‘Will I get bail?’ He asked upon Tommy sitting in.
‘Haven’t spoken to the judge yet.’ Tommy said.
‘Oh’ Tully said.
‘You know, in my job I’ve heard a lot about prisons, there’s a whole underclass of Dublin for whom, all they talk about are prisons.’ Tommy said, looking at Mr Tully through his rearview mirror. ‘Ok, that was an exaggeration, these fellows, they leave prison as an unspoken truth between em all – but still, you do pick up a little here and there, the noise is mostly what everyone talks about, there’s a bit of fiddly eye in the showers too, but nothing like in the movies. It’s funny, but I’ve never heard anyone mention anything about where you’re headed though – Arbour Hill? A building full of sexual offenders and the like, what could go wrong? I myself think however that there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for the silence. See, if the prison population were to know you as a kiddy fiddler, they’d heat a kettle of water and pour it down your gullet. The Steamy Scream, they call it.’
And with that he pulled out and drove the two hundred metres to the court car park. Once out of the car Tommy uncuffed him and they walked in the back door of the courthouse. They were searched and put through metal detectors and walked around the circle to reach Court 41. Outside a Garda was sitting with two junkies, and beside him was a solicitor that Tommy knew well: Jacob Myler.
‘Detective, I’d like to confer with my client.’ Said Jacob, after rushing over to the two of them.
Tommy nodded and left the two of them alone, sitting some forty metres away. He, however, soon became bored just staring at the two men across the corridor, so took out his phone and called Anne.
‘Any luck?’ He asked, upon her picking up.
‘We’ve found no sex dungeon, but he has got a heavily encrypted computer; it’s already been taken over to Harcourt Street. Everything else is being searched through now.’ She said.
‘Ok, good. Guess who his solicitor is?’
‘Who?’
‘Jacob Myler.’ Said Tommy, not taking his eyes off the two of them once.
‘My dad hates Myler.’ Said Anne, by way of a joke.
‘Ok, listen, I’ve to go, we’re next in the queue.’ Said Tommy.
‘See ya.’ Said Anne and she rung off.
Tommy got up and stood next to the court door. He noticed how horribly underdressed he was: with only a shirt on, no tie and no blazer. At least Mr Tully was equally underdressed. They tapped about nervously outside the court. Tommy caught Jacob’s eye and winked, they had both gone to law school together. Jacob didn’t wink back, but merely curved his mouth slightly so that his client didn’t notice. He had been a nice kid, Mr Myler, Tommy thought he remembered him coming to Rebecca’s funeral and shaking Tommy’s hand over a black coffin. A nice kid, though a monster of a defence attorney, which made him the bane of many a Garda’s patchy investigation. Tommy should by all rights have hated him too, but Tommy didn’t do patchy investigations.
They leaned on the spotless wall until, after fifteen minutes, they were called into the court.
It was a tiny room, with four rows of benches and nowhere for a jury to sit. There was a dock, a seat for a court reporter and above her sat the judge: Mrs Justice Casey. Tommy sat at the desk on the right, Jacob Myler led his client to the desk on the left. Justice Casey spoke.
‘In an application for bail, the applicant Mr Michael Tully versus the respondent, first arresting officer Detective Inspector Thomas Bishop.’ She said.
Jacob stood first, as was required by decorum, and spoke.
‘May it please the court, Jacob Myler here, acting as counsel for the applicant Mr Michael Tully. Mr Tully was arrested just over three hours ago by Detective Inspector Bishop under Section 2.2 of the Criminal Law (Sexual Offences) Act 2006, he appears before you now to plead for bail, and I would strongly encourage the court to grant it. The Bail Act 1997 grants a number of reasons for which bail can be denied, and my clients meets none of them. He has roots in the community and has no mechanism for fleeing. Thank you.’ He said, short and to the point.
Tommy stood, and remembering that once upon a time his plan had been to be a barrister, began to speak.
