaTtion.
If I Did not belief ThaT I haD a mission, that I am here for a reason, tHen the only choice would be to use this GifT to destroy myself.
In love is haTreD, in haTreD love.
In trust lys Betrayal. I am the poinT where the circle joins. In my terriBle Destin the larger resolution. In my Destruction my survival my survival my Destuction.
The loneliness of Betrayal.
He was here. I saw him, not expectinG ThaT. The shock of the unexpected.
Why dont they see into the shaDows, see the splits in the shaDoes. The sunsHines on freinD and fow alike.
Division (Division by aGe): Divide (by seven) but resolve, unlike the larGer division, which offers no solution. Te smaller the diffision tHe more they musT pay attention.
My justice will Become plane to all. I douBt my vocatin I pray for the strenGth to carry out my excecution. My silence is my pain. Without silence there woulD Be know pain. Soon my voice will be heard, the dead lock broken.
The Beasts of darkness will stalk the lanD until the TruTh is out.
My loneliness Drives me. And when the slaughTer is Done will there be peace for me? Shall I at last be aBle to lay my TerriBle craft aside, lay down my sworD for the plougH. A curse on those who revealeD my Destiny to me.
I am the inTsrument, my power and my trajeDy.
The kilings will go on unTil the oTher killings stop. The killings will go on until the TruTh wich ‘lies’ Behind evrythinG is Told. The killings will go on untill all the secreTs are revieled. The killings will enD when tHe motHers of the DeaD rise in protest.
That was his clearest statement she’d read. The murders were to be announced as a campaign against the wider violence. She wondered whether Candlestick believed this or was using it as a way of disguising his own sick fantasies from himself. She read on.
In the necessity of Brian Berrigans death the laying to rest of lies.
In the pointlessness of Mary Elams death the future hapiness of her childen. In the swiftness of Patrick Wheens death the clarity of retribution.
In the justice of Roger Arnolds death the disappearance of oppression.
In the horror of Mary Ryans death the peace of thousands.
In the harshness of Catherine Edges death the question how long must the suffering go on.
After she had finished, Westerby called Cross and gave him a summary of the notebook, which had gone on to list incidents of domestic violence of the kind that Willcox had committed. Westerby had found this catalogue of atrocity worse than anything that had preceded it and these weren’t even his crimes. Hardest to come to terms with was the fact that she could see Candlestick’s point. The only way to cure an epidemic was to find a vaccine more powerful than the virus, in this case a personal and quite precise campaign of violence.
Cross was still not sure what to do. They had proof now that Candlestick was killing to a pattern. He noticed in passing that there was no mention of Warren’s name and wondered about that. There was also Candlestick’s flat, which needed going over. He couldn’t delay his decision for much longer. But any initiative meant going through Moffat, and that he was still reluctant to do. He told Westerby to make a chronology of events, putting in anything she thought might relate.
The first instance she could recall was Molly’s description of first meeting Breen in 1969 at the start of the Troubles. It seemed appropriate to begin there, given that Candlestick’s apparent ambition was nothing short of an end to the conflict.
August 1969. Molly Connors meets Francis Breen (OIRA). Grows disillusioned over his racketeering. Leaves country August 1971, returns 1972 to find Breen married to her sister, Bernadette. Molly resumes affair with Breen soon after, until murder of Bernadette in 1982.
Sept 1973. Tommy Herron shot, possibly to British orders, by army deserter, Albert Francis Evans (AFE) working as a loyalist mercenary, previously intimate with Herron. Was AFE run by the security forces under the codename of Candlestick? (Source: Willcox)
May 1974. General Strike and Dublin bombings. Heatherington sting. Info given to Provs includes identity of a member of the British-run gang involved in the Herron assassination, shot after his name was passed on to loyalist paramilitaries. (Source: Warren) The same month AFE (also a member of the above gang?) presents himself to Official IRA, after falling out with UDA, saying he wants switch allegiance, and trailing a republican girlfriend, Becky Malone, subsequently married. According to her, AFE a peripheral figure on the student circuit. AFE’s apparent source of IRA
contact, Breen: origin of relationship unknown. Breen suspects AFE of being a British asset. Arranges mock execution, a test successfully passed. AFE moves to South Armagh with Becky. Married September 1974. (Sources: Becky Malone and father)
November 1974. Officials split. Breen moves over. Malone stays. Breen active in civil war that follows and 1975 foundation of INLA. AFE’s activities unknown, apart from one sighting by Molly Connors, a shared drive from South Armagh to Belfast with Breen. Breen claims involvement in Airey Neave assassination (March 1979) and subsequently fears for his life, saying others involved murdered by security forces. Surmise: AFE used as gunman by loyalists 1971–73; therefore used by Breen for same purposes 1974–81. (Sources: Malone and Connors)
October 1981. Breen contacts Becky Malone’s father to say that AFE is British agent after all. AFE killed by car bomb just after but never identified.
