To Keep a Bird Singing

by Kevin Doyle

  Noelie sighed.

  ‘Special Detective Unit?’ asked Meabh.

  ‘I think Branch have been reorganised since your dad’s time. The SDU are intelligence, counter-terrorism, that sort of thing. The elite I suppose.’

  ‘I checked my lock-ups after they had gone too. All the floorboards had been lifted, and not put back properly either. Those sheds got a real going-over.’

  Noelie nodded. ‘My records were in one of the lock-ups. But there were other items too, right? Mrs MacCarthaigh said.’

  Ajax snorted. ‘Don’t bother yourself. They’ve been to her as well. Not nice about it either. They got everything back, everything I took into the charity shop as well.’

  Noelie had wondered many times about the serendipity of finding his records in the charity shop. ‘Do you mind me asking, why did you only take some items into the charity shop? How did you choose?’

  ‘Look, I emptied one shed. I put as much as I could from that into the other two. But I ran out of space. Cronin had so much rubbish. There was even a trunk of women’s underwear. I mean lots of gear and he didn’t come across as any Casanova to me.’

  ‘So what ended up in the charity shop was random?’

  ‘Completely. But in a bad luck sort of way for me, as it turned out.’

  Ajax stood and hobbled to the counter. He pulled open a drawer stuffed with envelopes, bills and newspaper cuttings. He retrieved a copybook and passed it to Noelie.

  ‘It’s in there what I took down to her.’

  There was just one page with writing on it. Meabh offered to copy out the list but Ajax dismissed the idea. ‘Take it with you. It’s only brought me trouble.’

  Noelie examined the items. ‘I’m presuming the cops saw this?’

  Ajax nodded. ‘I had to show it to them. Miserable crowd. I warned herself as well.’

  ‘Your wife?’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, not my wife. Mrs MacCarthaigh. I warned her.’

  They found Mrs MacCarthaigh in a back room at the charity shop sorting a huge heap of donations into three piles. She remembered Noelie.

  ‘The man who ripped me off, right?’

  Despite everything Noelie was miffed. ‘I didn’t rip you off. Who said that?’

  ‘A detective. He said I should’ve been given a lot more for those LPs.’

  Meabh intervened. She introduced herself and tried to show Mrs MacCarthaigh the copybook page with the list. The older woman wouldn’t look at it. ‘They took everything back,’ she said gruffly.

  ‘Did you sell anything on then?’ asked Meabh. ‘Like you did with Noelie’s records?’

  ‘I got into a lot of trouble. Mr Dineen said he was doing me a favour giving me that stuff, but it turned into a nightmare. You think a charity shop wants to have Special Branch crawling around its rooms? Hitler outside was right annoyed with me. I’m out here in this smelly room a lot more than I used to be.’

  She resumed sorting with her back to Noelie. It was slim pickings.

  Outside on Castle Street, they stood in front of the shop window display. Noelie looked around cautiously. How were they going to find Hannah? The Ajax angle had been a long shot. If they found what Branch were looking for it might give them some leverage.

  ‘You think she was telling the truth?’ asked Meabh.

  Noelie looked at her. ‘Never occurred to me she wasn’t.’

  ‘Why was she so annoyed then?’

  ‘Me, industrial relations, the state of the nation, the list is endless.’

  ‘She wouldn’t even look at the list. There was something … Maybe we should level with her, tell her what this is really about?’

  ‘We’ve nothing to lose.’

  They went back inside. Mrs MacCarthaigh was having a rest. She looked upset.

  ‘We’re in trouble, Mrs MacCarthaigh, that’s the honest truth.’

  Noelie told her about Jim Dalton, about the death of Shane and how that made no sense. The older woman listened but her expression was implacable.

  ‘It’s a police matter so. Speak to them.’

  ‘We don’t trust them.’

  That was not a winning line, Meabh could see that. She sat beside Mrs MacCarthaigh and spoke directly to her. ‘My father was in the gardaí. He was a detective. He believed that some sort of abuser was being protected by the high-ups. Before he could do anything about it he died in a car crash on a perfectly fine day when there wasn’t a single other vehicle around. I’ve never had any explanation, it’s never made sense to me. Please help me, help us.’

