by Menon, David
‘He loves it’ said Jeff, proudly. ‘He seems to love learning thank God. His grandfather is teaching him Mandarin and you ought to hear the two of them chatting away together’.
‘Sounds like it makes you feel very proud’.
‘Oh it does, it really does. Do you and your partner plan to have any kids?’
‘No’ said Ollie.
‘Do you want to think about it for a minute?’
Ollie laughed. ‘No, well we have discussed it but we’re both quite selfish and I’ve seen enough examples of rubbish parents in this job to know that Martin and I wouldn’t be much good either. We’re both from big families too and we have our nephews and nieces to stay and all that but we’re always happy to hand them back at the end. You seem to encourage your son’s pursuit of his place in your late wife’s culture, sir?’
‘Yes and it was a very conscious decision, Ollie’ Jeff confirmed. ‘It’s half of who he is and it would be a kind of betrayal to Lillie Mae if he let go of it. Besides, I don’t want him to lose touch with her family, especially her parents. It wouldn’t be fair on them or on him and we all benefit from that because we all get to hold onto Lillie Mae by seeing Toby grow up embracing his Chinese heritage. And the way China is developing it will serve him well to be fluent in both languages’.
Ollie had so much respect for his boss. Jeff Barton just didn’t seem to have any of the discriminatory baggage that so many senior police officers seem to have. Ollie had never played up the fact that he was black and he’d certainly never expected any special treatment. But he knew what some people thought of him being in a senior position just because he was black. And gay. But you can’t legislate about what people think.
Jeff and Ollie walked up to the front door and rang the bell of number 12. They watched as the camera that was fixed to a corner of the doorway above them turned to take a view. They held up their police warrant cards to it so that whoever was watching inside got a clear view.
‘Getting justice for people must be a dangerous game’ Ollie remarked.
‘Sectarian grudges go deep and last long’ said Jeff. ‘And it seems have no geographical restriction. People can take them from Belfast to Manchester to anywhere’.
‘That’s right we can officer’ said Kieran Murphy after he’d opened the door. ‘That’s why we have to be careful who we answer the door to and why we have a microphone as well as a camera fitted into the ceiling there’.
‘You don’t take any chances’ said Jeff.
‘I can’t afford to especially with … well you know, recent events surrounding the death of my brother. I presume that’s why you’re here? Please come in’.
Kieran led them down the hall of his house and introduced them to his wife Maggie who was standing in the kitchen where she promised that she’d bring them through some tea. At the back of the house on ground level was a small room that had been converted into an office. The desk looked like it had once been in a flat pack and was covered with sheets of paper with writing on them, scribbled notes, reference books, and a desktop computer. There was a tall but narrow window that let in just enough light and afforded a view of the small back garden and the backs of the houses in the next street. Jeff glanced up at the clouds that were moving quite fast across the sky. There was probably going to be rain later.
‘First of all, Mr. Murphy, I’d like to say that I’m very sorry for your loss of your brother’ said Jeff after Kieran had cleared more paperwork off two chairs so that they could sit down. He had a large high backed chair at his desk. ‘It must’ve come as quite a shock’.
Jeff watched Kieran’s face but couldn’t quite work out what he could see written all over it. Kieran’s wife Maggie came in and placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder.
‘My husband deals with loss all the time, officer’ Maggie explained. ‘He talks to and tries to help families just like his own who’ve lost a loved one, a mother, a father, brother, or sister in such terrible circumstances’.
‘Yes and I imagine it must be very difficult work at times’ said Jeff who knew all about the campaigning organisation that was run by Kieran Murphy and how it would make him enemies. He admired the way Kieran Murphy ran such an organization from this small space at the back of his house but he didn’t want to go too far down the road of admiration. Kieran Murphy may turn out to be a suspect.
‘But when it’s your own brother who’s been murdered, officer’ said Kieran, shaking his head gently. His wife Maggie’s head turned when she heard the click of the kettle having boiled. She followed it saying she’d be back in a moment. ‘It’s taken me back to that day when our mother was dragged away from us and we never saw her again. But you see, the IRA know where all the disappeared were buried after they were tortured, charged and then executed without a trial. We campaign to get that truth out of them. But in the case of our Barry … somebody walked into his office and shot him dead in cold blood. That’s something quite different. I want to know why, officer. I want to know who he’d poured that glass of whiskey for’.
