A River of Bodies Page 2

  An unseemly disagreement had ensued, which led to the coroner’s intervention. He asked to see the data from the detective and from Taylor. Presenting his document, the family solicitor admitted that his record was not an official communication from the mobile phone operators, Dream. He had acquired it unofficially and he was not attempting to mislead anyone regarding this fact. At that point, and following Taylor’s admission, it had looked to Noelie that the coroner was about to rule in favour of the detective. But the coroner hesitated. For a moment it wasn’t clear what the problem was. Then, somewhat meanly, Noelie felt, he had held up the detective’s document and stated, ‘This does not appear to be an original either, Detective, this is a photocopy. Assure me that somewhere there is a proper record of communication between you and the mobile phone operator for this investigation?’

  Detective Byrne had looked surprised and uncomfortable at the same time. After examining her file again, she’d asked for a moment to check her briefcase. Eventually, embarrassingly, she’d announced that she didn’t have Dream’s original document with her. She’d then requested an adjournment so she could return to Anglesea Street Station to locate it.

  The coroner, with the merest shake of his head, admitted that he had no option but to agree. The inquest would resume the following day at 2 p.m.

  It was not clear yet what the correct situation was – if the detective or Taylor was right. Byrne was now required to produce the official communication that the gardaí had had with Dream. Until that was read into the record, a question mark hung over Shane’s final movements.

  Talking to his sister immediately after the adjournment, Noelie learned that Taylor had sought further information on Shane’s mobile phone trail after talking to Ellen about the inquest and what she expected from it. Ellen had told the solicitor that she couldn’t accept that her son had ended his life – one of the explanations being offered to the Twomey family to account for the sudden and unexpected death of their son. Taylor had followed up on this and had gone over every aspect of Shane’s case one more time. He wouldn’t reveal his source but Noelie gathered that an employee in Dream had parted with the details of Shane’s final communications by mobile phone for a small sum of money.

  There was no doubt that if the error was confirmed it would be significant. The focus of the search for Shane following his disappearance had been informed by the phone record related to the family by the gardaí. Noelie recalled searching for Shane in the Turner’s Cross area of Cork, even though there had been no actual sightings of the teenager in that locality. Now he wondered if they had they been looking in the wrong place the entire time.

  He had one other job to do. He walked down George’s Quay, crossed to Mary Street and on to Douglas Street – where he had lived for many years. The long narrow street was quiet for the late morning. At Solidarity Books he stopped. There was a display of photos in the window of US troops passing through Shannon Airport on their way to and from war. The photos were good, the title of the display revealing. It read ‘Neutral?’ in big bold letters that looked as though they dripped with blood.

  Noelie went in. There was a woman at the till and a couple of customers browsing. He’d been hoping to speak to Ciarán, one of the activists who worked at the shop, but when he asked the woman at the till about him, she shook her head.

  ‘Do you want to leave a message?’ she asked. ‘He’ll be in later for sure.’

  One thing Noelie had learned over the summer was not to make unnecessary arrangements with anyone, particularly ones that might involve talking about important matters on the phone. He shook his head.

  ‘Look, I’ll be in another day anyway. Once I know my schedule I’m hoping to sign up to the volunteer rota for the shop. I’ll see him then hopefully.’

  He picked up a leaflet about the property tax and a copy of the new edition of Workers Solidarity. He dropped €5 in the donation box for the shop as he left.

  Outside, he looked over at his old flat, just across the road. He had spent many happy years there. He missed having his own place and living on Douglas Street. He wasn’t sure how long he could last at Hannah’s: there was little room and his life’s belongings were scattered in boxes and crates.

  Farther along, on the same side of the street as Solidarity Books, he noticed a workman emerging from a house and hauling a length of rolled-up carpet. The outside of the house was scorched and burned from a fire, particularly around the windows, upstairs and downstairs. He went over. He knew the house: it was Sheila Carroll’s home. He was friendly with Sheila and had visited her many times, for tea and a chat. He went to help the man lift the carpet into the skip.

  ‘What happened?’ he enquired.

  ‘Bad fire. Late Saturday night, Sunday morning.’

  Noelie explained that he used to live on the street and knew Sheila well. ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘Quite badly burned, I believe. She’s in hospital, in CUH. I’m just clearing the worst of the stuff away for now. To be honest the fire brigade did more damage than anyone.’

  The man returned inside. Noelie followed him a short distance down the hall. He was right about the fire brigade. The house looked and felt sodden. There were puddles of water everywhere and it smelled foul. Noelie looked up the stairwell and was able to see the sky.

  He wondered what to do. He didn’t really have time to call to the hospital today. Tomorrow would be better, even though the inquest was scheduled for the afternoon. Still, he’d make time. Sheila was a sweet woman and a real character on the street. She had been very helpful to Noelie a few times too. He hoped she was okay.

  3

  At the entrance to Hannah’s apartment block, Noelie paused. Some students passed. Across the road, a man in a boxy jeep was looking at his mobile phone. Farther along the street a traffic warden issued a ticket.

  He climbed the stairs to the second floor. Pausing at the apartment door, he heard Katrina’s voice and then a loud laugh. He guessed she was on Skype.

