Legitimate Target

by Dee McInnes

  “You didn’t consider that the more you tried to stop them, the more they’d be convinced that there was a story worth uncovering?” Rhona said, her voice rising.

  Gillian gave a loud sob. “Please. Forgive me.”

  “I assume you’re not here alone?” Rhona said looking across at Viv.

  Viv waved her mobile. “I’ve someone waiting outside.”

  “Ask them to call Ballylester station. Ask the Sergeant to come out here immediately.”

  Viv sent Pete a message.

  “What have you got to say for yourself Kosmy?” Rhona demanded, addressing him for the first time since he’d admitted taking Gillian’s money.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m a good driver. It was only a little shove… I knew what I was doing.”

  “A little shove,” Viv said. “Tell that to the judge. What happened? Was I followed all the way from the hospital?”

  “Yes,” Kosmy said, standing up straight. “Miss Gillian said we should give you another warning, so I called Karol and he brought his van over. I told Catarina that I’d got a flat tyre so she came and took Miss Haslett home.”

  Gillian’s eyes were red-rimmed. Rhona stared out of the window her face devoid of emotion, clutching the silver cigarette lighter. Viv needed to try and close the circle, once and for all.

  “There’s just one thing I’m still not clear about. If Andrew Haslett’s death was an accident, why was the family so intent on keeping it secret? You were only ten years old,” she said, addressing Rhona. “No-one would have blamed you, unless the fire was intentional?”

  “I loved my father,” Rhona said. “I’d never ever have harmed him.”

  “Aye, right enough,” Gillian said. “You were the only one who couldn’t see him for what he was. He managed to convince everyone on the outside that he was all sugar and spice. Your brother was cut from the same cloth.”

  “How dare you!” Rhona said, the pitch of her voice rising again.

  “You may as well know the truth, now yer brother’s gone.” Gillian said. “And I’m the only one left to tell it. Keepin’ all yer family secrets got me nowhere. Yer father was a crooked man. A house devil. He beat yer brother and domineered yer poor mother. I was the only soul she could confide in. The night of the fire, I knew you were out of your bed, down at the stables, playing with yer dolls like you always did, up in the hay loft. I saw the flames and roused your father. Followed him outside. His first thought was to release the horses. Yer brother was hiding nearby. He scooted out and bolted the door whenever your father went inside with the pale grey. His favourite.”

  “I remember, Sea Shadow had injured his leg in the hunt,” Rhona said. “He would kick out at anyone who got close to him.”

  “Steven said you’d come down and were safe. By then, the smoke and sparks were birling across the yard, the smell and crackle of the fire making the horses stamp and whinny. The pale horse was thrashing about. We ran and didn’t look back,” Gillian said.

  Kosmy choose that moment to throw himself towards the open window, managing to get his head and arms outside.

  Viv grabbed hold of his legs. Where the hell were Pete and McKeown? Kosmy struggled, trying to break free. “Help me,” she shouted.

  Rhona snatched at Kosmy’s trouser legs, but he began to slip from their grasp.

  Pete, McKeown and another uniformed officer came barrelling around the corner of the house. They hauled Kosmy outside. The other police officer cuffed Kosmy’s hands behind his back.

  A few minutes later, Viv and Pete were sitting in the Astra. They watched Gillian come out of the front door carrying a large, black handbag. She walked down the steps, between the ornate pillars and took one last look over her shoulder. Rhona was at one of the front windows, but she turned away. McKeown opened the rear door of the police car and ushered Gillian inside.

  “I nearly pissed myself when I saw the two of ye wrestling with yer man. His trousers half-way down his arse,” Pete said.

  “I’m glad you found it all so entertaining,” Viv said.

  “The expression on yer faces was priceless.”

  “You know, just before the cavalry arrived, Gillian dropped a bombshell. Not only did she confess to paying Karol and Kosmy to try and throw us off track, but she also claimed that Rhona’s father was no angel. That he physically abused Doctor Haslett when he was a boy as well as brow-beating his wife. Although Rhona started the fire by accident, Gillian said that Steven deliberately shut his father inside one of the stables with a frightened horse and that the whole family conspired to keep things quiet.”

  “Jesus. What now?” Pete said.

  “We’ll need to let Carruthers know what’s happened and put something together about the arrests.”

  “Do you want to come back to my place for a drink?” Pete asked.