Now that’s very interesting, thought Jeff. How did Kieran know about the whiskey his brother Barry had poured out shortly before he was shot dead? That detail had been left out of the public and press release. All that had been publicly revealed was that it looked very much like Barry Murphy had been expecting his visitor that night. Jeff glanced at Ollie briefly but it was enough to let Ollie know not to pick up on it just yet. It would keep until a more appropriate time during this interview or a subsequent one. Kieran appeared to be the grieving younger brother but was it just an act? Would it turn out that Barry Murphy’s wife Tabitha wasn’t the only one of his close relatives who wasn’t genuinely grieving for him?
‘Where were you last night, Kieran?’ Jeff asked.
‘Well I was here’ Kieran replied as if he should never have been asked. ‘My wife can testify to that and you can have the film from the outdoor camera. You don’t suspect me of doing it?’
‘We can’t rule anything or anyone out at this stage, Mr. Murphy’ said Jeff, calmly. ‘I’m sure you can appreciate that’.
‘I can appreciate a lot of things’ said Kieran. ‘I can appreciate that they happened without having to like them. Like the war that was going on that led to one of our loved ones disappearing. Like the IRA who’ve been fighting us all the way but when they thought it might be politically expedient to help us they started to do so. I appreciate all of that, officer. But ask me to appreciate the fact that you might think I murdered my own brother after what happened to our family years ago is something I really can’t appreciate’.
‘I can understand your strength of feeling, Mr. Murphy’ said Jeff.
‘I hope so’ Kieran spat back.
‘Do you know a man called Chris O’Neill, Mr. Murphy?’ Ollie asked.
‘Chris O’Neill?’ Kieran questioned. ‘No. Should I?’
‘Have you ever drunk in the Farmers Arms pub in Chorlton?’ Ollie went on.
‘I can’t recall ever having done so, no’ said Kieran impatiently. ‘Look, why all these damn questions?’
Maggie Murphy came in with the tea and immediately waded in to defend her husband. ‘My husband has done no wrong, officer’ said Maggie, forcefully before handing round the mugs of tea and squatting down on the floor next to her husband. ‘He’s devoted his life to helping others find the answers they need. You should be ashamed of yourself for going at him like this’.
Jeff noted that Maggie wasn’t from Northern Ireland like her husband. She was English and her accent was clearly northwest. Kieran’s accent was pure Belfast still.
‘I’m just asking, Mrs. Murphy’ said Ollie. ‘As part of our enquiries into what is a murder investigation’.
‘You went over to Northern Ireland three days ago, Mr. Murphy?’ said Jeff.
‘You know I did’ said Kieran, wearily.
‘Mr. Murphy, we know that you and your three siblings didn’t arrive back in Manchester until after we estimate Pad
raig O’Connell was murdered’ said Ollie, watching for a reaction but Kieran Murphy remained stone faced. ‘Just in case that’s what you think we were aiming at’.
‘So it’s just the murder of my brother you’re trying to put me in the frame for then?’
‘Not at all, Mr. Murphy’ said Jeff. ‘There are just certain things we need to know in order to progress our investigation into your brother’s murder. Now with regard to O’Connell, did you ever meet him apart from in County Antrim three days ago?’
‘Yes’ Kieran confirmed. ‘We first met about six months ago after he’d finally agreed to meet with us. We wanted so badly to lay Mammy to rest in peace and it turned out that he was the only one who could help us’.
‘Why was that’ Jeff asked.
