No Going Back

by Mick Moran

  Mary had few dealings with the police. In that she was heeding her father’s advice. “Don’t go there unless you have to,” he’d told her. “They think we’re all savages.” Maybe that was an overstatement of his opinion. Nonetheless, she knew, his experience of the police was not good.

 

  Mary’s own experience was little better. On the rare occasions that the police got involved in her affairs she found them less than helpful. On the last such occasion, just three weeks earlier, what should have been a minor incident was turned into a major event by the cack-handed way it was dealt with by a policeman.

 

  It was Jimmy’s McCarthy’s first night there, or would have been if he could get in. When he returned to the house, although the worse for drink, Jimmy was not too late: Mary would have been still up. A knock on the door was all that was required and she would have let him in. Instead, Jimmy clumsily tried to unlock the door with a key that wouldn’t fit the lock. He later claimed that Mary had given him a wrong key, but she didn’t think so.

 

  His drunken fumbling alerted a patrolling policeman. The policeman recognised Jimmy- Jimmy had many encounters with the police- and unaware that Jimmy had changed digs, wrongly jumped to the conclusion that he was trying to break in.

 

  Again, a knock on the door would have cleared things up. But, no In spite of Jimmy’s pleas, the policeman dragged him to the police station and locked him in a cell.

 

  It was about six in the morning: Sunday morning, and all were sleeping peacefully, when the loud knocking on the front door waked Mary.

 

  That, and the angry, noisy exchanges between Jimmy and the policeman, much to Mary’s embarrassment, roused the whole household and the neighbours.

 

  The policeman was informing Jimmy that he would be charged with being drunk and disorderly. Jimmy, having none of it, was vehemently demanding an apology for wrongful arrest.

 

  Neither of them, however, was a match for an angry Mary that morning.

  Jimmy was ordered to bed. He didn’t argue. He had no wish for another confrontation, although he knew that he was just postponing the inevitable. The policeman, she sent away with a flea in his ear.

 

  Mary just hoped she wasn’t about to meet the same policeman. The anger, that night, had made her braver than she felt then.

 

  On entering the police station she felt apprehensive. There was nobody at the front desk. She looked for a bell to ring half hoping that no one would come and she could just go. Then a policeman appeared. At least it wasn’t the one that she confronted that morning with Jimmy.

 

  “Yes, madam, can I help you?” he asked in a friendly voice, in no way intimidating. But, he was so young, barely old enough to be a policeman, she thought.

 

  “Yes. I think you can. I have some information that I think I should give you.”

 

  “O K,” he said taking a pen in his hand. “What’s your name please?”

 

  “Mary….” She hesitated. “Mary Foley.” It was the first time she’d used her married name. It felt strange.

 

  The hesitation caused the young policeman to give her a curious look, adding to Mary’s unease, before he wrote the name down.

 

  “It’s about Michael O’Malley,” continued Mary composing herself.

  She watched the policeman’s eyebrows rise. He put down his pen and looked Mary in the eye.

 

  “The man who was murdered?”

 

  “Yes.”

 

  “I’d better get my sergeant. I won’t be long. Have a seat Mary.” He pointed to a chair behind Mary.

 

  Mary sat down. What had she got herself into? She wasn’t happy talking to such a young policeman. But, being pushed up a level? She hadn’t anticipated that. It was the mention of Michael O’Malley that caused the policeman to decide that her information was too important for he himself to deal with. Of course, it was a murder investigation. She felt slightly panicky. She looked at the door. She could still slip away. It was her last chance. But, she didn’t move. She couldn’t.

 

  The policeman returned behind the desk. At the same time, from a door on Mary’s side of the desk, came the sergeant. He seemed pleased to see her.

 

  “Ah, Mary. Good to see you,” he said holding out his hand like he knew her. As far as Mary knew they had never met before then, but at least he was friendly. He was a big, middle-aged man. Mary stood up and took his hand.

 

  “I’m sergeant Cassidy,” he said. “We’ve been trying to contact you.”

 

  “Yes. I know. Sorry, I was out.”

 

  “Never mind. You’re here now. You have information for us?”

 

  “Yes sergeant. There’s something I think I should tell you.”

 

  “Very good. Let’s go where we won’t be disturbed.”

 

  Mary was led down a short corridor. “Did you walk here?” asked the sergeant, keeping up the conversation.

 

  “Yes. I don’t live far away.” She thought he probably knew that already.

 

  “It’s a very cold morning, but this room is nice and warm.” He opened a door and ushered Mary in to what she thought was probably an interview room. There was a large table with some chairs around it, where criminals are interrogated, thought Mary with trepidation, as the sergeant closed the door. However, the sergeant was doing his best to put Mary at her ease. “Would you like a cup of tea Mary?” he asked “Or we’ve got coffee.”

 

  “No thank you. It’s not long since I had one.” Mary just wanted to get on with what she came to do.