  Mrs MacCarthaigh looked uncomfortable. Eventually she spoke. ‘Himself passed away ten years ago last week. I don’t have much. Last year, my son took himself and his family to Canada. My grandchildren are over there now which is a lot of good to me. The closest to me now is my daughter in Dublin. I may have to move there, God help me. I only get a few bob here.’

  Noelie wondered where this was leading but Meabh had guessed. ‘We just want to take a look. Noelie found some papers stuffed in his record collection. We only want to check in case there’s anything inside.’

  Mrs MacCarthaigh put her hand out for the list. She looked it over and said, ‘It’s not on here. But there was a sewing box – I took it for myself. I never said anything about it being with Mr Dineen’s things and they didn’t seem to know. I was afraid anyway. If they found out I took something it would be over for me in here. Anyway, one thing led to the next. I couldn’t understand why they were so nasty. Mr Dineen was just trying to do us a good turn.’

  ‘We won’t tell.’

  ‘It’s beautiful. I know it was wrong but all this austerity is wrong too. Can you believe it, they even want to take my medical card away now.’

  Mrs MacCarthaigh lived in The Marsh, an area nearby. She made an excuse and they went with her. The sewing box was in her front room under a cover. It was quite a piece: black-and-red lacquer with mother-of-pearl inlay.

  ‘Mr Dineen actually brought it to my attention. We go back a long way, but I’m afraid to have it out now. I’ve never taken anything before in my life.’

  From a drawer she fetched a square white box. Noelie recognised it instantly. It looked exactly like one of the boxes Albert had in his film cabinet at Llanes.

  ‘It’s some type of film. Old though.’

  Noelie thanked Mrs MacCarthaigh. Meabh didn’t feel that was enough. She hugged her and the older woman blushed.

  ‘I haven’t forgotten you ripped me off,’ she reminded Noelie as he was leaving. Meabh reassured her once more about the sewing box and that her secret was safe with them.

  On Grattan Street they walked quickly. Noelie decided to call Hannah’s mother. Using his new pay-as-you-go mobile, he called directory enquiries. He knew generally where she lived and they found the number. He was put through but the number just rang out.

  Meabh examined the label on the box. ‘1962 June/4–2/Gathering 3’. Noelie told her about all the films in the library at Llanes.

  ‘I bet it’s one of Albert’s films,’ he said.

  35

  Noelie knew of a shop close by that rented out projectors and film equipment. Eventually they found it. A ponytailed attendant examined the reel for a long moment.

  ‘Haven’t seen one of these in a while.’ He unwound the strip of film and looked at it against strong light. ‘Seems fine.’

  ‘Is it viewable?’ asked Meabh.

  ‘It’s called double-8 film. Occasionally people call it Zapruder film, after Alfred Zapruder. He owned a Bell & Howell home-movie camera. Top grade for its day. Some of them still about and in working order too. Zapruder shot the famous clip showing the moment that Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas. The name’s stuck since.’ He added, ‘We have a projector out back. You can view it there if you like?’

  Noelie and Meabh exchanged looks.

  ‘We want to show it to friends, well family actually. It’s of my grandparents. Could we rent the projector for the night?’ asked Noelie.

 
; The attendant returned with a neat container about the size of a large hatbox. ‘We’ve only two of these. I need proof of ID and a cash deposit of €100. Charge is €25 per night or €150 for a week. Paid in advance.’

  ‘Deal,’ he said to the attendant. ‘One night should do.’

  They returned directly to the hotel. Meabh examined the projector. It worked on a spring mechanism. When the latch was released it unfolded into its working configuration. All they needed to do was set the reels in place.

  They decided to use a wall as their screen. Noelie moved the furniture and closed the curtains tightly.

  The camera panned along a country driveway. There were trees on one side, open pasture on the other. The film was in colour but there was no sound. A car came up the drive, a red Anglia. It stopped. The driver waved and the car moved on again. The clip then cut to a different scene: two young men stood outside a country house. It was a plain building apart from its portico entrance; statuettes of golden eagles stood on the front corners of the structure. The men wore overcoats and one also held a hat.