January 1982. John McKeague killed.
April 1982. Bernadette Breen and children killed. Francis Breen disappears, suffers breakdown (?)
1984. AFE meets Seamus McGinley, scares him into fleeing to the Republic, leaving behind Mary Elam.
January 25 1985. Advertisement When God has deserted, etc, appears.
February 1 1985. Francis Breen (Brian Berrigan) found dead. Paramilitary connections: OIRA, INLA.
March 1 1985. Mary Elam killed. Paramilitary connections: UVF or UDA via Strathaven Bar?
March 29 1985. Patrick Wheen killed. Paramilitary connections: none.
April 26 1985. Roger Arnold killed. British armed services.
May 27 1985. Mary Ryan found dead.
June 21 1985. Catherine Edge killed.
July 20 1985. Mrs Eddoes.
July 22 1985. Caddy.
July 23 1985. Causley.
Westerby phoned Cross to say that she was going out to talk to Rintoul, Breen’s accountant, and became flustered when Cross announced that he wanted to come too. Like her, he was keen to establish any links between Herron, Breen and Eddoes.
She talked too much on the drive and worried that Cross sensed her nervousness. Having stripped off for Rintoul, she found it hard enough to contemplate seeing him again, let alone with Cross.
‘Ah, you brought a friend.’ Rintoul spoke drily on opening the door. Westerby felt herself blushing furiously and hoped Cross couldn’t see.
Rintoul made them tea and when the three of them sat down in the tiny kitchen they could hardly do so without their knees touching. Westerby hoped that Cross was unaware of Rintoul’s ironic looks.
She cleared her throat and tried to pay attention to Cross and Rintoul’s conversation about the early days of the rackets.
‘Francis Breen saw how things were shaping very early on,’ Rintoul told them, ‘and it was clear to him that the Troubles would be a going concern for the right people. It suited the Brits because it was more or less the last real theatre for their soldiers and their spies could come over and play. For the security forces it was one big holiday camp, with real bullets. Francis also understood that the more things got blown up the more they’d have to be rebuilt. I remember him saying, “Mark my words, now they’ve got the troops over here they’ll be knocking down the houses and rebuilding them with roads wide enough to drive their fucking Saracens down.” He said we should get ourselves into the contracting business. “An expandin’ contractin’ business, that’s what we need.”’
He broke off to share the joke with Westerby, who answered with a pained grin. Rintoul looked as though he was enjoying her discomfort. He turned back to Cross and fixed him with a lazy smile.
‘Well, Franny had a friend, in Birmingham I think it was, who pointed out how easy it was to get hold of tax exemption certificates or forge them.’
‘How did that work?’ asked Westerby, trying to sound bright.
‘Let’s say you’re running a company of decorators and you’ve got ten fellows working for you. Now, the tax you collect off them you’re supposed to pass on to the Revenue at the end of the year. Of course what happens is that your decorating company isn’t around at the end of the year, and you’ve pocketed the tax. It was a grand racket. Instead of paying income tax, your worker was charged a weekly contribution to his “patrons”, which was less than the tax he would have paid. He would also be paid at less than the rate the subcontractor was charging the contractor, but as there was no record of his employment he could easily make that up by claiming unemployment benefit from the DHSS. So everyone was happy.’
‘And it was Breen who thought all this up?’
‘You’ll hear people say it was the Provos but they’re either lying or misinformed. I know for a fact it was Breen because – and I’m not on the record here – I was the man that did the paperwork on setting up the bogus companies.’
As Rintoul continued, Cross started to appreciate the sheer extent of the racket. In cases where a subcontractor was straight, Breen simply put in one of his own men as the labour provider.
‘And do you know how that one works? Any businessman can claim tax relief on extortion monies paid to paramilitaries, can you believe that?’
Cross thought Rintoul was joking.
‘I’m serious. It may not be common knowledge but the facility exists and Francis always made sure that anyone straight he was dealing with knew about it.’