‘He and two other IRA men took Mammy’s body to that stretch of beach where they buried her’ Murphy explained. ‘The other two are long gone. O’Connell could stretch the patience of a bloody saint, so he could. We should’ve been on the same side but because of what he’d done to Mammy we were mortal enemies. He made us drag his agreement out of him to help us over three further meetings before he finally gave in and told us of the stretch of beach where Mammy was buried. He wouldn’t go into detail about what happened to her whilst they held her but he did open up about all of that to a newspaper and from what he described Mammy must’ve been relieved when they did actually shoot her. I didn’t like or dislike O’Connell, officer. My feelings towards him were indifferent. But when he couldn’t precisely identify where Mammy was buried when we got to that beach three days ago it made me more angry than I thought it was possible to be. But as you’ve already said, I couldn’t have killed him, officer. Although I admit that I wanted to’.
‘You could’ve given the signal to someone else back here to do it’ said Ollie.
‘Yes, you’re right’ Kieran answered through clenched teeth. ‘But I didn’t’.
‘Did you ever go to O’Connell’s flat?’
‘Yes’ said Murphy. ‘Twice’.
Jeff thought for a moment. Ollie was right. Kieran Murphy could’ve had someone working for him. It was something they’d have to check out. But there were other things to press Murphy on first.
‘Okay’ said Jeff. ‘But if we could get back to your brother, Mr. Murphy? Why didn’t he go with you and the rest of your family to see if O’Connell could identify where your mother had been buried by the IRA?’
Kieran took a deep breath. ‘Barry had been estranged from the rest of his family for the last twenty years’.
‘And why was that?’
‘Twenty years ago, just after we’d started this campaign after all other ways of trying to find out what happened to Mammy had been exhausted, the IRA contacted us. They admitted, as if we didn’t know already, what they’d done with her and where she’d been buried. They also told us that Padraig O’Connell had been the leader behind the whole operation. They offered us money to basically shut up and go away. We all refused the money except for Barry. He took it. And he used it to set up his car dealership business. The rest of us were incensed and never spoke to him again’.
‘Do you think he could’ve murdered Padraig O’Connell?’
‘What?’
‘As a means of making things up with you and the rest of the family somehow?’
‘No’ said Kieran. ‘My brother accepted money from murderers but he wasn’t one himself. You’d be wasting your time if you went down that road’.
‘So what else did they tell you at the Farmers Arms about Chris O’Neill, Adrian?’ asked DSI Jeff Barton who’d called a morning brief with his team. He was feeling pleased with life this morning. His seven year-old son Toby had gone for a whole month without wetting the bed which must mean that he was feeling better emotionally and there’d been a hilarious moment that morning when Toby had given further instructions to their live-in housekeeper and nanny Brendan who’d been cooking Toby’s dim sum dumplings for breakfast but couldn’t quite get them soft enough once they were cooked and Toby had invoked the example of his maternal Chinese grandma Cynthia who never failed to get them right. Toby and Brendan had a mini spat over it and Jeff had waited behind the door of the kitchen listening to it all going on and trying not to laugh out loud. Toby was going to grow up to be the kind of man who knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it.
‘They say he moved into the area about six months ago, sir’ said DS Adrian Bradshaw. ‘He lives in a flat about a quarter of a mile from the pub. One of the girls managed to get a selfie with him in it which she said was no mean feat. Apparently he doesn’t like having his picture taken’.
‘Interesting’ said Jeff. ‘I wonder why that is’.
‘We’ve had the picture enlarged and copied’ said DC Joe Alexander as he pinned the picture of Chris O’Neill to the white information board they were using. ‘It’s not a perfect picture but it gives you an idea’.
‘Good looking chap’ Jeff remarked. ‘And do we know what he does for a living?’
‘According to the staff at the pub he’s some kind of computer analyst, sir’ said Adrian. ‘But none of them knew for sure’.
‘Sounds a little secretive our Mr. O’Neill’ said Jeff. ‘And being a computer analyst covers a multitude of sins these days’.
‘We went round to his flat, sir, and there was no sign of him’ said DC Joe Alexander. ‘No reply from either of his closest neighbours either, sir, but a Mrs. Joan Farrell who lives in the flat directly below O’Neill and is retired says that most people in the area work during the day so the best time to catch them is at night. She said she hadn’t seen O’Neill for a couple of days but that when she does see him he’s always very pleasant and courteous. She didn’t have any reason to be suspicious of him in any way’.
