‘What?’
‘That means it was an accident. No matter what you think, no matter what I think, it was an accident. End of story.’
‘For Christ’s sake, I can’t—’
‘Leave it alone, son,’ Gordon said, prodding Lennon’s chest with his finger. ‘What in the name of God were you doing talking to Toner in the first place? First you were harassing that landlord on Wellesley Avenue, then—’
‘I wasn’t harassing anyone, I just—’
Gordon pushed him, hard. ‘Shut your bloody mouth. You’re on thin ice here as it is. Don’t make it any worse. Keep quiet about talking to Toner. Don’t mention it to anyone. If Dan Hewitt or anyone else in Special Branch gets wind of it, you’ll be out on your arse. You don’t mess about with those boys, you don’t get in their way, and you don’t step on their toes. Do you hear me?’
Lennon breathed deep to quash his anger.
Gordon said, ‘Do you hear me?’
Lennon closed his eyes, clenched his fists. He opened his eyes again and stared hard at Gordon. ‘I hear you.’
‘Good.’ Gordon stepped back and straightened his tie. ‘Now listen, you need to head back to Ladas Drive. There’s real work to do, no more of this pissing about.’
‘What sort of work?’
‘I need you to prep an interview for me.’
‘An interview? Who?’
‘The other kid,’ Gordon said. ‘I got the call just before you arrived.’
‘What other kid?’
‘He handed himself in this morning,’ Gordon said, smiling. ‘The other kid who was at Declan Quigley’s house the night he was killed. The one we’ve been looking for. I need you to pull together all the notes, all the photographs, everything we’ve got on the Quigley killing. I want pictures of his mate with his neck broken, that knife in his hand. I’ll be done here in an hour, and I want it all waiting for me when I interview him. I want to wave those photos under his nose, scare the living daylights out of him. I want a confession before the end of the day. So, what are you waiting for? Get going.’
Lennon put pages and photos together into piles on Gordon’s desk, the pictures on one side, the notes on the other. The photograph of Brendan Houlihan lay on top, the boy staring back at him with dead eyes. His hand lay at his side, tucked beneath his thigh, a blade just visible between his fingers and the fabric of his tracksuit bottoms. The dirt on his other side, where it shouldn’t have been.
‘Too easy,’ Lennon said.
He stood there, his eyes closed, running it over in his head. No, it was a stupid idea, he’d be in deep shit. He lifted the desk phone anyway, dialled the duty officer.
‘Is the kid in the interview room yet?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ the duty officer said. ‘The solicitor just arrived to look after him. They’re ready to go as soon as DCI Gordon gets back.’
‘No,’ Lennon said. ‘DCI Gordon just called me.’
‘Did he? I didn’t put him—’
‘On my mobile. He’s been held up. I’ve to go ahead with the interview.’
The duty officer remained silent for a few seconds, then said, ‘And?’
‘And that’s all.’ Lennon fought the quiver in his voice. ‘I’m doing the interview.’
‘Knock yourself out,’ the duty officer said, and the line clicked dead in Lennon’s ear.
*
Colm Devine, eighteen, pale and terrified. He fiddled with the discarded cellophane wrapping from the cassette tape he’d just inspected in an effort to hide the trembling. He failed. Edwin Speers, the duty solicitor, sat beside him. He looked bored.
Lennon peeled the cellophane from the second cassette case, took the tape from the box, and inserted it in the recorder. He hit record, and the twin decks whirred.
Devine stared at the tabletop as Lennon went through the formalities of rights and warnings required for an interview under caution. The solicitor picked dirt from beneath his fingernails.
Lennon took a pen, ready to make notes. ‘You know why you’re here, Colm.’
Devine croaked, tried again. ‘Yeah,’ he said.
‘Then you know how serious this is.’
‘Yeah,’ Devine said.
‘You were a friend of Brendan Houlihan, who was found dead at the scene of a murder of another man, Declan Quigley, three nights ago.’
‘Yeah,’ Devine said.
‘Were you with Brendan Houlihan on the night he died?’
Devine hesitated. Speers put a hand on his skinny forearm. ‘No comment,’ Devine said.
Lennon glanced at the solicitor.