‘The opposing council argues that his client doesn’t match any of the heads under X act, however the Gardaí are anxious to impress that we do not believe this to be the case. The applicant is accused of a very serious crime, one that requires proper investigation. Were Mr Tully found guilty, he would face a lengthy prison sentence, which would act as motivation enough to tamper with evidence. Investigations of this kind require meticulous police work, which can be difficult to do when the suspect is aware such investigations are undergoing and is in a position to interfere. Secondly, and even more importantly, me and my fellow officers would be greatly worried that the applicant would interfere with our primary witness. The arrest is based on an accusation from a child that Mr Tully mentored, claiming that Mr Tully had sexually abused him. This child is very troubled and impressionable, and was quite clearly afraid of Mr Tully. Very often in these kinds of cases, some form of coercion or threat is involved and therefore we would be very worried that Mr Tully will attempt to frighten our witness into silence.’
Justice Casey glanced down upon the two of them, a thoughtful crease in her brow. It took her just a minute to decide.
‘I am going to grant the order to reprimand Mr Tully for forty-eight hours.’ She said, and that was it, case closed.
Tommy walked over to the other desk and indicated to Mr Tully that he should turn so he could cuff him; the creeps finally learned to shut up, thought Tommy as the grey haired man meekly allowed the chain to be fastened.
‘Where are you bringing him?’ Asked Jacob.
‘Harcourt Street.’ Said Tommy, then taking out his phone, ignored the missed call from Anne, and, once he had left the court room, rang the number of Declan Haughey, a Detective in charge of investigating sexual offences.
‘Tommy.’ Said the voice on the other end.
‘Deco. You heard the news?’
‘You caught a predator?’ He asked.
‘I’m taking the suspect to Harcourt Street right now.’ Said Tommy.
‘We have the team waiting.’
‘See you in ten so.’
9
Strangely enough, it wasn’t Mousey, but Anne that woke him. His tiredness hadn’t dissipated, indeed he still felt as bad. He checked his phone which was almost out of power, and saw that it was 6:50, he had only been asleep for thirty minutes.
‘What are you doing here?’ Asked Tommy, slurring from the tiredness.
‘Did you stay up all night working on this?’ Asked Anne pointing to the pile of sheets in her hand.
‘What? Yeah, well, until about six.’ Said Tommy.
‘You must be seriously dozy if you think Mousey will be ok with you asleep in his office. Come on, up.’ Anne said.
And reminded of his mother coming in on cold winter mornings, Tommy got up under Anne’s strict gaze.
‘I wanna go through this.’ Said Anne.
‘I’m too tired right now.’ Said Tommy.
‘What is it, exactly?’ Anne asked.
‘Random musings on the case.’ Tommy said.
‘We can do it in mine.’ Said Anne.
Tommy realised he didn’t actually know where she lived.
‘Where’s that?’ Asked Tommy.
‘Portabello. We’re walking.’ She said.
‘Uh, walking, Anne, I’ve been up since seven yesterday morning.’ Tommy said.
‘And a walk in the morning mist will do you good, if you ask me.’ She said, charging ahead and grabbing Tommy’s collar, bringing him with her.
‘Alright, alright. I’m coming.’ He said and he followed her out of the station and into what was a very misty April morning. His shirt was sticking to him and his trousers were beginning to chafe. He hadn’t brushed his teeth in twenty four hours and his eyelids kept whispering to him to close.
> ‘Cmon.’ Said Anne, linking her arm in his to bring him with her.
They went right, then checked back onto Campden Street. It was a straight run from there, straight to the canal where hundreds of tourists posed with their friends taking pictures. The canal was clean, this one always was.
‘You know, if I was gangster, I think I’d have to dump my bodies in this canal, instead of the one of the northside, just to be original. You know?’ Said Tommy.
‘Shut up Tommy.’ Said Anne, leading Tommy behind a huge school building, which housed some kind of further education institute.
‘If it’s not Trinity, I don’t want to know about it.’ Said Tommy.
‘Are you drunk?’ Asked Anne.
‘Just wrecked.’ Said Tommy.
‘Good, because we’re just here. Don’t think I could put up with more of your rattle.’ Said Anne.
They were stopped in front of what had once been a council house, no doubt, but now, due to its position, it had become prime renting property. Anne unlocked the front door and opened into an exterior much too nice in comparison to its grubby exterior.
