To Keep a Bird Singing Read online

  Noelie didn’t think so. There was no church in the Glen Park. It was too wild for that. There were the remains of a tannery, from Cork’s early industrial history, but that was all. He shrugged. Taking a seat on the sofa, he started to read.

  My statement concerns Mr Jim Dalton who is listed with An Garda Síochána as a missing person:

  In late 1978, I was transferred from Tralee to Union Quay Garda Station in Cork city. I worked at Union Quay from 1978 to 1997 as part of Special Branch and was responsible for monitoring the activities of Sinn Féin. Specifically I observed party functions and events in order to collect information on members and activists associated with the organisation. Additionally my information was collated with intelligence collected from a stable of informers, also administered at Union Quay.

  In September 1989, The Ottoman yacht was intercepted off Baltimore in West Cork. It contained a shipment of eleven Stinger (Type D) missiles stolen from a production facility near Izmir (Turkey) a year earlier. The capture of the shipment was significant and followed the equally significant interception of The Eksund arms shipment from Libya (1987). Both operations were particularly important in light of the emerging peace process and played a role in frustrating military objectives while strengthening the hand of the Adams/McGuinness wing of the organisation.

  The DST (French intelligence) played a key role in the interception of The Ottoman via an informant of theirs inside the Kurdish-Turkish community in Paris. When their source became aware that the missiles stolen in Turkey were destined for the IRA they contacted Special Branch. It was anticipated that an IRA internal investigation would take place. Since Cork IRA were involved in the importation, it was inevitable that an eye would be cast over its ranks for a potential informant.

  Disinformation was an important arm of our work, and we maintained an active list of IRA personnel whom we were in a position to compromise. This involved orchestrating suspicion by the use of leaks or by the planting of compromising information on selected targets. Such efforts increased distrust and disharmony within the organisation’s ranks. Even when a suspect was cleared by internal IRA there was often long-term rancour, and this was deemed to be quite useful in terms of achieving our objective of degrading and defeating the IRA.

  An IRA operative was chosen as a target for such an operation only after careful evaluation. A candidate was picked on the grounds of his or her importance within the IRA’s army structure, and usually some preliminary evidence was put in place to assist with a framing effort.

  Following The Ottoman seizure, I forwarded a list of candidates that could be targeted. One individual was selected and I began preparing our campaign. However, shortly after I began this work I was instructed to change targets and prepare a strategy that would compromise an individual named Jim Dalton.

  From the outset I knew that there was something wrong. Mainly this had to do with Mr Dalton’s position. He was a local political activist in Cork Sinn Féin. He may have played a minor military role at some point – perhaps he had been asked to hold weapons or to transport an operative – but I was absolutely certain he was not militarily trained or on active service with the IRA in the area. My knowledge was that Mr Dalton had become involved in Sinn Féin after the 1981 hunger strikes. His wife’s family had strong republican values, but he was somewhat indifferent until the 1981 crisis. I represented my view to my superiors regarding Mr Dalton’s suitability, but I was overruled.

  As I described above, a certain amount of work is required in advance to establish credible suspicion about an individual’s allegiance. With respect to Mr Dalton, matters were hurried along and a connection in Le Havre was used along with a another high-level British Intelligence double-agent operating inside the IRA in Northern Ireland. As a result, just after Christmas (1989) Jim Dalton was questioned by internal IRA regarding The Ottoman interception. This was what we wanted and I understood that this was viewed positively by Garda command.

  It was normal at this point to stand back and let the rumour mill do its work as it is not good to be seen to be too close to any operation. However, something appeared to go wrong and the following day I was ordered to accompany Detective Denis Lynch with instructions to arrest Mr Dalton. It was not explained to me what the problem was, but it struck me that there was a certain amount of panic in our actions. I sensed the Dalton frame-up was falling apart and that his arrest was an act of last resort in our efforts to compromise him.