  She gave him a half-wave as he came in and, as he nodded in response, he saw that she was indeed on the computer – a woman’s face was clearly visible on the screen behind her. He left his jacket on the armchair and went to the spare bedroom where he was billeted again. It was the smallest room in the apartment and had functioned as a spare room when Hannah was alive. Noelie had moved in following his eviction from Douglas Street in the summer. To make it some way more comfortable he had moved a lot of his boxed belongings out into the hall – cluttering that area. He still needed a proper bed, not just a mattress on the floor. Looking at the space now he wasn’t sure how much longer he could live like this, running his life out of suitcases.

  He returned to the kitchen/sitting area and put on coffee. Hannah’s apartment was really nice – open-plan and modern. The kitchen melded into a spacious lounge-dining area that, at one end, looked out over the south channel of the Lee; at the other there was a view on to busy Washington Street. The riverside end had big windows and was south facing; it was Noelie’s favourite part of the apartment and he always gravitated to it. It looked out on to a particularly pretty quayside area of the River Lee.

  The apartment had been Hannah’s home for nearly eight years and for Noelie its association with her was total. Although, he realised, probably not for much longer. Katrina Flynn was Hannah’s other best friend and she had been staying there for most of the past month while Noelie was in Amsterdam. Katrina had rearranged the furniture in the sitting area, moving the dining table nearer to the window with the river view and placing the sofas closer to the Washington Street side. It wasn’t an arrangement that Noelie liked but he wasn’t going to object either. At least Katrina hadn’t re-arranged the collection of artwork and pictures – for now they remained where Hannah had placed them.

  He knew a little about Katrina from conversations he had had with Hannah. The two women had met in Dublin in the mid-nineties when Katrina had done a work experience stint in a newspaper Hannah was with. Katr
ina had later moved to Australia and, as far as Noelie knew, she was now settled there for good. She was a trained researcher of some sort. Hannah had told Noelie once that Katrina was working on some long-term project to do with land rights but he didn’t know much more than that, or if that was still what she was working on.

  He had met her for the first time at Hannah’s funeral. She had been the proverbial lifesaver, arriving with the wherewithal and time to take on an organising role. Noelie hadn’t functioned well during those days and in the end it was Katrina who delivered the eulogy. She had done a great job. The funeral was a bit over four weeks ago now and Noelie had travelled to Amsterdam the following day. He thought it would help, but he still felt a terrible emptiness.

  Although Katrina had said she would only be staying on for a while in Ireland, on his return Noelie had found her ensconced in Hannah’s old bedroom. Apparently she had gone to Dublin for a while and then across to Galway where she hailed from. What she was still doing in Cork, he didn’t know.

  When her Skype call ended she joined him near the riverside window where he had gone to enjoy his coffee.

  ‘You look as if you have the weight of the world on your shoulders,’ she said.

  ‘Apparently I look like that even when I don’t.’ He nodded to the view. ‘Thinking about old times here really and how good they were. It would be nice to have them again.’

  ‘It’s bad,’ said Katrina, shaking her head. ‘It must be even harder for you, Noelie. You know this apartment from when Hannah lived in it. It must hold a lot of memories.’

  ‘It’s shit,’ he stated. ‘I don’t mean exactly here now, it’s not that … it’s just, sometimes it really gets to me.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I can’t bear thinking about it actually. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to come to terms with Hannah’s death.’

  ‘I had one of those moments this morning. You know all that lavender Hannah had in the bathroom? It’s dried out to a powder now nearly. Well, I knocked against it and it all fell on the floor. I was on my knees instantly trying to gather it back up. It was like it was a part of her and I didn’t want to lose it too.’

  Noelie pulled his seat nearer to the window and stared at the river. He could look at it forever. When he was lonely, like now, it was particularly soothing to watch the water rush by, ever-changing.

  ‘How did the inquest go?’

  ‘Not well.’

  ‘Wrong verdict?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. It didn’t even get that far.’

  He told Katrina the details. ‘No one’s quite sure what the story is now. It has to be re-checked. In the meantime, it was adjourned.’

  ‘Incompetence?’

  Noelie thought about it. He knew Detective Byrne and liked her. She had been kind to him after Hannah’s death and had passed information to him that he would otherwise not have had. In particular, information about one of her killers, Andrew Teland – a defrocked priest from the States with a nasty past. Noelie had some confidence in Byrne and hoped she hadn’t messed up.

  ‘Too early to say,’ he answered.

  ‘How did your sister take the news?’

  ‘I think she had been forewarned by her solicitor to expect that an issue might arise. But this error, if it’s upheld, is upsetting too.’

  Noelie had chatted briefly to Ellen before leaving the courthouse – she had been understandably subdued. If errors had been made during the search for Shane then there would be recriminations. The problem was, it wouldn’t change the outcome.

  Katrina sat down on an edge of the windowsill and stared out at the river too. There was silence for a while. Noelie figured she was in her mid-thirties. She was an outdoorsy woman – Hannah’s description – and it showed. Her hair was cut short and she looked like she was ready to run a marathon.