  Meabh stopped the projector. She went over to the wall and placed a finger on one of the men in the image. A priest’s collar was visible under his long coat.

  ‘Recognise him?’

  ‘Looks like Walsh, the developer.’

  Meabh nodded. She pointed at the other man. ‘What about him?’

  Noelie shook his head and switched the film back on. The men chatted. The rear of the Anglia appeared as the camera panned away. In the background there were more woods and a hill. The camera returned to the men.

  Another man joined the group. He wore a priest’s collar and was younger than the others. Noelie went nearer to get a better look at him. Meabh paused the film again.

  ‘Could be Boran,’ said Noelie.

  Meabh found the Henderson profile photo of the novitiate. Placing it beside the image on the wall, she nodded. ‘It’s a match.’

  They continued with the film. The action moved inside to a reception room. There were sofas, a large circular table, two standard lamps and glass-cased bookshelves. The men removed their overcoats: two wore priest’s attire while the third was in plain clothes. Whiskey was served from a decanter and they stood at the hearth. Occasionally one would glance at the camera. Abruptly the clip ended.

  When filming resumed the location was in a different room. It was bare apart from a metal-framed double bed and some pictures on the wall. Noelie recognised Croagh Patrick and the Lakes of Killarney.

  Two young boys walked in in their underpants. One had black, wavy hair and a bad squint. The other had fair hair that was cropped very short; he seemed unhealthily thin. Something was said to the two boys because they glanced in unison at the camera. They both looked afraid.

  Leslie Walsh, Father Boran and the unidentified third man came into the room. Walsh stood near the fair-haired boy and held him. A moment later he left, leading the boy from the room by the hand. The clip ended abruptly again.

  When filming resumed the camera was positioned at a different point in the same room. Father Boran was in the bed with the other boy. He was stroking the boy’s face. At one point the young priest looked directly at the camera and smiled.

  Noelie and Meabh watched in silence. The scene lasted about four minutes. As soon as it ended, Meabh switched off the projector and went into the bathroom. She banged the door shut. Noelie sat down. Everything had happened so quickly that he hadn’t had time to consider what could be on the film. He understood now why it was so damning.

  Was the house in the film the old Donnelly place in Ballyvolane, he wondered? Was there an arrangement and had these priests gone to the farm on more than one occasion? The label said ‘Gathering 3’.

  He called out, ‘Are you okay, Meabh?’ There was no reply and he called again. When she emerged Noelie saw that she had been crying.

  ‘Now we know what all this is about. What ages are those boys?’

  ‘Maybe eight or nine. The blond boy looks younger. He’s only skin and bone.’

  ‘My father uncovered child abuse, didn’t he?’

  ‘That would seem to be the case. And he was killed for it. We have to be careful.’

  ‘We need a copy,’ she said. She rummaged in her suitcase and produced a small camera. ‘This will do as a start.’

  They set the projector running again. Meabh recorded it standing to one side near the wall. As the film ran its course, Noelie thought the boys were probably from Danesfort. When they reached the point where Father Boran was in bed with the young boy, Noelie paused the recording. He peered at the frozen image and then allowed the recording to resume.

  The copy was low grade but it was something.

  ‘What will we do with it?’ asked Meabh.

  ‘Go to the cops?’

  They both knew that was a bad joke. However Noelie wondered about Detective Byrne. If he was going to go to anyone, it would be her. But it would still be a gamble. There had to be some connection between the film and a mole inside the IRA. Why else were Branch so interested? Until they knew or understood what exactly that link was they were walking blind in a minefield. Even if Noelie was prepared to trust Byrne, she would be no match for the intelligence network. It would be foolish to think otherwise.

  ‘Wikileaks?’

  Noelie agreed it was a good option. Julian Assange had been in the news recently over the release of footage showing a US gunship mowing down a group of journalists in a Baghdad suburb. He admired the whistle-blowing site.

  ‘How would we contact them?’

  Meabh didn’t know. ‘The nearest internet cafe is probably the best option.’