‘This place must cost you a chunk. Rents as they are and all.’ Said Tommy, yawning.
‘
‘Ok, I’ll look at them while you sleep.’ She said, leaving them on the desk in the hallway.
‘Score, get to sleep in Anne’s bed.’ Said Tommy, punching the air.
‘Ha, not likely. You’ll be sleeping in my brother’s room.’ Said Anne.
‘I thought he lived in UCD.’ Said Tommy.
‘He does, but he stays here after nights out sometimes, so the room’s prepared for him. Plus, even some of his clothes are in the wardrobe, so you can shower and change your clothes after you wake – I don’t think my fiancés clothes would fit you very well.’ She said with a cheeky smile that Tommy couldn’t make head nor tail of.
They stumbled into the room and Tommy stuck up his thumb to show his understanding, then he fell on the bed and barely stayed awake long enough to see Anne close the blinds and hear her wish him pleasant dreams.
##
After waking, he found the bathroom ok, and after a wash with a pink towel and some flowery shampoo, he changed into a Jack Willis tracksuit that belonged to Anne’s brother. It would have looked stupid on him when he was twenty, let alone thirty-five. He waved goodbye to Anne, who was still working through his scribbles, and after letting himself out of her house he found himself at the high stool, guzzling back glasses of whatever was on tap – the kind of larger that fizzed away in your stomach even though you’d finished the pint a half hour ago. He swallowed three rum and cokes in between before he started to feel tired and realised he needed to sleep a little more – so he found his car on Harcourt Street and drove home.
##
Almost twenty four hours later, he found himself lying back ass naked on a mahogany carved table that was probably worth more than his house. The walls were adorned with what looked like expensive art and in the distance Tommy could see the Waterford Crystal glasses glowing in the kitchen. Rich people, rich people.
He leaned over and checked through the handbag of his lover for the night. He scanned through until he found her passport, checked to make sure it wasn’t fake, then sighed his relief when her DOB told him she was eighteen years of age. He looked across at her through his hazy and drunken stare. She was vomiting violently into her toilet, sitting beside it while her giant tits jumped up and down with each painful shudder. Tommy thought about going over to her, but her face was screwed up in a revulsion that had nothing to do with getting sick. Since she had climaxed forty five minutes ago, regret and shame had encased her every movement. After he had came a half hour ago, she had spat at him ‘I think you should leave’. Tommy, of course, hadn’t, he had been feeling particularly tired, so he thought he would nap naked on her expensive kitchen table.
It had been her first time, that much was easily evident. Tommy wondered whether she had any time before that gone to a bar alone to lose her virginity, or whether this was the first time her parents had left her a house to herself, he wondered too whether he had lived up to heer teenage expectations, most of all though, he wondered how it was that he hadn’t vomited yet.
Once he knew that he wasn’t about to puke all over the most expensive dining room in history, Tommy decided lying and listening to someone vomiting in a toilet wasn’t much of an evening. He got up and pulled on his clothes. Checking his wallet Tommy considered leaving some money for the girl, to help her clean up in the morning, but then realised he’d probably want to get high tonight, and for that he’d need the entire contents of his wallet, so he just walked out without saying goodbye.
He stomped the wet, rainy streets. He didn’t know where it was he was he was going, but he knew who it was that was accompanying him along the way. Lightly threading upon his heels was none other but his brother shame, stepping along and needling Tommy with his every movement. The thought of the disgust he’d feel at knowing his workmate had used an eighteen year old, not to mention what his sisters would think. Imagine if this gets out.
There was no denying it, this was a final straw unlike any other, when he’d came upon that teenager’s chest the last vestiges of his will to live had disappeared, and now there was nothing else on his mind but one thing.
You’re just drunk, go home and sleep and you’ll feel better.
Better? What was better? Months and years of miserable existence were all Tommy had to face, bitterly angry, bitterly resentful and bitterly alone. Fuck that. He knew where it was that he was, and where it was that he was going. Twelve Arches, an old aqueduct style thing in Milltown, used now to carry the LUAS along its way. He found the tracks and staggered along until he was in the middle of the arches. He no longer felt so bad, even the thought of his impending doom helped ease the pain, and pressure, in his head.