  Unusually, we arrested Mr Dalton as he left his place of work. The date was January 3rd 1990. We did so on the instructions of Det. Lynch, who was the senior officer, so as to ensure that the arrest was not witnessed. I assumed we would return to Cork but instead we went to Mallow, and then to an isolated house outside the town.

  I sat with Mr Dalton in the back of the unmarked car during this journey. He was quite agitated and demanded to know where he was being taken. At one stage he began speaking to me in Irish.

  At the house we took him inside. He got quite upset suddenly. I wasn’t sure myself what was going on, but Det. Lynch directed me to check the house to verify that it was secure. This was normal practice. I was upstairs when I heard a shot and then a second report. I ran down immediately. Mr Dalton was lying on the hall floor at the back of the house. He had a bullet wound to the underside of his jaw and a second in his chest. According to Det. Lynch, Mr Dalton had attempted to wrest his weapon from him and in the ensuring struggle the weapon had gone off.

  Despite my experience I had never seen anything like this before. I was very upset. There were aspects that I didn’t understand and that made no sense to me. However, everything moved very quickly. Det. Lynch looked upset, too, and despite some reservations I believed his account of what happened.

  Det. Lynch contacted our superior officer in regards to what to do next and it was at this stage that I became worried for the first time. I was told, via Det. Lynch, that it was vital to our ongoing operations that the Jim Dalton informer plan hold up. We were not offered any explanation with respect to this. Instead we were instructed to maintain that Dalton was a high-level informer and that he had been put into a witness-protection programme for his own safety. From an operations point of view this was ludicrous, but I was too dazed by what had happened to argue otherwise.

  That night we drove back to Cork city with Mr Dalton in the boot of our car. Det. Lynch subsequently organised for the disposal of the body.

  Initially I played a full part in the cover-up. For a number of years I did not dwell on what had happened other than to say that I was not happy about it. The matter jarred with me, however, and about a year later I relayed my concerns to a senior officer in the Cork command. The officer confided to me that Jim Dalton was ready to betray the identity of a high-ranking mole inside IRA command and that this was the reason for his removal. No other details were offered. However, that was the first admission to me that the killing was not an accident.

  Later on I confronted Det. Lynch directly about the killing, but he denied that it was anything other than what he said had happened – an act of self-defence on his part. I did not believe him.

  I did not pursue the matter any further at the time. I am not saying that the explanation I was given by the senior officer was a justification for what had happened, but for a time it allayed my doubts. At the time much was deemed permissible when it came to the protection of sources and, in particular, highly placed confidants. A perceived threat could have very serious consequences and I recognised that. Moreover I accepted that my superiors were acting in good faith and in line with the main objective, which was to neutralise the danger to the Republic presented by Sinn Féin and the IRA.

  However, in time I came to understand that this was not the case. Some years later an unexpected turn of events forced me to re-examine a number of key assumptions and relationships that I had built up in the force. This has led me to reason that the murder of Mr Jim Dalton may have taken place for quite different reasons than those
given to me.

  In 1997, at the time of the Good Friday Agreement negotiations, I wrote to Garda HQ in Phoenix Park, Dublin, regarding the Jim Dalton case. I was aware that the Dalton family were actively seeking information about his whereabouts. I was invited for an interview. I prepared carefully for this. I offered evidence to support the case I was presenting. I was given a hearing and I was listened to, but no action was taken. I accept now that I was naive to expect anything else.

  This is my written account of these events. Furthermore I wish to apologise to the Dalton family for all the hurt and pain that I’ve caused them. There are actions that are unjustifiable in any circumstances, and the murder of this husband and father was one of those acts.

  May the love of God be with you always and may you find it in your hearts to forgive me.

  Signed Sean Sugrue

  Witnessed by Don Cronin

  Cork, September 12th 1997

  Noelie handed the statement to Martin. He walked over to the back window. Drawing the curtain open he saw that dawn was breaking. A cat, perched on the sill, stared at him.