‘We’re looking into his background, sir’ said DI Ollie Wright. ‘His tax and national insurance records etc. According to his neighbour Mrs. Farrell he worked at NW Systems in Bramhall. We should have the necessary information back later today’.
‘And in the meantime there’s the issue of his posh girlfriend in Cheshire who they think is married’ said Jeff. ‘And that’s a profile that Tabitha Murphy fits very well’.
‘It would be one hell of a coincidence, sir’ said DS Adrian Bradshaw.
‘Yes I agree, Adrian’ Jeff agreed. ‘But I’m certain there’s a link between the murders of O’Connell and Murphy. There’s just too much that can connect them and Tabitha Murphy is hiding something and though it may turn out to be nothing at all in relation to this investigation I still want it checking out. Try putting some pressure on her sister Jade. I get the feeling she may open up to us about her sister and tell us something that will be interesting’.
There wasn’t much love lost between Tabitha Murphy and her sister Jade Matheson. Jade had always believed that her younger sibling had been the favoured one of their parents and that she’d always struggled to get a look in when Tabitha could just click her fingers and everyone started dancing to her tune. She’d done it with her late husband Barry. She’d done it with everyone.
Jade had always worked. She was a hairdresser with her own salon in Wilmslow. At least her parents had helped her set that up although they’d done it begrudgingly. Tabitha had never worked a day in her sorry little spoilt brat life. She’d lived on an allowance from their parents and sponged off one rich boyfriend after another all of whom, funnily enough, ditched her in the end when they realised what a ride she was taking them for. She was gorgeous. Jade would give her that. But then beauty is so often only skin deep.
But now Tabitha swears she’s in love for the first time. Jade had wanted to burst out laughing when she told her but the feeling suddenly disappeared when Tabitha asked her sister if she’d take over the care of her daughter Georgina. She was planning to go away and leave Georgina behind. That’s when Jade understood that this time her sister was being deadly serious. But Tabitha didn’t know just how serious Jade was going to be too.
Jef
f was looking intently at the white information board with it’s now many pictures and scribbles about the investigation. Nobody had been able to contact Chris O’Neill and Jeff would concede that they didn’t have much to go on in the murder of Padraig O’Connell or Barry Murphy except for a list of coincidences and prepositions.
Kieran Murphy had been insistent on not having had anything to do with the murder of Padraig O’Connell. They’d taken statements from all of O’Connell’s family who lived in Greater Manchester and been able to rule them all out. Each of their alibis had been tight and besides, they came across as having had genuine affection for their brother. So could this have been an inside job from a member of the IRA who thought that O’Connell had talked too much or from someone who was associated with the former RUC in Northern Ireland? In his own inimitable way O’Connell had probably managed to piss off both sides of the sectarian divide.
Then what about Barry Murphy? He’d taken hush money from the IRA to set himself up in business and it had turned out to be a highly successful investment. But the rest of his family had turned against him for it and Jeff didn’t blame them. He wouldn’t have taken the money either. So why did Barry? Did he just see it as drawing a line under a hateful past and giving them all the opportunity to move on?
Jeff kept saying to himself that there was a definite connection between these two murders. But what the hell was it? Where could he draw the line of definition between them?
He’d looked into the case of the disappearance of Deirdre Murphy, snatched from her kitchen by a gang of IRA men, led by Padraig O’Connell, back in 1974, in front of her children. With the obvious exception of her eldest, Barry, they were all grown up now and living ordinary lives in the suburbs of north and east Manchester. Her second son Kieran was involved in helping all the families of the disappeared. But what of the others? Statements had been taken from each one of them and Jeff couldn’t detect anything that would lead him into believing they had anything to do with their brother’s murder. But Kieran had known about the glasses of Irish whiskey his older brother had poured shortly before someone had walked into his office and killed him. And the only way he could’ve known about that was if someone on the inside of the investigation had leaked it, not impossible but rather unlikely, or if Kieran Murphy knew because he was there and saw the glasses with his own eyes. But if he was the killer then what would his motive be? Kieran and his brother were estranged but that went back twenty years. He’d had all that time to settle any grudge so why would he choose now?