 

  “O K, well sit down. Take your coat off if you like. Like I said it’s warm here.

 

  Mary removed her coat and sat on the chair nearest her, placing her handbag on the floor next to her. The sergeant took her coat and hung it on a hook on the wall before sitting on a chair to Mary’s left. That way it seemed more intimate, less intimidating than if he’s sat opposite her.

 

  “Well, Mary. How are you this morning?”

 

  “I’m all right.” Mary wished for no more small talk. “There’s something I want to show you,” she said, picking up her handbag and removing the note, which she then handed to the sergeant. “I found this in Martin’s room the other day.”

 

  “Martin?”

 

  “Yes. Martin Prendergast: my lodger.”

 

  The sergeant read the note. “Nasty. It’s addressed to Michael O’Malley.”

 

  “Yes. But, Martin didn’t write it: he wouldn’t” Mary had no doubt about that, but feared that she didn’t sound very convincing.

 

  “Martin is the man who’s gone missing?”

 

  “Yes. But, now I know where he is. He’s badly injured, though.” She thought the sergeant already knew that.

 

  “There is some confusion about what his real name is.”

 

  Again, the sergeant was ahead of her. Was there anything he didn’t know? However, she was glad that he knew that. To explain the note it was something she would have to reveal.

 

  “So I’ve heard,” she replied. “But I’ve known Martin for a long time and I’ve never known him as anything other than Martin Prendergast.”

 

  “Tel me about him. What was he like?

 

  “A nice quite man
. He’d never harm anyone.”

 

  “Did he upset anyone?”

 

  “No. Never.”

 

  “Did he get on with the other lodgers?”

 

  “Yes. They all liked him.”

 

  “Do you know why he left?”

 

  “No. He didn’t say. He had a bit of business to see to, was all he said. He wasn’t a man that talked a lot. He kept himself to himself. So I didn’t ask him any more. I thought he’d be back in a few days, like he said he would be. I’m sure that was his intention. The most of his clothes are still in his room.”

 

  The sergeant referred to a notebook, which he produced from his pocket. “You had another lodger leave recently?”

 

  Mary thought for a moment. “Yes. They come and go all the time.”

 

  “Jimmy McCarthy I believe was the most recent one to leave.”

 

  “Yes. He was.” Mary was no longer surprised at the sergeant’s knowledge and, of course, the police knew Jimmy.

 

  “Did he give any reason for leaving?”

 

  “He lost his job. He went to Birmingham. There’s more work down there, I believe: at least in the building trade, there is.”

 

  “He didn’t go on his own, though. Did he?”

 

  “No. Andy Horan went with him.”

 

  “Andy Horan?” The sergeant referred to his notebook. “He used to visit Martin. I’m told.”

 

  “Yes. He came from the same place in Ireland as Martin.”

 

  “And did they get on well?”

 

  “Oh, they did. Andy knew Martin’s brother. They were neighbours.”

 

  “I heard that the last meeting they had didn’t go very well.”

 

  “I wouldn’t say that. It’s just that Martin can be a bit grumpy sometimes.”

 

  “What was it about?”

 

  Why is he asking? Thought Mary feeling slightly resentful. He must already know the answer. However she did answer. “Andy writes to his mother a lot. He gave her Martin’s address and she passed it on to Martin’s brother. His brother then wrote to Martin. Martin wasn’t too happy about that.”

 

  “They don’t get on then: Martin and his brother?”

 

  “No. It seems not. They didn’t write to each other anyway.”

 

  “But, recently Martin did get a letter from his brother.”

 

  “He did.”

 

  “And it upset him?”

 

  “It did.”

 

  “He blamed Andy Horan?”

 

  “He did.”

 

  “It didn’t come to blows. Did it?”

 

  “No: Nothing like that. He just told Andy to stop interfering in his business.”

 

  “How was Andy about it?”

 

  “A bit puzzled, I think. He didn’t expect that from Martin.”

 

  “Do you think that Martin leaving had something to do with the letter he got from his brother?”

 

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

 

  “Did Martin ever talk about Michael O’Malley?

 

  “No. Not that I remember. I didn’t think that he even knew him.”

 

  “This note.” The sergeant indicated the note that Mary had given him.

  “How do you think it got in Martin’s position if he didn’t write it?”

 

  “It must have been given to him by someone.”

 

  “Have you any idea who that could be?”

 

  “No. I’ve no idea.”

 

  “Have you seen any strangers talking to Martin?”

 

  Mary hesitated. “There was young chap that called at the house a couple of weeks ago. He didn’t talk to Martin as far as I know, but he was asking for Michael O’Malley. He thought he lived there. He had a letter for him. He gave the letter to Paddy. Paddy told him he’d give it to Michael O’Malley when he next saw him. I don’t know if he ever did.” Mary had forgotten about that. The letter had been on the mantelpiece for a while. She wasn’t sure, but she thought it was no longer there. She’d have to ask Paddy.