  Noelie thought for a moment. ‘This film may be the way to get Hannah back.’

  Meabh looked doubtful. ‘That would mean showing our hand and, as you said, we need to be careful. Anyway this, what this film shows, must come out.’

  Noelie understood Meabh’s point. She was right of course, but at the same time …

  Silence followed. He went to the window again and drew back the curtain. The room was flooded with light once more. He tried to focus. Something else was bothering him. He felt he knew Boran’s face. He had no idea how and yet it was familiar.

  He told Meabh. After a moment she got out her laptop. ‘The internet connection is poor here but we can try anyway.’

  He watched Meabh load software – Easy Age. It took a while. ‘What’s the deal?’

  ‘In the Danesfort photo, Boran’s about eighteen or nineteen or thereabouts. What would he look like today? He’d be about sixty-five?’

  Noelie was amazed that there was software available that could project ageing from a single photo. He was even more amazed when he learned that it was available for free.

  ‘Don’t get carried away,’ warned Meabh. ‘This software is really basic. There’s professional gear out there that’s very powerful. The cops and a whole host of security organisations use that kind of thing.’ She added, ‘Also we’re dependent on the quality of the original. It’s not superb, let me put it that way.’

  Meabh uploaded the Boran image from her USB. A knock on the door paralysed them both.

  36

  Noelie went to the door but Meabh got there ahead of him. ‘I’ll answer it. If it’s anyone who’s a bother I’ll say I’m not dressed.’ She slipped on the safety chain and called out, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Black Gary.’

  They had forgotten the arrangement to meet. Meabh undid the chain and opened the door.

  ‘You looked scared. You too, Noelie.’ He saw the projector. ‘What’s going on?’

  Noelie told him about the film. ‘One of the abusers, we’re fairly sure, is Father Boran. Another is Leslie Walsh.’ Noelie explained who that was and his ties to Meabh’s family. ‘The third man we don’t recognise. We think Albert is doing the filming.’

  Black Gary had news too. He produced a copy of an article from the Belfast Telegraph. The headline read ‘Former Rosminian Among Tr
anmere Bar Dead’.

  Noelie was very disappointed. ‘So the rumour’s true.’

  ‘It seems that the Tranmere Bar was a republican drinking club. The doors were chain-locked and a petrol bomb thrown in through a window. It was a sectarian attack. Three people died in the inferno, two from their injuries later on.’

  The article included background information on Boran. The Rosminian priest moved from Danesfort to Newry in 1965. A second move, four years later, took him to Belfast. The Tranmere fire happened in late 1971.

  Noelie passed the article to Meabh. ‘Seems like he got what he deserved,’ she said.

  Noelie still wasn’t convinced. ‘Okay then, but if he’s dead why go to such lengths over this film?’

  ‘Well, there’s Leslie Walsh,’ answered Meabh. ‘There’s also that other man. Who is he?’

  ‘I can’t see Branch would be too interested in Walsh. It must be the third man so. He must be someone important.’

  Black Gary asked if he could see the film. Meabh reckoned it would be easier if he viewed the copy on her camera. As he watched, Black Gary’s expression turned sour.

  ‘Bastards.’ He added, ‘The drinks beforehand, the location, the relaxed air … That’s organised.’

  ‘But why film it?’ asked Noelie.

  ‘Because they’re perverts.’ Meabh reminded them of a news story from a few months earlier in which a gang of men were arrested after they filmed each other assaulting a woman. ‘That’s how some people get their kicks.’

  ‘But it’s very risky, surely they’d know that?’ said Black Gary.

  Noelie told them about the cabinet of films at Llanes. ‘They may have felt secure. Maybe their connections, their wealth and the boys too … We don’t know who they are but they could be from Danesfort. In other words perfect victims.’

  Noelie went across to the window. There was a boardwalk with cafes beneath them, overlooking a section of the Lee’s south channel. Ironically they were nearly directly opposite the Elysian, the tower that Leslie Walsh had jumped from.

  It was looking more and more likely that these gatherings at the farm were organised. This whole thing seemed much more widespread and dangerous than they’d realised.