by Menon, David
Burns sat back and brought his hands together in front of him, letting his fingertips touch in a church like shape. ‘This is a tricky one, Detective Constable Ryan, I’ll grant you that. And I agree with your assessment. What I’ll do is email the UK authorities and tell them what we’re thinking. It’ll be up to them to respond in whatever way they see fit. In the meantime we’ll keep guard outside the Knight’s house. The press are bound to want to keep on pushing for their pound of flesh. I can’t really blame them though. It is a pretty big story’.
‘Sir’.
‘Well you can go now Ryan’.
‘Thank you, sir’ said Collette who suddenly couldn’t get out of there quick enough. This quiet style of introspection from Burns was really spooking her. She walked out of his office and closed the door wondering what the Hell that had all been about. But then she recalled the other question that was blaring out from this case and went back into the lion’s den to see if the big beast was still resting his roar.
‘Sir?’
Burns looked up surprised and a little exasperated. ‘What is it, Ryan? I thought we were done for the time being’.
‘Sir, there is something else that I think is important’.
‘Well if you think its important then I suppose it must be, Ryan’.
Collette gave out a sigh. His less belligerent attitude towards her had lasted barely more than a few minutes. It had probably all been nothing more than a con from the foul minded bastard.
‘Sir, it’s just that … who are we dealing with back in the UK?’
‘Why do you need to know that?’
‘Does that mean that you’re not going to tell me?’
‘I didn’t say that’.
‘Well then let me ask you the same question in a different way, sir’ Collette went on, holding steadfastly to her self-control. ‘Are we in contact with regular police units in either Manchester or Belfast in the UK, sir? Is that where we’re getting our information from with regard to Patricia Knight?’
Burns sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin. ‘No, Ryan’ he replied. ‘It’s a British special branch unit we’re dealing with’.
‘And are they in touch with their local police units on the ground?’
‘You’d have to ask them that’ said Burns. ‘How would I know?’
‘Well doesn’t it strike you as being a bit odd, sir?’
‘About which aspect of this investigation are you talking about, Ryan? It all seems a bit bloody odd to me but the British have got different sensibilities about it because they had to deal with the whole Northern Ireland problem at first hand. And sometimes they paid a pretty high and a pretty bloody price for it’.
’I understand that, sir, but I’m just wondering if the regular police over there are aware of what we’re doing here’.
Now Burns genuinely was interested. ‘Go on?’
‘Well, I began to wonder early on why someone over there would choose the murder of Patricia Knight’s brother to try and flush her out? If she was so dangerous to the British security services then why didn’t they do something about it before? Why send us a message that her brother is dead which we then have to relay to her after she’s remained under our radar for almost forty years? What do they want from her now? I’ll bet that our colleagues in the Manchester police who are investigating the murder of Padraig O’Connell have no idea about the existence of Patricia Knight. I’ll bet they’re being played by their security services like we’ve often been played by ours. It doesn’t matter about the location, sir. They’re all the same and there’s usually some kind of plan behind it’.
‘So have you come to some kind of decision?’ asked Patricia after she and Dennis had sat down in the back porch to some tea. ‘Is that why you want to talk?’
‘I need you to do something for me, Patty’ Dennis replied.
‘You pick your moments’.
‘I need you to come clean about what you did’.
Patricia looked down into her tea. She always had to make it different for Dennis than she made it for herself because Dennis liked a strong brew whereas she preferred a weaker one with much more milk than Dennis ever took. It was one of the few things they did differently. Otherwise they were compatible in almost every way.
‘Do I have any choice in hanging myself out to dry?’
‘I’ll leave you if you don’t’.
Patricia almost laughed. ‘Well that’s some choice indeed’.
‘I mean it, Patty’.
‘Oh I know you mean it. You’ve always meant it whenever we’ve talked. I’m the deceiving one round here, remember?’
‘Patricia, I’ll stand by you every step of the way. I’ll be there and I won’t falter no matter how hard it might get’.
‘You mean if they decide to arrest me?’
‘If they were going to do that then they would’ve done it long ago’.
‘Then why is all this coming to light now, Dennis? Why have they started this now?’
‘I can’t answer that’ said Dennis.
‘And you want me to play into their hands by coming clean as you put it’.
Dennis stood up and paced up and down before stopping. ‘Damn it, Patricia! I’m out of my bloody depth here. I get it into my head that it’s best to get it all out in the open and damn the consequences and then you start coming out with all this stuff about shadowy figures playing games with our lives!’
‘I’m sorry, Dennis’.
‘I think we’ve gone a bit past all that where this is concerned’.
‘Well what else do you want me to say?’
‘I don’t know’ said Dennis. He scratched the back of his head and then sat down again. ‘I just don’t know’.
‘You said you’d leave me if I didn’t do as you wanted?’
‘Don’t make it sound like … ‘
‘… what? Sound like what? An ultimatum? Because that’s what it sounded like to me’.
The truth was that Patricia had made a decision of her own. She hoped it would mean that some of Dennis’s faith in her would be restored but it was a gamble when he was in such an emotional state.