  “We had a late night and Mitch is up in court tomorrow. There will be time for celebrations later,” Viv said.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Carruthers confirmed he would run the story, ‘Victim’s Family Destroyed by Charming Psychopath,’ in conjunction with their court report. Carruthers wrote.

  Viv telephoned Tania and offered to take her and Alice out to lunch after the hearing.

  Tania was anxious to know what Viv had decided to do with her confession. “I’ve not had much sleep since we spoke on Sunday,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” Viv said, remembering the several missed calls. “Since I saw you, my feet haven’t touched the ground. Something from the past caught up with me and, as you may have seen in the news this morning, two employees from the Haslett estate have been arrested for trying to hinder our investigation.”

  “And, about what I told you?” Tania asked.

  “There’s already been too much hurt. Too much suffering. You weren’t… fully responsible for your actions. I’ve decided to forget everything you told me on Sunday. No good will come from subjecting the three of you to another police enquiry.” Viv said. “Please consider the matter closed.”

  “Thank you for understanding. It’s a huge relief, although I still don’t know how I’ll live with myself,” Tania said.

  “Unless you want to turn yourself in, you have to try. Repair your relationship with Alice. Support your son. Try not to blame yourself for something you’re unable to change.”

  “That’s good advice.”

  Viv surprised herself. Carmen would have been impressed.

  Pete had asked McLaughlin to give them the heads up, so they didn’t have to spend the morning sitting through a long list of court appearances. They passed the time back in Annie’s Café and reviewed everything that had happened over the past seventy-two hours. After telling Viv how delighted he was with his No More Heroes print, Pete made her repeat everything she had found out about Dermott Donnelly. She found it difficult, lying to Pete. He seemed happy. Willing to think the best of her. He readily agreed to drive her back to Derry after they had recorded Alice and Tania’s reaction to Mitch’s sentence and submitted their final report.

  McLaughlin gave Pete the nod. They arrived part-way through the court schedule.

  “Sorry to hear about your spot of bother,” Paul McLaughlin said, leaning over. “Glad you caught the pair of them. It’s a feckin’ disgrace we can’t do our jobs without someone trying to trip us up. I hear her ladyship has distanced herself.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be glad to see the back of this case,” Viv said.

  Rhona Haslett had issued a statement denying all knowledge of her employee’s activities. She praised the PSNI for their prompt and decisive action. It would’ve stuck in her craw to give Pete and herself any credit, Viv thought.

  Rhona wasn’t in court, but Pastor Martin and John Young were there to represent her interests. The hearing was in court number fourteen, under a n
ew judge, Justice Vanessa Begley. Viv acknowledged Tania and Alice, who waved at her from the front row. Under new regulations rushed through, anyone who required ‘mobility assistance’ was being issued with an ‘official’ court walking aid, cleared through Security. Nothing like closing the door…

  Justice Begley was in full flow, concluding her judgement from the previous case. She was one of the small number of females who had made it to the top of their profession. Begley was no soft touch.

  The court clerk stood up. “I call case number two-five-nine-seven-zero. Mitchell McVeigh. Mitch came in, flanked by two prison officers. His eyes scanned the public gallery. Viv gazed back. She remembered the first night they met, when she’d mistaken him for a local hoodlum. How he had elicited her empathy and then blown her story out of the water. But, in a way, he’d done her a favour. If he hadn’t shot Doctor Haslett, she might have gone straight back to London and she would never have found out about Dermott or been drawn closer to Pete, who… it was now obvious… wanted more than a platonic relationship… was that something she wanted? She bent over her notepad, trying to concentrate on the task in front of her.

  “The defendant has pled guilty to the charge of murder. On Friday the fourteenth of November two-thousand and nine, at Laganside Courthouse, he murdered Doctor Steven Haslett by discharging a concealed shotgun,” the clerk read out.

  Justice Begley was in her mid-fifties. She had dark brown hair underneath her grey bench wig. A thin face. Intelligent eyes underneath arched eyebrows. “Mr McVeigh, the law requires me to impose a life sentence. The purpose of this hearing is to determine the minimum term you must serve,” she said. “Only after you have served your full tariff will you be considered for parole. You will only be released when you are no longer deemed to pose any risk to the public and you will remain on licence for the rest of your life. Do you understand?”

  “Yes Ma’am,” Mitch said.

  “The term I must set is laid out in the Criminal Justice Act of two-thousand and three. For any murder involving the use of a firearm this is an automatic twenty-five-year term…”

  Viv heard a sharp gasp from the front of the gallery.

