In This Bright Future: A DC Smith Investigation

by Peter Grainger

  Smith said, ‘If I’m reading this correctly, that’s what began this again. When Eamon died?’

  ‘Aye, last year. She was there with him at the end and it was in his last confession. He wanted her to hear it, she said, so that she could do something. Make some sort of amends. She came to us the next day and told us.’

  For the moment at least he could allow the detective sergeant to take the reins – it was a blessed relief.

  ‘Can you remember exactly what she told you? I know you’ve been over it a hundred times but it would be useful to me.’

  ‘I’m not likely to forget it. Eamon told them four names – people they had “dealt with”, she said. Brann was one of them.’

  ‘What do we know about the others?’

  ‘Two were knee-cappings. One of them never walked again.’

  Smith sensed the same thought in the other three but if it had occurred to Catriona, wheel-chair bound, she did not show it.

  ‘And the third?’

  ‘Feargus Mann. He was shot in front of his family for going out with a girl whose father was UDA.’

  It seemed wrong to hear this from her, to make her say such things. These were deeds from some dark age, nightmare tales, except that every word had the dull, cold ring of truth. That was the world in which they, as young people, had grown old.

  ‘He didn’t give any clue as to what happened to Brann?’

  ‘Sadie said no – he just gave the name. She was heart-broken when she came here. She wasn’t holding anything back.’

  He drank some of the tea. This was the moment he would turn to the others and say ‘Right – ideas?’ Waters would have a dozen, perm any three and fire up the Google; Serena Butler would ask whether there would be any overtime involved – what did she do with all the money? – and John Murray would say, after some frowning, Callaghan might be dead but there are still four to go.

  Smith said, ‘Cati, the two boys who…’ and then he saw Lia stiffen and look two dark daggers at him. He should not have called her that – in Lia’s eyes he had lost the right ever to do so – but he could not take it back.

  ‘The two boys who spoke to you outside the house that night? Did you recognise them at all?’

  ‘No. They weren’t local.’

  ‘And they never mentioned Brann, obviously. What did you say to them?’

  ‘I asked them why they were hanging around near our gate that time of night.’

  ‘Did they give any sort of an answer?’

  ‘No. When I said I’d fetch my brothers they went off. That was all.’

  There was an odd, unnecessary look of defiance in her eyes then, and he thought that she might have just lied to him. His own look tried to say, if you did just lie, you must have had a good reason but he had no idea whether, after all this time, she could have understood him.

  He said, ‘What time was it when you spoke to them?’

  ‘It was dark already and midsummer. It must have been gone eleven at least.’

  ‘Where had you been, when you saw them outside?’

  ‘Out walking.’

  Bradey O’Neill had retreated somewhere inside himself for the moment but the other two must have noticed something about the way Catriona had answered him. Nothing was said, however, and he could not pursue it as he might have done in Interview Room 2 at Kings Lake Central.

  ‘OK. I know this is painful but it might help if someone takes me through what happened the following day, when you first realised that Brann was missing. What did the family do? When were the police first informed?’

  Lia took over the story at that point, and told of the growing concern, of the visits to Brann’s friends, to the university even though it was a Saturday morning, before they contacted the police in the afternoon. There had been no official interest in the matter until Barran O’Neill himself had stood in front of an inspector’s desk and raised the roof a little – they had known, Lia said, Barran and Rosa, from the beginning that something was terribly wrong.

  Police had come to the house – uniformed at first and then plain clothes, from the special squads that dealt with what someone called politically-motivated crimes. They asked about Brann’s lifestyle, showing they had spoken to others before visiting the O’Neill’s, wondering politely whether it might have anything to do that; politely because they had understood now who Barran was, and where he stood in the Catholic community. Just as politely, Barran O’Neill had told them that no, it would be nothing to do with that, and the search had gone on. Nothing of significance was discovered. Brann had been working in the university library until five o’clock on the Friday afternoon – there had been a withdrawal of two medical textbooks in his name at two minutes before the hour. There were reliable sightings from two separate people who knew him that he had returned to his student accommodation before six o’clock, and the textbooks had been found there, on the desk in his room. After that, the trail had gone cold. It had been Bradey O’Neill who went to the accommodation building later that evening and found the room was empty and unlocked.

  Even now, after thirty years, the sense of loss had become palpable in the room – in the house where Brann O’Neill had been born and grown up. For Smith, it was the mention of the medical books. At the end of his first year, Brann had been awarded the Lister Prize for the most promising student of medicine. It was impossible not to wonder what he might have specialised in, what sort of doctor he would have become.

  ‘If you go stirring all that up again, you’re an even bigger fool than I take you for.’

  Bradey O’Neill’s comment came unexpectedly after a silence of some minutes.

  Smith said, ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I’m not talking about any risk to yourself. I wouldn’t give a toss about that. But we have to go on living here after you’ve poked your stick into the hornets’ nest and run off back to England again. The boy should not have come looking for you. He might not understand these people but you surely do.’