‘When was the last time you saw Brendan Houlihan?’
‘No comment,’ Devine said.
‘Were you with a group of youths who were involved in a fight at the intersection of the Lower Ormeau Road and Donegall Pass on the night Brendan Houlihan died?’
‘No comment,’ Devine said.
Lennon put the pen down. ‘Colm, did Mr Speers here tell you to say “no comment” to everything?’
Devine swallowed. No comment.’
Lennon stared hard at Speers. ‘I’m guessing he did. Do you know why he did that?’
Speers coughed and fidgeted.
‘He did that because he’s the duty solicitor. A duty solicitor is only here to fill that chair and hopefully keep you from doing something stupid. In reality, he knows if you wind up in front of a judge, it’ll be with a different solicitor, someone who actually knows what they’re doing, who actually cares about your rights.’
Speers stiffened. ‘Here, now—’
‘When you’re in court, you’ll look as guilty as sin because you clammed up now. Mr Speers wants out of here so he can go for lunch, or a round of golf, or whatever he has to do that’s more interesting than babysitting you. If you sit there and say “no comment” to everything, he’s on his way quicker and you think you haven’t said anything to incriminate yourself.’
Speers wagged a finger. ‘Listen, I won’t sit here and—’
‘Problem is, Colm, that thing I said earlier about not saying something you later rely on in court? That’s the truth. You sit here now and say nothing but “no comment”, it makes you look guilty. I’ll think you’re hiding something, and so will a judge, and so will a jury. This isn’t shoplifting we’re talking about, Colm. It’s not stealing a car, or even punching some poor bastard in the mouth outside a pub. We’re talking about murder, here. We’re talking about a life sentence.’
Speers stood up. ‘Detective Inspector Lennon, I must ob—’
‘Thirteen, fourteen years, minimum. You’ll be in your thirties by the time you get out.’
A high whine came from Devine’s throat.
‘And it’ll be hard time. It won’t be a young offenders’ place, no holiday camp like you’ve been in before. It’ll be Maghaberry. You know who Declan Quigley was mixed up with? Their boys in Maghaberry won’t let that go. You’ll be lucky to—’
Speers stood and slapped the table. ‘Don’t you dare threaten my cl—’
‘You’ll be lucky to make it halfway through the sentence. So stop telling me “no comment”, for Christ’s sake. Tell me what happened that night. This is your last chance to get out of this, Colm. Stop messing around and tell me or you’ll wind up in—’
‘I never done it!’ Tears sprang from Devine’s eyes.
Lennon sat back. ‘Then tell me,’ he said.
Devine’s shoulders hitched as he sobbed. Speers sat down and put an arm around them. ‘You don’t have to say anything,’ he said. He stared back at Lennon. ‘You have the right to be silent, no matter what the officer says.’
Lennon said, ‘Tell me, Colm.’
Devine sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘Brendan was my mate. Since we were wee lads. We went to school together. We were supposed to go to Ibiza next year. He’d just got a job. He was going to pay for me and everything. It’s not fair. It was just a fight with the Huns, that’s all.’
Lennon
sat forward, lowered his voice. ‘Tell me what happened.’
‘We were just chucking stones and bottles, the usual stuff. The Huns was throwing them back.’
‘By “Huns” you mean Protestant youths from Donegall Pass.’
‘Aye,’ Devine said. ‘No one got hurt, like. No one even got hit. Then the peelers came, and we ran. Me and Brendan got split up from everyone else and the car came after us. We went into this alley. We could hear the cops coming behind us. We were trying gates to see if any of them wasn’t locked. We got to this one near the far end and it was open. Brendan went in front of me and it was dark, I could see nothing. Then I heard him falling, a crack like he hit his head. Then I skidded, it was all slippy, and I landed on my back. Then something heavy was on me and I couldn’t breathe.’
Devine shuddered as a fresh wave of tears came. ‘Oh God,’ he said, his voice a thin wisp of air.
Speers sat silent, staring into space.
Lennon said, ‘Take your time.’