He found the spot, below which the road directly ran. He’d jump, and make sure to land on his head first. Tommy had seen enough suicide attempts to know that it definitely would be a close one, but if he were to jump correctly he was almost certain that he could ensure his death. He tried to climb drunkenly up the slippery wall, and it took him a few goes, but finally he managed it. He felt vertigo suffocate him as the wide expanse of nothing opened up below him. A strong wind tugged at his coat as he slowly stood on two legs, and with each layer of gust, lines of small droplet came too, suffocating Tommy’s field of vision. He considered shouting something like ‘Goodbye cruel world,’ before remembering that the world was fine, and he was the cruel wretch involved.
He jumped.
Or so he thought he did anyway, and so he thought he should. But his legs, they remained rooted to the spot, his calves and quads screwed up in nervous pain as they agitated to the jump of his oncoming death. Maybe humans are programmed not to jump off tall bridges?
He drunkenly swayed, too much Tullamore Dew, and next thing he knew he was falling backwards to crash onto the LUAS tracks. The blow sucked all the air out of him – so he just lay there for a while. The cracked stones that lined the tracks dug angrily into Tommy’s back and he could hear there buzzing of the electrical track just six inches from his ear. Still, he didn’t move – it would be several hours before the first LUAS of the morning would be along.
So useless I can’t even succeed in killing myself.
Tommy broke down, screaming crying in the pain pressing against his skull. His will to live may have gone, but after the fall his will to die had left too.
10
‘No, not this fucking shit again.’ Said a sharp, familiar voice penetrating Tommy’s sleep.
A sharp pain fell on Tommy’s cheeks. ‘Get UP.’ The voice said.
Tommy tried to drift off again, and again the sharp pain struck his face. Whoever it was was slapping him.
‘What?’ He tried to ask, but this mouth couldn’t form properly, and all that came out was a slurry mess. He opened his eyes an inch and his vision was shut
, just a blurry mass, but he knew that outline.
‘Aoife, sis.’ He tried to say, but had trouble on the s.
‘Fucks sake Tommy, you’re still high.’ And indeed he was, he tried to get up, and struggled; then looked down at why his left arm was painful: the belt he had used was still tied to his arm, with a stream of dried blood and opiate streaking down his forearm. The result of shooting up while still high. Two doses, in one night, this was getting out of control. Amid the cloud in his head a stab of guilt struck. Aoife! She wasn’t meant to see any of this.
‘I swear Aoife, it’s the first time.’ Said Tommy.
‘You lying piece of shit.’ Said Aoife, kicking him in the stomach.
Tommy burped up some vomit.
‘I’m calling your sponsor.’ Said Aoife.
‘No, don’t!’ Said Tommy, but she already had his phone and was flicking through the numbers to find his name. Tommy again tried to get up, but his nervous system wasn’t exactly functioning.
‘Hi, Peter? Aoife Bishop here. Yup, yup, Tommy’s sister yes. Well, I’m just ringing because I’m here in Tommy’s living room, and he’s in front of me strung out on dope. Mmhmm, indeed, yeah he was meant to be in work at least five hours ago. Yeah, sure I can. Ok, see you then, goodbye.’ And then, she hung up.
‘We’re going to a meeting at three.’ Said Aoife.
‘Ok, I’ll sleep until then.’ Said Tommy closing his eyes.
‘It’s on in twenty minutes!’ Said Aoife, and Tommy squinted at the clock on the wall.
‘Balls, work.’ Said Tommy, trying to get up and this time just barely succeeding.
‘You’re in no state to work.’ Said Aoife.
‘But Anne, we were supposed to meet this morning.’ Said Tommy.
‘I know, who do you think called me?’ Said Aoife, leading Tommy from the sitting room out to the hall while he tottered on shaky feet. A strange image jumped into his head, of a dog they had had in childhood giving birth to pups, and one of them attempting to walk. That was no doubt how he appeared right now. Shameful.
First Death In Dublin City (Thomas Bishop Book 1) Page 11