  She opened the window. Fresh air and the sound of the river and the city traffic rushed in. ‘Better?’

  Noelie nodded. Katrina pointed to something but it took Noelie a moment to see what it was. A heron was perched on a rock, revealed by the falling tide. The bird was the colour of the dark water. She was watching for food.

  ‘Perfectly camouflaged,’ he commented.

  Katrina nodded. ‘I’m thinking of staying around, Noelie.’

  Why?’

  ‘No “That’s great news, Katrina” or “I’m so pleased to hear that, Katrina” or anything like that?’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s nothing personal, Katrina.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Of course it isn’t. You and Hannah were very good friends, I’ve always known that. Any friend of hers will always matter to me.’

  ‘You’re misunderstanding me, Noelie. I’m staying around because I want to help.’

  ‘With?’

  ‘With what you’re doing. Look, when you were in the Netherlands I went down to see Black Gary in Sherkin. I wanted to find out more about what had happened. I only got some of the details at Hannah’s funeral. You know what it was like, during those days. It was hard to focus on anything other than what we had all lost.’

  Noelie remembered well. ‘You were great, Katrina. I really mean that. At least you were able to function.’

  ‘Look, I functioned because I needed to. But it’s hit me since. I’ve found this all very hard too. I need to get back to my job in Melbourne eventually, but they’ll give me time. I loved Hannah, Noelie. She meant a huge amount to me. She was special.’

  Noelie didn’t look at Katrina even though he knew she was staring at him. He was doing his best to play down what had nearly been between Hannah and him. He no longer wanted to go there; it was just too sad.

  ‘Black Gary thinks it’s a good idea that I get involved.’

  ‘It isn’t, Katrina. It’s a terrible idea. None of us involved in this are safe, do you realise that? I don’t feel safe. Since I stepped off the fuckin’ plane in Cork last night, I haven’t felt safe. I’m already looking over my shoulder every other minute.’

  ‘I know danger just as much as you.’

  Noelie shook his head disparagingly, finally meeting her eye. ‘I doubt that very much.’

  Katrina looked annoyed and Noelie knew he was crossing a line. Still, if falling out with her would keep her safe then so be it. ‘You haven’t a clue actually. Not an idea.’

  He got up and went to the kitchen counter to get Hannah’s old transistor radio – the thing practically ate batteries and emitted an incredible amount of static, but it also had sentimental value. Hannah had loved it because it was given to her by a favourite uncle; it had all the old radio station names written across the tuning band.

  He set it down near the window, switched it on and turned up the volume. He spoke quietly. ‘Special Branch killed a man here in Cork, Jim Dalton, to protect the identity of a mole they were running inside Sinn Féin. Not exactly upstanding behaviour, right? Now, if I thought that that was all there was to this, that we were just dealing with Special Branch, I might say, “Fine, come along and help.” But Branch isn’t half the problem we face. Some sort of an abuse ring operated here in Cork in the sixties. They’ve murdered to protect their cover. Six times. Three men were butchered in 1970; in 1998, a former Branch officer who opposed them also went under – that was Meabh Sugrue’s dad; and last month, another ex-Branchman, Don Cronin, was taken out. A murder that I very nearly got done for, by the way. And finally, of course, they murdered Hannah. That’s what we’re dealing with. These people aren’t just dangerous, they’re lethal.’

  ‘I said I want to be involved.’

  ‘No,’ Noelie said, shaking his head.

  ‘Except it’s not up to you. Black Gary said that you have an arrangement, that you all decide together. That that’s how it is with you. I like that, it’s a good arrangement. So let’s ask the others. Let me put my case to them and if they still say no I’ll consider returning to Australia. Consider, mind you, is what I’m saying. I’m not saying I will.’

  Noelie eyed Katrina again. ‘I
t’s true we’ve agreed to joint decision-making but every one of us has a veto too. I’ll use mine.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ said Katrina under her breath, standing up.

  He watched her walk away. Hannah’s old bedroom was just beyond the kitchen area at the other end of the apartment. Katrina went in and slammed the door behind her.

  Not long after Hannah’s funeral, Katrina had gone to Church Bay to see where the abuser turned Sinn Féin informer, Father Brian Boran, had lived under the pseudonym Tommy Keogh. It was also where he was believed to have murdered Hannah. With relative ease she had been able to access the burned-out remains of Keogh’s home. Part of the house was stone and brick and had survived the fire; the remaining wooden section had been totally destroyed. In all, the ruins didn’t look like much any more.

  Walking around the small garden, it was the view out over the Celtic sea that she found herself drawn to. It was a beautiful vista and it reminded her of a time during Hannah’s last visit out to see her. It was 2008 and they had flown to Alice Springs, hired a four-wheel drive, and travelled towards the Western Australian border. Katrina was already familiar with the area due, in part, to an assignment she had been involved with, helping to map the territory of the Ngaanyatjarra for a land rights claim.

  It was as remote a place as you could find, and one night Hannah and Katrina had talked about whether two women alone would be in danger in such an isolated location. Katrina pointed out that anyone was vulnerable in an area as remote as the one they were in. If you came across the wrong person with violent intent there was probably little you could do.