Devine sniffed back the tears. Next thing I know I’m lying there and my head’s busting, and I’m freezing cold. I could hear this screaming coming from somewhere, like a madwoman. Then it stopped. All of a sudden, like. It took me a while to get up, I was dizzy. I felt around for Brendan. It was still pitch black. I found his shoes, and I felt up his leg. He was shivering, I remember that.’
‘And?’ Lennon asked.
‘And I looked up,’ Devine said, his eyes far away. ‘Someone was there, at the back door. I don’t know if he could see me, but I could see him. Just the shape of him. I couldn’t see his face.’
Lennon waited. ‘And?’
‘And I ran.’
Devine’s eyes came back to the present. He looked at Lennon. Before he could say anything more, the interview-room door burst inward, followed by a red-faced DCI Gordon.
‘Terminate this interview,’ he barked. ‘Now.’
Gordon flicked the tape player off and leaned back in his chair. ‘So?’
Lennon sat with his head in his hands, knowing it was useless. He said it anyway. ‘So, I don’t think Brendan Houlihan or Colm Devine killed Declan Quigley. I think someone else was there. I think he was there to kill Quigley. I think Houlihan and Devine were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I think he disabled the two youths and carried out the murder. I think he killed Brendan Houlihan and planted the knife on him. I think he would’ve killed Colm Devine too, if he’d had the chance.’
‘You’re telling me you believe this kid’s story?’ Gordon asked.
‘Yes, I believe it,’ Lennon said. ‘And I believe the same man who killed Declan Quigley and Brendan Houlihan also killed Patsy Toner last night.’
Lennon listened to Gordon’s breathing for endless seconds. Eventually he took his hands away from his eyes to see Gordon staring back at him. Gordon pressed the eject button, removed the tape, and tossed it into the wastepaper bin.
‘You look tired, Detective Inspector Lennon.’
‘I am tired,’ Lennon said. You know what it cost me to be a cop? My family haven’t spoken to me in more than fifteen years. Not one of my sisters. I only get to see my mother because she’s too far gone to remember why she cut me off in the first place. I walked away from my family because I thought it was the right thing to do. I saw the misery the paramilitaries and the thugs who operated under their protection caused in my community. The cops could do nothing about it because the people hated them even more. I thought if I joined up I could change that. Even if it was just a little, maybe I could make it better.’
‘What’s your point?’ Gordon asked.
‘My point is …’ Lennon shook his head. ‘There is no point. Not any more.’
Gordon leaned forward, his hands crossed in front of him. His grey eyes gave nothing away. ‘Detective Inspector Lennon, you are no longer a member of my Major Investigation Team. I will speak with CI Uprichard about your reassignment. In the meantime, I suggest you take leave, effective immediately, while I consult with CI Uprichard about your conduct in recent days, and any disciplinary action that may be necessary. Do you understand?’
Lennon stood. ‘I understand.’ He walked to the door.
‘I told you to leave it, son,’ Gordon called after him. ‘I did everything I could for you, but you wouldn’t let it lie.’
Gordon’s voice faded as Lennon marched down the corridor. He reached his own office and closed the door. He stood at the centre of the room, silent, his fists clenched, deciding on his next move: he went looking for Dan Hewitt.
39
The Traveller lay on the bed, the phone against his ear. A half-hearted rain shower pattered against the window. Horns blared below on University Street.
‘Good job on Toner,’ Orla said. ‘Pity you fucked up on Quigley.’
The Traveller sat up, ignoring the protests of his shoulder. ‘How do you mean?’
‘There was another kid there. He turned himself in this morning. He told them there was another man there. He saw you.’
The Traveller thought fast. ‘I never saw another kid,’ he lied.
‘Don’t bullshit me. You knew he was there, and he got away.’
‘He never got a proper look at me,’ the Traveller said.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Orla said. ‘He told the cops there was someone else there. It means they could be looking for you.’
The Traveller stood and went to the window. A car overtook a cyclist, cutting too close, almost causing the rider to fall. Smokers stood outside an old house that had been converted into offices, hunching their shoulders against the rain. ‘So what now?’ he asked.
‘What now?’ Orla’s voice hardened. ‘What now is we clean up your mess for you. We have a friend who can take care of the kid for you, make sure he has an accident in his cell tonight. But first, you have a job to finish.’
‘The woman and the kid?’
