To Keep a Bird Singing Read online

  Black Gary came over and stood beside Noelie. ‘At Hannah’s when the cops arrived–’

  Noelie apologised. He was so preoccupied he had forgotten about their abrupt parting earlier. ‘What did they say?’

  ‘They were convinced you were there. They looked everywhere and when they couldn’t find you they threatened me with being an accessory to murder. I asked them what they were talking about … Genuinely I hadn’t a clue. They mentioned this Don Cronin guy so when I was at the library I fished out today’s newspaper and read all about it. He was some big nob in security here. An ex-cop too. He was murdered yesterday at his home. How could you be involved?’

  ‘I’m not. It’s some sort of a stitch-up going on.’

  Noelie told Black Gary about Glenville and about what happened with Albert. Black Gary was incredulous, though not about Albert.

  ‘I said to you about him. I’m not afraid of many people but he’s different.’

  Noelie found it difficult even thinking about Albert and what had happened at his house. ‘The point is I was nowhere near Don Cronin’s place when he was done.’

  He went over to Meabh. She was looking at an online report about Cronin’s death. Noelie glanced at it.

  ‘I think we have to use the film,’ he said. ‘Let it be known that we have it. It’s the only way we’ll find out where Hannah is.’

  Meabh shook her head. ‘No, I’m against it. I’m not trading the film.’

  ‘I’m not saying that.’

  Meabh appealed to Black Gary. ‘I think we have to proceed very carefully. And since we don’t know yet how big all of this is we have to be doubly careful.’

  Noelie swore under his breath. Black Gary came over. ‘Let’s not forget one thing – we’re very close.’

  ‘I think Jim Dalton either recognised or found out something about someone from his past,’ said Noelie. ‘It has to be a person of some importance. Dalton was in Sinn Féin but on the periphery. It could’ve been someone significant in that organisation. That’s one side of the equation – are we agreed?’

  Meabh looked unconvinced. ‘Go on.’

  ‘If you’ve a nasty past, it’s a problem. Father Boran left Danesfort under a cloud. He was an abuser. The Rosminians sent him to Newry. Remember, in the sixties the North was like another continent. As was the norm, the Rosminians didn’t warn anyone. They sent him there and promptly forgot all about him. Say Boran gets on with his life there and in due course he moves to Belfast. Except the Troubles are beginning.’

  Meabh picked up the Telegraph article. ‘Noelie,’ she said slowly, ‘Boran’s dead.’

  ‘If it’s not Boran then it must be something like what I’m describing. There has to be a tie-in with the republican movement. And it goes back to Danesfort. Boran fits the bill, that’s what I’m saying.’

  There was silence again.

  ‘Let’s look at it from another direction.’

  ‘What other one is there?’ said Meabh tersely.

  ‘Jim Dalton’s. I wonder now was he abused. If he wasn’t personally, perhaps he knew about a case at Danesfort. Perhaps he knew the abuser’s name. In any case it’s something that was well in the past for him. But then one day, out of the blue, he sees the abuser. Is it at a Sinn Féin meeting or something? Just supposing it was. Now he’s thinking,“Hey, what’s this man doing here in this organisation with the past he has?” He decides to do something about it. But he doesn’t know that this man is also a mole inside the IRA, protected by Special Branch.’

  Black Gary spoke. ‘There’s a lot of sense in what you say, I’ll grant you that.’

  ‘Maybe there’s another priest so,’ said Meabh. ‘Someone with a similar profile to Boran’s?’

  Noelie shrugged. ‘The Catholic Church has always had strong links to Irish nationalism. But for a priest to move from priesthood to activism inside the IRA or Sinn Féin wouldn’t be the norm.’

  ‘The point is lightning doesn’t usually strike twice in the same place.’

  Meabh looked annoyed. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘The Boran situation is specific,’ said Black Gary. ‘I think that’s what Noelie’s getting at. It’s not just the link to Sinn Féin or with the North. It’s also Danesfort. This is about Danesfort and nowhere else because that’s where Jim Dalton ended up. Could there really be another person who ticked all these boxes?’

  Meabh sighed. ‘Fine. So bearing in mind all of that, would you mind telling me how you propose to deal with the fact that Boran is dead?’ There was a long silence. Meabh shook her head. ‘Exactly, I think we should focus on something that’s tangible. Let’s try to identify the boys in the film.’