‘I’ll do what you ask, Dennis’.
‘You will?’
‘If it’s a choice between doing that and losing you then I’ll do it’ said Patricia. ‘But you need to do know that I’ve made a decision too’.
‘And what’s that?’
‘I’ve decided to go back to the UK for my brother Padraig’s funeral’ she revealed. ‘I suppose it will be in Manchester where, according to what I’ve read on the internet sites of the local newspaper, the rest of my family are living now. I’m going to try and contact someone and get the arrangements. It’ll be a shock for any of them to hear from me but I think it’s the right thing to do. Anyway, then I’ll book a ticket’.
‘You’d better book two tickets?’
Patricia almost cried. ‘That’s what I was hoping you’d say’.
‘I can’t let you go all the way over there and do that on your own. It wouldn’t be right’.
‘So are you back to stay, Dennis?’ Please say you are, please’.
‘Yes, I’m here to stay. When we got married it was for better or worse and though it really couldn’t get any worse than what we’re dealing with, you’re still my wife and the mother of my children and I still love you. So let’s get your story out there and we’ll stand together against whatever the world throws at us’.
Detective Constable Collette Ryan checked all the time changes on the internet and made sure she would be calling Manchester, UK at a time when it would be worth her while. She didn’t want to ring when she had no chance of getting through to the officer she really needed to speak to and have to leave bloody messages everywhere. She hated doing that. It was such a waste of time. She’d inherited the inclination from her father along with the inability to stand in a queue without getting frustrated and impatient at the time that was being wasted.
Like many of
her fellow white Australians, Collette was only a couple of generations away from her European roots. Ironically enough considering the case she was involved with her family bloodline stretched back to County Cork although she didn’t know of any relatives back there and as far as she knew her great-grandfather had arrived in the lucky country all alone to make a fresh start. Just like Patricia O’Connell had done. Then she became Patricia Knight and forgot about it all. Maybe Collette’s great-grandfather had brought a similar history with him from the other side of the world. She had no idea but she made a mental note to investigate her family history once she had some time. It had never really occurred to her to do it before.
‘Greater Manchester police?’
‘Yes, hello, I’m calling from Victoria state police in Melbourne, Australia? Can you please put me through to …’
Before Collette had been able to finish her sentence the operator, without saying a word in response or asking any questions, had already connected her to somewhere. She could tell by the line going silent and then a man’s voice said ‘Press relations, can I help you?’
‘It isn’t press relations I need actually’ said Collette who was a bit pissed off at having had her time wasted in such a way. Why do telephone operators the world over never fucking listen? Are they grown in a factory where patience isn’t on the list of ingredients? And why would the operator assume that someone calling from a foreign police service would want press bloody relations? It didn’t even make sense. Maybe she was on one of those zero hours contracts she’d read about that were prevalent in the UK. They sounded like one step up from slave labour to Collette. Not even the Abbott government would dare to introduce something like that in Australia.
‘Well that’s a shame’ said the man with the cheerful open sounding voice. ‘Who is it you do want?’
By the time she got through to Detective Superintendent Jeff Barton, Collette had been on the phone for almost five minutes. She had thought it wouldn’t have taken so long and be treated as so apparently complicated but there we are. But when she did get through to DSI Barton she was taken by something in his voice. He sounded like a decent guy. He sounded like someone she’d quite like to meet.
‘I just wanted to see if you knew of certain events that have been going on down here, sir, involving the murder of Padraig O’Connell which, I believe, you’re investigating?’
Jeff was surprised by the call and was intrigued to find out what these certain events were. ‘I’m all ears, Detective Constable Ryan’.
‘Oh please call me Collette’.
‘Okay, Collette’ Jeff replied in sudden high spirits. She sounded cool and probably had some big burly brute of a rugby playing husband to go home to at night. ‘And you can call me Jeff’.
‘Thanks, Jeff’ said Collette. ‘Well we received information from a British special branch unit telling us about the murder of Padraig O’Connell and that we should inform his sister who lives out here’.
‘I didn’t know he had a sister in Australia?’
‘That’s what me and my boss figured which is why I’m calling you’ said Collette. ‘We didn’t think your special branch team would’ve informed you. It’s the same over here with departmental egos and such. You know what it’s like?’
‘Oh I do, Collette, I do’ said Jeff. His mind was spinning round and round with the truth of what this stranger with the lovely voice from the other side of the world was telling him and it was making him angry. Why hadn’t someone closer to home told him? ‘Please go on’.
‘It seems that Patricia Knight hasn’t had any contact with her family since she left Northern Ireland’ Collette revealed. ‘She erased them all out of her life to begin a new one here. And she’s been very good at it. She married not long after arriving here and she and her husband have a grown up and very law abiding family but I also know that she’s now telling her story to the local press down here. I also understand she’s planning on coming back to Manchester for her brother’s funeral’.
Oh Christ, though Jeff. That’s all he fucking well needed. Former members of the IRA were one thing and he expected them at Padraig O’Connell’s funeral. But former members of the IRA from the same family? That could throw a whole different and more dangerous light on things. What if somebody decided to use the presence of the sister to settle some old scores?