  Noelie had wondered about the record collection and what could be in it. The idea that he would find something had become fixed in his head during his long wait inside the train tunnel. It would explain Cronin’s violent reaction and Inspector Lynch’s equally bizarre interest in the records. He’d wondered if he would find some information about drugs or a stash of money. But a garda execution hadn’t occurred to him; a garda execution he didn’t like one bit.

  Martin came over. ‘Ever heard of Jim Dalton?’

  Noelie shook his head.

  ‘You think this could be true?’

  Noelie thought about it. Martin was in his mid-twenties. He was of a different generation to Noelie, one that came of age as the Troubles were ending. He probably had no idea what it was really like back then.

  ‘Unfortunately it is possible. There are things that went on that we just don’t know about.’

  Martin nodded to the LPs. ‘We should finish the job.’ They checked the remaining records but found nothing more.

  7

  Climbing the stairs slowly, Noelie waited and listened. On the landing he saw the lengthways split in the door to his flat. There was glass on the hallway floor and more at the entrance to his sitting room. Retrieving a hurley stick from where his coats hung, he entered ready to strike. Mayhem wasn’t the word for it. The table was smashed, the sofa upturned and ripped along its sides and underneath, and there was cushion filling everywhere. His books were also strewn about. Every shelf had been pulled down; some of the wall fixing had come away as well.

  He went into his bedroom. It was wrecked too. The dresser was overturned and his bed pulled apart. The phone charger was where he had left it, plugged in at the side of the bed. Returning to the sitting room, he checked around the kitchenette and on the counters. Cutlery, plates, pasta, rice, biscuits and raisins were everywhere. He searched for the page about Brian Boru, realising now that it was probably significant, but it was nowhere to be found.

  ‘Fuck,’ he swore.

  Downstairs, Martin let him back in. The coffee was brewed.

  ‘Destroyed. No other word for it. Not the cops either, I’d say. Doubt even they could be that vindictive.’

  ‘Cronin then?’

  Noelie didn’t know. He plugged in his charger. His phone had been dead for the best part of a day – from shortly after he entered the rail tunnel. Messages beeped in rapidly, a whopping eighteen in all.

  ‘You’re popular.’

  Noelie was surprised. ‘Believe me, that isn’t normal.’ Apart from one from a former work buddy, the rest were all from his sister. Is Shane with u? The next, Trying to contact you. Is Shane with u? Then, Where are u? Shane not home. Worried. Is he with u? All the others were variations of the same.

  Noelie didn’t understand. It wouldn’t be normal for Shane to visit Noelie, let alone for him to stay over. He checked the time of the last message: 2 a.m.

  ‘Something up?’ Martin asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I hope not.’

  He rang his sister and she answered immediately. ‘Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to contact you. Is Shane with you? Please say he’s with you.’

  Noelie told Ellen that he hadn’t seen Shane since the previous morning.

  ‘He hasn’t come home. He went to his friend in the afternoon and then he went into town. He hasn’t been seen since.’

  Ellen was crying. Arthur came on the line. Noelie braced himself. ‘You sure you don’t know where he is. Where were you all this time?’

  Noelie held the phone away from his ear. He exchanged a look with Martin and replied, ‘I don’t know where he is. How would I know?’ He explained about his phone being dead. ‘Look, I’m coming right over.’

  Noelie left using the same route he had arrived by. Douglas Street was a parking nightmare so he often parked a fair distance away. He approached his car carefully, checked no one was lying in wait for him and drove directly to Bellevue Park. At his sister’s, the door was opened by a neighbour. Noelie found Ellen on the sofa, red-eyed and pale.

  ‘I’ve been trying to contact you all night. Where were you?’

  ‘I was out.’ He explained about his phone dying but didn’t elaborate on where he had been. ‘When I got back, it was late. I never thought to check for messages.’

  Arthur put his hand to Noelie’s shoulder and felt his sooty collar. ‘Where were you looking like that? What were you doing?’

  Noelie realised he wasn’t manky but he wasn’t entirely clean either. He should’ve cleaned up properly, fully. But the idea that Shane had gone missing had unnerved him.