  It was a perfectly valid point of view, and Smith waited for the women to respond to it. Catriona spoke first.

  ‘It’s not like it was, Bradey. Others have been found now and given a Christian burial without reprisals. We would not be the first to be asking for that, not by a long way.’

  ‘I’ll give you some of that – it isn’t like it once was. But don’t go imagining it’s nothing like it. Not all of these people have been bought off by the sham up at Stormont. Some of them are playing a very long game, centuries long, and they know their history. They have long memories when it comes to betrayal.’

  Smith looked round at them as he spoke.

  ‘I agree with what your brother and your uncle is saying, by and large, at least as far as the old guard are concerned. I’ll make it clear that I am not representing you in any way. I am willing to say that I’m acting on my own, out of some sense of reparation or guilt, and that I have only just discovered that Brann had somehow become involved in what was going on. Most of that is true. I’ll say that I have spoken to you, obviously, but that you only been able to repeat what you said at the time of the original investigation, and that you are not naming any names or pointing any fingers.’

  He paused then, but nobody spoke.

  ‘However, if the three of you feel that I should do none of this, then I will not. I’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning if that is the case.’

  He looked at Diarmuid without any sense of apology, and could see that none had been expected; this could only be decided by the missing man’s brother and sisters.

  Catriona said, ‘I want him found and brought home to us. Anyone that helps with that would have my gratitude – but no-one should be putting their life at risk for it. You can’t just go knocking on their doors, Stuart…’

  And then she coloured and smiled and said sorry, but Smith was watching Lia Wisbey’s face. It was difficult to read, and so he waited for her to speak – it seemed that she had the deciding vote.

  ‘Well, w
hatever your name is now, you owe this family something. You owe us a lot. But as she says, I’m not sure you owe us your life, especially if you are telling the truth – that you knew nothing about our boy’s disappearing. There’s been enough of that over the years. More than a thousand lives, they say…’

  Smith said, ‘More than sixteen hundred.’

  Lia said, ‘I’m glad someone’s keeping the score. A detective, Diarmuid says. You must have some idea what you’re doing, I suppose.’

  Not a ringing endorsement but she seemed to have voted in favour. Smith eased his chair away from the table, seeing no point in prolonging this now, but Catriona spoke up with a different sort of voice, as if she had been preparing what she had to say for some time beforehand.

  ‘I’d like a word alone, please, in my room.’

  ‘Is this where I finally get something thrown at me?’

  She had wheeled the chair to the window, and Smith followed, standing on her right side. The window faced east and so there was no longer any direct light in the early evening; what little there was seemed diminished by the trees, more so than earlier in the day, as if they were growing taller and more dense by the hour. But when he looked at her he noticed that her hair was shining and glossy in a way that it had not been in the morning – she had washed it at some point in between times, and it made him remember her.

  She said, ‘I’ve one or two things to say, and I won’t have too long. She won’t let us be for long.’

  ‘She never did like us being alone together, I seem to recall.’

  ‘Aye. Perhaps I should have listened to her.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  She smiled out of the window.

  ‘Anyway. I’m sorry about the name thing in there. I haven’t got my head around David at all. Though I did wonder again whether you’ve not chosen a bad time to confront Goliath.’

  ‘He’s a pretty old giant now.’

  ‘And you’re no spring chicken yourself.’

  ‘Don’t let the stick fool you – it’s only a temporary measure,’ and then he kicked himself again because the same was not true for her. She looked at him directly then, always seeming to guess when a feeling had gone astray.

  ‘I hope you have something more than a pocketful of stones. Though if you do, I don’t want to know.’

  ‘All I have is my wits, I’m afraid. I’m aware that they might not be enough.’

  The smile had been replaced by concern. She waved him towards the chair that he had sat in earlier, and he saw her glance at the clock on the mantelpiece.

  ‘You know about Diarmuid and Mairead – you know who she is?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can’t stop you finding him, then – Martin McCain. He wasn’t the worst of them, I know, but I don’t want Diarmuid involved any more than that. If you find any of the others - and I swear I don’t know where any more of them are now - I don’t want Diarmuid anywhere near them. Will you promise me that?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  She closed her eyes, as if achieving that, her first objective, had taken something out of her, and then she said, ‘Not just because of the danger to him. If he heard anything about what happened to Brann – if he heard any details or was confronted with anyone who had a hand in it, he might get hold of them, and… He’s a strong boy with a powerful sense of justice, you understand?’

  ‘I can see that. It’s what took him to England, I imagine.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Smith could hear voices behind them, in the kitchen.

  He said, ‘What else? That wasn’t all you wanted to tell me.’

  ‘Oh! Mr Detective now, is it?’

  He said nothing more, then. Whatever it was she had to say to him was what made her lower lip tremble, despite the sarcastic smile.

  ‘That night, when he disappeared and I came home late…’

  ‘When you had been out walking?’

  She smiled again but with no sarcasm this time, the way, perhaps, a good book smiles when it is being read with care.