Cross realized that he had underestimated Breen’s power. Perhaps the link that he suspected between Breen and Herron and Eddoes was not so far fetched after all.
‘That’s easy,’ said Rintoul when Cross asked if there was any connection between them. ‘There’s the Loyalist Club, the Royal Bar and the Top House Bar, the Trocadero, the Lagan Social Club and the Manhattan.’
He registered Cross’s surprise.
‘You mean they drank in each other’s bars?’
‘Not at first, but Breen was in with Tommy from the start. They used to take business meetings in bars where they wouldn’t be recognized. At first it was to stake out their respective boundaries, then – and this was probably a key moment of the last fifteen years that won’t get into the history books – Herron asked Franny to explain the tax certificate racket, and however many times Franny went over it poor Tommy couldn’t grasp it. Tommy was cunning but he wasn’t blessed with a brain. So, here’s Franny: “I tell you what, Tommy, why don’t you let me do it for you?” At least that’s what he says to me after and laughing fit to bust a gut. So Breen moved in on the building sites in Tommy’s area and in exchange Tommy was allowed to operate his “security firm” extortion racket in nationalist areas.’
With the arrival of Eddoes after Herron’s death, the process became even more smoothly run, apart from one hiccough when a member of the Official IRA was shot dead by loyalists in the city centre. According to Breen’s intelligence, Eddoes himself had authorized the killing in the belief that the man was a Provisional, based on information passed on to him by the RUC.
‘Of course, Francis was obliged to protest and eight of them sat down in the Royal Bar in Ann Street to thrash the matter out. Francis took “Dimple” Vallely along with him, who wore a patch on one eye, and a couple of others, whose names I forget, that went over with him to the INLA. Well, the whole thing was an insult to the memory of the dead man. Francis, from what I heard, huffed and puffed but didn’t push Eddoes, and soon it was another round of drinks and business as usual. I think it was at that meeting Eddoes said that there was a problem finding bricklayers to meet a deadline that would otherwise incur a penalty payment, so Francis offered to bus in some of his own men to finish the job in time, so long as Eddoes guaranteed their safety.’
‘Do you know if any Brits were involved in all of this?’ Cross asked, his mind still trying to take in what Rintoul had just told him.
‘Ah, one such as yourself. Why an English copper in Belfast?’
Cross answered, with more feeling than he’d meant, that he wished he knew. Rintoul looked at Cross, then at Westerby. Cross sensed something between them, an embarrassment, he thought.
‘I never heard of any Brit from Francis. There were a few running around at the time, cowboys mostly after a quick buck.’
Rintoul suddenly looked exhausted. He seemed to fade visibly and an expression of what Cr
oss realized later was self-disgust passed over his face.
‘You’ll understand what I’m telling you is all hearsay, there’s probably not a word of truth in it.’
‘Are you all right?’ Cross asked Westerby afterwards.
‘Yes,’ she mumbled. ‘I was just finding it very hot in there.’
To her relief, Cross didn’t dwell on the point.
‘Let’s go and see Mr Eddoes,’ he said.
‘How did he manage to turn himself so respectable?’
‘Once he’d made enough money illegally he went legitimate, got elected as a councillor and now rides on the moral ticket. Exactly what fingers he’s still got in what dirty pies no one is sure, but he has a nice holiday home up in Antrim.’
They arrived to find several security vehicles parked outside Eddoes’ launderette. Cross’s first thought was that Eddoes had been shot.
‘Shit!’ he said, jumping out and leaving Westerby to park the car.
He noticed bullet marks all over the front of the building. The big plate windows were shattered and diamonds of glass lay scattered on the pavement.
Cross announced himself to the policeman in charge, who told him that the shop had been raked with gunfire from a passing car. No one had been hurt but the staff were shaken.
‘Where’s the owner?’
The policeman told him that Eddoes was upstairs and they were finished with him.
Cross found Eddoes angry and distracted. He wasn’t sure if Eddoes even remembered him.
‘I want to talk to you about Francis Breen.’
Eddoes shook his head, gave Cross a blank look and denied knowing any Breen.
‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m busy. The glass down-stairs needs replacing.’
He picked up the phone. Cross was angry too and he slammed his hand down on the receiver, cutting Eddoes off.
‘While you and Breen were doing your pally little deals and covering for each other people were getting murdered in the streets on your say-so.’