  ‘I was helping someone.’

  ‘During the night?’

  He faced up to his brother-in-law. ‘Leave it.’

  ‘I want a private word.’

  Arthur left and Noelie followed. There was a room off to the side that was used as a home office. They went in.

  ‘We’re worried sick. This isn’t like Shane. I don’t care what’s going on, do you understand?’

  ‘There isn’t anything going on. I haven’t seen him. Of course I haven’t. If I had I’d tell you immediately.’

  There was a tense silence. Noelie could tell his brother-in-law didn’t believe him. Arthur left. Outside, Noelie stood in the hall unsure about what to do. Ellen appeared and came towards him. She looked like she was going to cry again.

  ‘What are the gardaí saying?’

  ‘They’re on the lookout for him. But they won’t do anything official until twenty-four hours have passed.’

  ‘They probably have a point,’ agreed Noelie.

  Ellen exploded. ‘They have no point. He’s barely sixteen. He’s never not in contact. He’s good that way.’ She looked at her brother. ‘What if he’s done something stupid?’

  Noelie was taken aback. ‘What do you mean? He’s sound, Ellen. He was all talk to me yesterday about the band. He’s in great form. Whatever you mean by “stupid”, he wouldn’t do it.’

  In the silence that followed, Noelie thought about what he had got himself involved in with Cronin and Inspector Lynch. Could there be some link? Surely not.

  ‘This friend, he say anything?’

  ‘They were supposed to hang out but his friend had a family event. So Shane left earlier than he was expecting to.’ Ellen dried her eyes. ‘Where were you really, Noelie? You look a state. Take a look in a mirror.’

  Noelie moved to avoid his sister’s eyes.

  ‘And what about yesterday? Out of nowhere, “Oh hi, sis, can I stay the night like?” Noelie, you never the stay the night. Since you came back from America, I’d say I could count the number of times on one hand.’

  Arthur appeared at the door. He said they had marked out a local area to search and that he was going to go out with their neighbours.

  ‘I want to help,’ said Noelie and offered to look around a nearby area known as the Camp Field. �
�It’s often used as a shortcut into town. I’ll check it in a bit.’

  After Arthur left Ellen returned to her question. ‘Why did you show up here so early yesterday?’

  ‘There was a break-in at my place and it was wrecked. It got to me and I didn’t want to stay there.’

  ‘But you arrived just after nine in the morning, Noel. What time did your place get broken into?’

  Noelie didn’t want to go into his trouble with Cronin. He also didn’t want to mention his hassle with the cops. In Ellen’s view, if you were in trouble with the gardaí it meant you were in the wrong; there weren’t two sides to it for her.

  ‘I stayed over with someone. Got back and saw the place.’

  They stared at each other.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ When he didn’t say anything, she repeated, ‘I don’t believe you, Noel.’

  8

  Noelie checked the shortcuts around the Camp Field. The kids in the area knew them all and Noelie did too. He had grown up around here. Clearly these routes were no longer in much demand. One path was overrun with brambles and nettles, another had become a graveyard for empty beer bottles and cans.

  It was dispiriting work. He passed along them all once and then went back to his car. He sat there, worried. The Sugrue statement was not just trouble, it was dangerous. Putting that alongside Shane’s disappearance he knew it was reasonable to be concerned: there was no way the young lad would just leave and not be in contact. He checked his watch and worked out that it was the best part of nineteen hours since anyone had heard from him. He decided to call to Don Cronin’s.

  At Grant Lane, he drove down the narrow hill and parked at the end of the cul-de-sac. A well-dressed, slim woman was standing on Cronin’s front porch. She was on the phone. Noelie got out and called loudly, ‘Is Don home? Could you tell him Noelie Sullivan’s here?’

  The woman hesitated, scrutinised him and went inside. Noelie tried the side gate and entered. He went as far as the silver Merc. He noticed that the car boot was open and that there were suitcases just inside the front door.