‘That’s right,’ Orla said. ‘Her and the wee girl are on a flight home. She’ll be in Belfast in an hour. You know what to do.’
Orla hung up.
The Traveller went to his bag and dug the file out from under the loose jumble of clothes. The key was taped inside the cover.
40
Lennon found Hewitt in the car park behind the main building, huddled between two Land Rovers, a phone pressed to his ear. Lost in his conversation, he didn’t see Lennon coming.
‘No,’ Hewitt said. ‘No, no way … I know … I know that … I can figure it out, trust me … I know … I know … I can’t do that … Jesus!’ Hewitt almost dropped the phone when he saw Lennon. ‘Listen, I’ll call you back.’ He put the phone away. ‘Shit, Jack, you scared me.’
‘What’s going on?’ Lennon asked.
‘What do you mean?’
Lennon pushed him against the Land Rover. ‘What the fuck is going on?’
‘Easy, Jack.’
‘Tell me what’s going on.’ Lennon pushed him again.
Hewitt held his hands up. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ He smiled. ‘Tell me what you want to know, and I’ll tell you if I can.’
‘Declan Quigley and Patsy Toner,’ Lennon said. ‘Kevin Malloy before them.’
‘Patsy Toner slipped and hit his head when he was piss drunk and fell into a bathtub. It was an accident.’
‘You and me both know that’s not true,’ Lennon said.
‘Declan Quigley got knifed in a burglary that went wrong. One suspect is dead and the other’s in custody.’
‘Bullshit.’ Lennon pushed him one more time. ‘I interviewed that kid. He saw someone else there.’
‘Oh, come on, Jack. You know what those wee shit-bags are like. They couldn’t tell the truth if their lives depended on it.’
Lennon stepped back. ‘I know about Gerry Fegan.’
Hewitt couldn’t hide the surprise. Too late, his face hardened again. ‘Who?’
‘No more lies,’ Lennon said. ‘Not now. I know about Gerry Fegan, the shit-storm he started in Belfast and finis
hed in Middletown. I know about Michael McKenna and Vincie Caffola. I know about Paul McGinty. I know Marie McKenna and my daughter were there. I know someone is tying up loose ends.’
Hewitt’s Adam’s apple bobbed above his collar. ‘Fuck me, Jack, you’ve some imagination.’
‘Don’t,’ Lennon said, putting a finger on Hewitt’s chest. ‘I’m warning you, don’t laugh this off. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.’
Hewitt squeezed past him. ‘I don’t have time for this. You’re losing it, Jack. Everyone’s talking about it. You should’ve got out five years ago when you had the chance.’
Lennon grabbed his wrist. ‘Don’t walk away from me.’
Hewitt looked down at Lennon’s hand, then up to meet his gaze. ‘Let go of me, Jack. You’d do well to remember I’m still your superior officer.’
Lennon pulled him close. You used to be my friend.’
‘True.’ Hewitt’s lips curled in a facsimile of a smile. ‘But you can be a hard man to like.’
‘Look, I don’t give a shit about what happened to McGinty and his cronies. Declan Quigley and Patsy Toner were both scumbags. We’re no worse off without them. But Marie and Ellen. They never hurt anybody. I just want them to be safe. That’s all. Please, Dan. Help me.’
Hewitt closed his eyes for a moment. He sighed and opened them again.
‘Please, Dan.’
‘All right,’ Hewitt said. ‘I’ll give you one thing. I don’t know anything about any Gerry Fegan. What happened with McGinty’s faction was a feud. The inquiry found as much. There’s no conspiracy here, Jack. Now, if I give you this one thing, promise me you’ll stop this nonsense.’
‘Tell me,’ Lennon said, squeezing Hewitt’s wrist tighter.
‘Promise, Jack. Promise me you’ll leave it alone. Will you do that?’
‘All right,’ Lennon said. He released Hewitt’s wrist.
Hewitt smoothed his jacket and straightened his tie. ‘Marie McKenna and your daughter are on their way home.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Her father’s been ill. She’s coming back to see him. They’ll be flying in from Birmingham, landing at the City Airport. If you’re quick you’ll meet them off the plane. They land any—’
Collusion Page 18