‘I’m grateful for the heads up, Collette, really I am’ said Jeff.
‘Well I can do more than that, Jeff’ Collette replied. ‘I’m coming over to the UK too. My boss thinks it might be useful considering the Patricia Knight angle and the fact that two Australian citizens will be on your patch, one of whom is a former terrorist. He wants to place me with you as a member of your team. Didn’t your boss tell you any of this? Maybe they haven’t had a chance yet’.
Diane Parker of Melbourne’s ‘The Age’ national newspaper couldn’t believe her luck when she managed to get this scoop. It was like the break from God that could end up making her bloody career. After Patricia Knight called and said she would talk to her after all, Diane managed to persuade Patricia that she should sign an exclusive deal with ‘The Age’ and it was on that basis that she was now sitting in the living room of the house in Scoresby, right on the edge of the greater Melbourne conurbation, that Patricia shared with her husband Dennis. She’d already conducted interviews by phone with Kieran Murphy and family members of Patricia Knight back in Manchester, UK and put together with that she was planning to get out of her interviewee today then the piece she would end up producing would be extensive and shed light deep into the past. She switched on the recording facility on her phone and did the same with her iPad. She wasn’t planning to miss anything of what this woman was planning to tell her.
‘Just relax, Patricia’ said Diane with as much reassurance as she could muster. Not that she’d needed to reassure her interviewee. Patricia Knight didn’t seem nervous at all. On the contrary she seemed confident, almost too much so. It was a little unnerving given the subject matter that was coming up but it might have something to do with the fact that her husband Dennis had been sitting next to her throughout the interview, without saying anything but he’d been holding her hand gently on the table. It was clearly doing Patricia good. ‘Now we’ve gone through the preliminaries about life for you today and the family you and your husband have brought up here’ Diane went on. She watched as Patricia turned to her husband and they exchanged smiles. They must have one hell of a marriage. Diane was rather envious. Her husband was so infuriatingly particular and tidy about everything that it was a bloody good job she didn’t have a hidden past because he wouldn’t be able to deal with it. ‘But we now need to go back to your days in Northern Ireland before you came out to Australia’.
‘Okay’ said Patricia. Her heart began to race a little. She hadn’t talked about any of this stuff from her past for decades until she’d been forced into telling Dennis all about it. She could be laying herself open to criminal charges but then where would they ever get the witnesses to convict her after all this time? They’d either be too old to remember any significant details or they’ll be dead. Either way she put her worries on that score to one side. This would be like cleansing herself.
‘Did you have an actual job whilst you were a member of the IRA?’
‘Yes’ said Patricia. ‘I worked in the local dry cleaning shop’.
‘And what did you do there?’
‘Well I dealt with the customers when they came in and I dry cleaned their clothes for them’.
‘Did you ever dry clean the clothes of known terrorists?’
‘Well of course, I wouldn’t have referred to them as terrorists. But we didn’t discriminate if that’s what you’re asking. That said we didn’t see to protestant customers because as a known Catholic owned business we didn’t get any protestant customers’.
‘The sectarian divide was that bad it extended to where people did their shopping?’
‘Oh yes’ Patricia confirmed.
‘It certainly did. You have absolutely no idea what it was like. It was like living in an apartheid state with the Catholics as the black people and the Unionists as the whites who kept control of everything with help from the British government in London. We were the Catholics who had to be kept down and that attitude went back centuries’.
‘That’s putting it in pretty dramatic terms’.
‘Well it was a pretty dramatic life that Catholics were forced to live in Northern Ireland back in those days’.
‘Are you saying that it was the combination of others in society and the policies of the British government that led you to commit terrorist acts?’
‘I’m saying that if things had been different and we’d lived in a more just and equal society then I probably wouldn’t have gone down the road that I did. And you can interpret that whichever way you like’.
THROWN DOWN ELEVEN
Chief Superintendent Geraldine Chambers knew that she should seek help. The situation was getting worse. Her partner Hazel couldn’t seem to help lashing out at her whenever she thought the going was getting a little tough. She didn’t hit out at her face or anywhere else that would give her game away. Like most physical abusers she did her best to mask her handiwork. But Geraldine knew she had to get help from somewhere. Otherwise all the years of giving out sympathy and advice to other victims would be rendered meaningless if she couldn’t follow it herself.
There was a knock on her door and Detective Superintendent Jeff Barton came in. After having slept on what he was told in the call from Collette Ryan down in Australia, Jeff was feeling much less annoyed about having been left out of the loop with regard to the special branch involvement in the case and the fact that Ryan would be winging her way over to assist them. He’d decided to take the line of least resistance. It wasn’t worth picking a battle with Chambers about. There would be much bigger issues to scrap with her about.
‘Ah Jeff, come in and sit down’ she welcomed. She kept her arms level and remained in her chair. She was getting accustomed to planning her movements carefully so as not to give away any of the pain. ‘There are some matters I need to discuss with you’.