  ‘Yes. We’d heard in the afternoon that there had been some trouble involving the Rourke’s bar people. I went into town on my own. I went up to Cargill Street.’

  To his flat, where he had not been but others might have been waiting for him. He nodded and betrayed no emotion because that would not help here – she had not said it all yet.

  ‘I went to some other places - our places, you might say - but I couldn’t find you. I was… I really needed to speak to you that night, to make sure that you were alright.’

  Was there the slightest point in apologising after thirty years?

  ‘What happened when you got back here? The two boys waiting outside.’

  She stepped away from it for a moment, as if he was pushing her too hard and she would not be pushed, but Smith could hear furniture moving in the kitchen.

  After the pause, she said, ‘I wasn’t the only one looking for you. It’s what they wanted, too. They asked me where you were. They knew we were together. They said, “Where’s your tout boyfriend, darling?’”

  She had mimicked their voices. Smith’s mouth tightened a little at the sound and the thought of it all.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I played the idiot girl. Denied you, denied knowing what they were talking about, denied it all until it made me sick but they knew. And then one of them said to me “Never mind, girl. If you won’t talk, we’ll find someone who will. Perhaps we already have and you’d best keep your mouth shut anyway” and they drove away laughing.’

  ‘And you didn’t know them?’

  He had it then, what it was she had been holding onto like the unluckiest of charms for three decades. Because she had known them.

  ‘I knew the one who did all the talking. If you’re wondering why the only person I ever told was my sister through there, you’ll understand now. It was Lorcan’s younger brother. It was Aidan Quinn.’

  Chapter Nine

  She had said to Smith, you know what happened to him, to Aidan Quinn, and he had not answered her. Perhaps she thought that he must know but she told him anyway. He was found in the Ardoyne road the very next day, gunned down by the UDA. She must have been one of the last people to see him alive, and that was why she had listened when Lia told her to keep her mouth shut, just in case Aidan’s brother thought the O’Neill family had anything to do with it. The mere presence of such a thought in the head of Lorcan Quinn could have incalculable consequences for them all. As Diarmuid Kelly drove back into the city for the second time that day, Smith thought that over, along with everything else he had just been told, glancing occasionally in the wing mirror of the Impreza. Objects in the rear-view mirror can appear closer than you think… But there was nothing going on that he could see – it didn’t look as if he was still being censused. It must have been nothing, particularly as the girl was coloured, according to Mrs Greene. The cell had typified the Army as a whole, he well remembered; their vision of a united Ireland did not extend so far as an embrace of multiculturalism. He dismissed the idea then and brought his mind back to the present.

  Diarmuid had seen the watching of the mirror again and then couldn’t help but do the same, but if they were being followed it must be by someone on the number eleven bus. Not very likely. All things considered, the meeting had gone well, with Uncle Bradey only swinging the one punch and Aunt Lia holding back on the torrent of invective that he well knew could burst forth with little warning. The more he thought about that, the more surprising it seemed. His aunt’s restraint had to have something to do with the way his mother had been affected by Stuart Reilly’s reappearance – the way she had said his name, and the way she reacted to saying it showed that plainly enough. Not for the first time he wondered about what he had begun when he found the man living another life in an unimportant English town.

  He looked across at him then; they were approaching the city, the taxi rank where they had parked in the morning, and nothing had yet been said about wha
t Smith wanted to do next. The questions the detective had asked the family had been obvious enough but behind them Diarmuid could see that Smith had effectively memorised the contents of the Inquiry folder – not once had he needed to refer to it for details. He wondered too about what had passed between his mother and Smith during the few minutes that Aunt Lia had left them alone. Lia’s eyes had gone to the door many times in those few minutes before she finally called out ‘Cati – don’t tire yourself. It’s almost seven o’clock now,’ signalling an end to the meeting between the two of them, as if they were teenagers. A part of it, he knew, would have been about himself, her saying that she did not want him involved in whatever the policeman was planning in the search for the truth. And the rest? He had no idea, but he could see that they had been lovers in those times. No-one had ever told him that directly but it was plain enough when you saw them together now.

  ‘So, sergeant. What’s next? Where are we going now?’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Aye – unless you get out and start walking.’

  ‘I’m under strict orders as far as you’re concerned.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. You’re a man who always follows orders. Still the soldier, eh?’

  Smith thought about a response to that. Kelly had been almost silent at the house, allowing them to begin to clear the air after thirty years of smog, but he had been watching and listening closely – he hadn’t missed very much. He would understand much more now than he had an hour or two ago; was the sarcasm a result of that?

  ‘I’ll follow those orders out of respect for your mother.’

  ‘Oh, I see. So you’ve found some of that at last. Better late than never, I suppose.’

  Smith closed his eyes briefly, opened them and said, ‘Right. Pull over here.’

  ‘Cannot. It’s a clearway.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. You’re a man who always follows the Highway Code, even though you drive around in a vehicle capable of 155 miles per hour. Pull over into that emergency services space. If anyone asks, I’ll show them the warrant card I didn’t bring.’