  ‘And I’ll be able to help out from Limerick prison too,’ added Noelie sarcastically. ‘While I’m being knifed like.’

  Meabh looked askance at Noelie. For a moment he thought she was going to clock him.

  ‘Be serious.’

  ‘Meabh has a point, Noelie. There’s a network of ex-industrial schoolboys out there. It’s extensive and committed. Honestly, I’d be very surprised if we didn’t get one or both of those victims identified. In a few days at most.’

  Noelie was upset. ‘We don’t have any fucking time. Don’t you realise? Where is Hannah? Seriously, where is she?’ There was silence. ‘Am I the only one worrying about her?’

  Black Gary was taken aback by Noelie’s comment. Meabh shook her head too. Her laptop pinged. She called them over and said calmly, ‘Let’s take a moment. Have a look at this.’

  Noelie stood by the laptop while Meabh explained to Black Gary. ‘We had a digitised image of Boran. Came from the Danesfort photo. He’s young in it so I thought it would be worth a shot to see what he might look like when he was older. Mind, this was before you said that he had died. Option 1 puts him at thirty-five years of age and option 2 shows him at a projected age of sixty-five, which is what he would be around now.’

  The facial simulations were strangely artificial creations, quite like police Photofits. They didn’t look normal at all really.

  Noelie put his finger on the older profile. ‘He’s familiar.’

  Black Gary shook his head. ‘Not to me.’

  Noelie was sure. ‘I’m certain. I’ve seen him around, somewhere.’

  ‘On TV or something?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  37

  Noelie assembled his old phone, noted Tommy Keogh’s number and removed the battery again. He called him on the hotel landline. Keogh eventually answered.

  ‘I need your help,’ said Noelie.

  ‘To do with Hannah, I hope. I just spoke to her mother and Hannah has not been in contact. The woman’s out of her mind with worry. Honestly, you’ve fucked up here.’

  Noelie took a deep breath. He didn’t need a lecture about what had happened. ‘We’re all worried. Unfortunately there’s no trace of the person she was supposed to meet either.’

  ‘How could you be so stupid?’

  Noelie ignored the jibe. ‘Something else has come up. We’re sure it’s connected to Hannah’s disappearance. I thought you might be able to help. Could I come to see you? Five minutes of your time. Then we’ll talk about Hannah.’

  There was a long pause. ‘Okay.’

  Noelie explained to Black Gary and Hannah who Tommy Keogh was. ‘Apparently he has a lot of inside knowledge on the IRA. He might be able to help us with the photos, point us in the right direction.’

  Meabh looked doubtful but she didn’t object. Black Gary asked if he could come along too but Noelie had another idea. ‘We need to make a good copy of the double-8 film. Martin has the sort of camera that would do the job.’ He asked Black Gary if he’d link up with him and get a copy made. Black Gary agreed reluctantly.

  Noelie drove. There was only light traffic. He thought about Hannah’s disappearance again. It didn’t seem plausible that she would be taken in broad daylight from a public area.

  They arrived at Church Bay. The sun was setting and an oran
ge afterglow was spreading on the horizon far out at sea. Before they got out Noelie explained about Keogh’s loyalties.

  ‘He’s protective of his Sinn Féin links. Maybe it’s to do with the book he’s writing and his need to stay on good terms with them. But the thing is, if we spot a match in any photos that he might have, we might have to pull out. He may not want to help us.’

  Keogh was in his sunroom. He was wearing a checked shirt with jeans and slippers. He was reading the newspaper and appeared not to hear them. Noelie knocked on the window and Keogh came to the door. Noelie introduced him to Meabh.

  ‘Sean Sugrue’s daughter?’

  Keogh looked genuinely impressed. Shaking her hand he described her father as a dedicated policeman and said he was delighted to meet her. He invited them to sit around a glass-topped wicker table. There were newspapers strewn everywhere.

  Keogh handed Noelie the Echo, Cork’s local daily. The front page article showed a photo of Cronin’s home in Montenotte with crime-scene tape stretched across the gated entrance. The headline read ‘Butchered’.

  ‘Apparently he had a lot of enemies. I guess you were one, Noel.’