 

  “Paddy?”

 

  “Yes. Paddy is my husband.”

 

  “We’ll need to have a word with him. When will he be available?”

 

  “He’s at work now, but he’ll be home in the evening. Will I ask him to come round?”

 

  “No. We’ll come to see him. We’ll need to have a look at Martin’s room too. What time will Paddy be home?”

 

  “It varies: six or seven. Oh! God. Will I have the police all over my house?”

 

  “I’m afraid so Mary. It can’t be helped. It’s a murder investigation. The chap that gave Paddy the letter: did you see him?”

 

  “I did. I saw him first. It was me that answered the door when he first came. Like I said he was asking for Michael O’Malley. He thought he lived there. I don’t think he believed me when I said that he didn’t, so I shut the door on him. But, then he met Paddy. Paddy was on his way home from work.”

 

  “Would you know that man if you saw him again?”

 

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

 

  “O K Mary. Thanks for your help. I’ll see you this evening.”

  ***

 

 

 

  “Tommy, come with me.”

 

  Tommy Parsons was taken by surprise. The command almost made him jump. Dave shouldn’t even be on the site. Immediately Tommy placed his brush in a nearby jar of thinners and hurriedly fixed the top on the paint can.

 

  “Leave that. Come inside.”

 

  It sounded ominous. Tommy anxiously followed Dave into the house, of which he’d been painting the outside windows.

 

  “Close the door. Come in here.”

 

  Obediently, his heart pounding, Tommy did as told and Joined Dave in the empty room. Dave was looking out of the window. He turned to Tommy. “Tell me again,” he asked, “about your visit to Broadfield.”

 

  “I told you.”

 

  “About the letter that you were instructed to give to the man. You didn’t actually give it to him, did you?”

 

  “No. I told you. We couldn’t. But, a man said he would give it to him.”

 

  “And you believed him.”

 

  “Yes. We were sure he would.”

 

  “But, you’re not so sure now, are you?”

 

  “No.”

 

  “What did the man say?”

 

  “He said he’d definitely see him on the Friday night, but he might see him before that.”

 

  “On the Friday night the man, the target, you said, left the club early.”

 

  “Yes.”

 

  “And when you asked him about the letter?”

 

  “He said he didn’t know what we were talking about.”

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  “So, he probably never got it.”

 

  “I don’t know.”

 

  Dave turned away to resume looking out of the window. “At last,” he said. “He’s here.”

 

  “It’s Brian King,” said Tommy following Dave’s gaze. Brian, looking lost, was on the other side of the open space that separated the rows of houses. “You were expecting him?”

 

  “Ignoring Tommy Dave rapped on the glass with his knuckles, to no effect. “The dozy bugger.”

 

  Dave went to the front door. He opened the door and shouted, “Brian.”

 

  Acknowledging the shout Brian hurried towards him. “What’s this all about?” he called out when he got closer. His face was flushed. He seemed agitated.

 

  “Come inside,” urged Dave, not answering the question. “We can’t have the whole neighbourhood knowing our business.”

 

  “There’s no one about.”

 

  “Walls have ears. Close the door.” Dave led the way back to where a perplexed looking Tommy was waiting.

 

  Brian barely acknowledged Tommy before turning on Dave. “This better be good. I’m wasting time here.”

 

  “You said you’d be in the area.”

 

  “O K. What’s it all about?”

 

  “Two bits of news. The man in Broadfield is dead.”

 

  “We knew that already.”

 

  “Not for sure. Now it’s definite.”

 

  “So, what are you worried about?” There’s nothing to link us to it. Is there?”

 

  “The other news is the man in hospital in Coventry is getting better

 

  “Oh! I thought He was dying.” Turning to Tommy Brian scoffed, “So much for your information”.

 

  Tommy, looking sheepish, muttered, “I only told what I heard.”

 

  Dave defended Tommy. He had other plans for him and didn’t wish for him to get too upset. “It’s not Tommy’s fault.”

 

  “No,” retorted Brian. “It’s all your fault. You sent a boy on a man’s job. Another of your bloody cock ups.”

 

  “He wasn’t on his own.”

 

  “No. You sent two boys and they bungled it. Why?”

 

  Dave remained silent. He had plans for Brian too, and put up with his ridicule. Then Tommy answered.

  “We had the wrong name. We didn’t know that he had another name.”

 

  Brian turned to Dave. “Why didn’t they know?”

 

  “I didn’t want to confuse them. I was trying to keep it simple.”

 

  “Simple! It was simple. So, what’s the problem? Why am I here?”

 

  “It’s about the letter. We don’t think the man ever got it.”

 

  Again Brian scoffed. “It was supposed to be put in his hand.”

 

  “Yes. Well, we won’t go into that again.”