  The comment annoyed Noelie. ‘He had my record collection. It’s hardly a reason to hack him to death.’

  Keogh suggested tea. Noelie declined but Meabh said yes. While he was away Noelie read the article on Cronin. It said that the security boss had been in Spain for the past month. He had been back in Cork to attend to personal business. His wife contacted the gardaí when she couldn’t get in touch with him. A squad car was dispatched to the house and that was when the bloodbath was discovered. The article mentioned that the gardaí were following a definite line of enquiry. Robbery was not thought to be the motive.

  Keogh returned and put a tray on the table. Stirring the teapot, he said, ‘I’d like to talk about Hannah but you said you had something to ask me.’

  Noelie told Keogh about his theory that Dalton was killed to protect an abuser in Sinn Féin. ‘The organisation probably didn’t know about this individual’s past. The important point is that the abuser was an informer. He was press-ganged into service in the knowledge that if he didn’t do as instructed the truth about him would be revealed.’

  Noelie paused to see how Keogh was taking this information. He got a ‘Go on.’

  ‘We think Dalton recognised this figure and, aware of his past, let it be known that he was going to report him …’

  ‘And the gardaí, fearing the worst, stepped in and topped him.’

  Noelie hesitated. ‘That’s what we’re thinking, yes.’

  Keogh addressed Meabh. ‘Do you subscribe to this too?’

  ‘In his statement my dad suggested–’

  Keogh shook his head in disbelief. ‘His statement? You really think he wrote that?’

  Meabh was surprised. ‘I never doubted it. It struck me as honest.’

  Keogh smiled. ‘You’re well matched. Noelie swallowed it as well. But most people I’ve spoken to, and that includes a number of people in the gardaí, don’t believe a word of it. My sources tell me Cronin was behind this. He was deep into a difficult connection with a major drug operation in Europe–’

  Noelie interrupted. ‘How could Sugrue’s statement about Dalton’s execution be connected to a drugs operation on the Continent?’

  ‘People spin webs. It helps hide what’s really going on. Look, Inspector Lynch has been leading the fight against drugs in Cork for over a decade. And he’s been successful too.’

  Noelie guffawed. ‘You are kidding? Successful? Cork’s awash with drugs. There hasn’t been a big bust in the city in years.’

  ‘There have been interceptions.’

  ‘On the coast, to do with drugs going on to the UK. But within the city itself, very little.’

  ‘My point is, Lynch’s good work directly affected Cronin and his paymasters. What better way to get back at him than to divert attention onto his past? Muddy his name with all this Jim Dalton rubbish. And who better to use than your father, Meabh?’

  ‘Why my father?’

  ‘I dislike being the one to have to tell you this but sources have confirmed to me that there was huge animosity between your father and Inspector Lynch. Your father was sidelined by the time the peace process came along in ’94. He had won the Scott Medal for bravery but his career tanked afterwards. Whereas Lynch went on to better and bigger things. Your father had it in for his ex-colleague. Cronin saw that and realised that he could use it. Hence that statement that Noel conveniently found.’

  Noelie nodded his head slowly. ‘Ah, so I’m being used too. I see now. I’m a real idiot.’

  Keogh turned his attention back to the teapot, stirred the contents once more and poured a cup for Meabh.

  ‘I hope I haven’t offended you,’ he said.

  Meabh laughed. ‘Me? Of course not.’

  Keogh offered them cake; they both declined.

  ‘You said there was something specific you wanted to ask me?’

  ‘We have a photo. It’s a decent image, not perfect mind, but we’re wondering if you can help us identify who it is.’

  Keogh looked at them. ‘What makes you think I can be of help?’

  ‘The individual we’re looking for was probably a priest at Danesfort Industrial School. He had a reputation there.’

  ‘A reputation?’

  ‘For abusing boys.’

  Keogh nodded. ‘And now?’

  ‘Well, we’re wondering if he could be associated with Sinn Féin in some way. No one would know about his past. He probably has a different identity entirely.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll help – but before you show me anything, let’s be clear. I’m not going to point the finger at anyone without solid proof. And I mean solid. A photo’s grand but cast-iron proof is something else entirely.’

  ‘We have cast-iron proof.’

  Keogh looked at Meabh. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  Noelie was afraid Meabh was going to mention the film. ‘We don’t need to go into that right now,’ he said quickly.

  ‘I’d rather we did actually. I mean if it’s cast-iron information I’d be a lot more inclined to help, really help that is. What is it?’

  Keogh stared at Meabh as a phone vibrated. It was on the windowshill beside Meabh. She reached over to get it for Keogh but he got there first and silenced the call.

  ‘Well, let’s see the photo anyway.’

  Before leaving the hotel Noelie had asked reception to print him a copy. He retrieved it from his satchel.

  Meabh stood suddenly. ‘Could I use your bathroom?’

  ‘It’s a bit of a mess, I’m afraid, I’m getting work done.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  Noelie looked at Keogh who looked at Meabh.

  ‘I’ve had builders in,’ explained Keogh. ‘There’s plaster everywhere.’ Suddenly he changed his mind and pointed in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Go ahead so. Through there.’

  Noelie noticed that Meabh seemed to have left in a hurry. He got up – something was wrong. ‘Maybe I should–’

  Keogh put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’ll check on her, don’t worry. See that she ends up in the right place.’ He nodded to a different door. ‘My office is through there. Take a look if you like. There are photos on the wall. I’ll be right in after you.’

  Keogh left. Noelie hesitated. Outside, it was getting dark. He could just make out their car. It was where they had left it. Everything looked fine.

  Keogh’s office was chaotic. There were documents, stacks of newspapers, half-open books, photos and old cups of tea on every surface. At the back a computer screen was showing nature pictures.

  The photographs on the wall were interesting. The famous faces of the republican movement were well represented.

  Noelie spotted a young Martin McGuinness talking to someone who looked like Keogh. Keogh had no beard in the photo, just a moustache. Another picture showed Keogh with Galway gunrunner, Ciarán
Corrigan. Noelie recalled Hannah’s observation that Keogh could well have been in Sinn Féin at one time. Maybe it was true.

  He heard a noise behind him. Keogh was at the door. He came and stood beside Noelie and looked at the Corrigan photo. ‘Figured it out yet?’

  ‘Hannah told me that she thought you were in Sinn Féin at one time. Early days, I guess. Didn’t figure it could be true myself what with you being a journalist and all. Was I wrong?’

  Keogh indicated another picture further along. The setting was iconic in terms of the republican movement’s past.

  ‘Milltown Cemetery, Belfast?’

  ‘Bobby Sands’ funeral. That’s me there.’

  It was Keogh. He was bearded in this photo. Keogh was only a few rows back from the pallbearers which was not a place you ended up in by accident.

  ‘So it’s true?’

  ‘Was and am.’

  ‘Am? What about objectivity and so on? With your book I mean?’

  ‘I keep quiet about it. Look, my membership helps. I have access and access is vital – if you want the real story.’ Keogh went to his desk. He picked up a tattered folder. ‘There are good photos in this.’

  Noelie stared. On the desk beside the mouse, there was a ring with an irregular amber stone on it. A thread of cream ran through it. Hannah had one like it. He moved closer but as he did an electrical current burned into his ribs. He shuddered and collapsed.

  38

  Noelie struggled but his head was yanked back and slammed against the floorboards. He felt lighted-headed and remained still. His feet were wrapped together and he was dragged from the office into the hall. Albert Donnelly stood observing him.

  ‘You must have a death wish, Noel. You walked into my arms once and escaped; now you’re back again.’

  Noelie wasn’t able to speak, there was a gag in his mouth. He was pulled along and put in a different room. Meabh was already in there, tied up in a corner. She was gagged too and there was a wild look in her eyes. Looking to see who was manhandling him, Noelie recognised the figure with the large ears. Albert addressed him as Paul.

  The room was decorated with ugly maroon wallpaper. There was an empty display cabinet and a long sofa pushed against the wall. The window was large and looked out to sea. It was dark outside now. Meabh nodded her head vigorously and Noelie realised that she was trying to tell him something. From the position he was in he couldn’t see what it was. He attempted to move but fell over. Keogh came in holding a kitbag and some grey sacks. He placed one sack on the floor and straightened it. There was a zip down its middle and plastic handles at each of the corners. He pulled the flaps wide and drew a length of chain from inside.