  “However,” Justice Begley went on, “Counsel will now have an opportunity to address the court on matters relating to sentencing. Mr Nelson?”

  The Public Prosecutor, David Nelson, stood up. “M’Lady. This was clearly a revenge killing, carried out with meticulous planning and premeditation. I have consulted with my learned colleague, Mr Murphy, who was present at the time. He witnessed this ruthless and cold-blooded execution-style attack, a short distance from where I am standing today.”

  Begley interrupted, “Please confine yourself to the aggravating factors, Mr Nelson. This is not a trial.”

  “Yes, of course. Aside from the very high degree of premeditation, there is the use of a hand-crafted firearm discharged in a public space, that had the potential to endanger life indiscriminately. The Crown therefore strongly recommends that the maximum guideline-tariff of twenty-five years is upheld.”

  “Thank you. Mr Hitchin. If the defence could raise any mitigating factors?” Begley said.

  Mitch’s defence lawyer got to his feet. “My client has admitted to murder and has fully co-operated with the relevant authorities. At the time of the attack, my client was suffering from extreme stress and provocation, resulting from revelations made by the deceased regarding the murder of his father, Christopher McVeigh, in nineteen ninety-six. My client has previously been of good character. He has been labouring under a great sense of grief, distress and upset for the past fourteen years of his life and, in such circumstances, may well not have been thinking as clearly or logically, or maintaining his self-control, in the way he might have otherwise been able. We ask for a reduction in sentence, in light of these various factors.”

  Viv scribbled as fast as she could. Mitch was sitting in an enclosed dock at the side of the court. Steps led down to the custody suite. He looked straight ahead, displaying no emotion.

  “Mitchell McVeigh,” Begley said, after a long pause. “You have murdered a man who was in the custody of this court, who was in handcuffs and posed you no threat. You have shown little remorse or regret for your actions. Your defence counsel has urged me to make allowances on the basis of the traumatic life events that you have undoubtedly suffered. However, I cannot attach any weight to that argument. You acted in such a way as to have scant regard for the welfare of others. Whilst no judge could fail to understand and sympathise with your loss, I place no weight to your claimed state of mind nor the bearing on this sentence. Your guilty plea would normally entitle you to some degree of leeway, but, as your offence was witnessed by so many learned colleagues it was never in doubt. I therefore sentence you to at least twenty-five years in prison. Take him down please.”

  Viv and Pete said their good-byes to Tania and Alice outside the restaurant.

  By the time they were half-way to Derry, Viv had emailed Carruthers their court summary. She was impatient to get back to Mac’s house and to try and track down Dermott Donnelly.

  “This is it?” Pete said, slowing at the side of the road half an hour later.

  The plume of smoke, rising from the steel chimney, filled Viv with hope. They climbed the steps and Mac answered the door, wearing his fisherman’s sweater and a pair of baggy tracksuit bottoms.

  “I wasn’t expectin’ any company,” he said, eyeing Pete up. “Who’s yer pal?”

  “This is Pete,” Viv said. “A good friend of mine.”

  “What can I do for ye?” Mac said. “I’ve not seen hide nor hair of Freeman since Tuesday mornin’. He must be still at his Ma’s place.”

  “Could we come in, please?” Viv said. “We’d like to chat.”

  “I suppose. If you like,” Mac said, stepping back.

  “Who did you speak to, after I was here on Tuesday?”

  “I never saw anyone,” Mac said. “What’s up? I take it you didn’t get a hold of our man? Did you try the number I gave you?”

  “Seems like his phone’s dead,” Viv said. She had tried Dermott’s number several times, but it rang out and there was no messaging service.

  “Where were you on Tuesday night?” Pete said. “Around ten-thirty pm, or thereabouts?”

  Mac stroked his beard, his eyes narrowing. “What’s this all about?”

  Viv perched on the arm of a dilapidated two-seater. “Sit down for a minute, please.”

  Mac pulled up a straight-backed chair. “Alright, I’m listenin’.”

  “Someone ambushed me, when I got back to Belfast,” Viv said. “Shots were fired.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “Exactly,” Pete said. “Who did you tell?”

  “I never opened my mouth,” Mac said. “You’ve got to believe me.”

  “If I had a pound for every time I’ve heard that story…” Pete said, towering over Mac.

  “Who was doin’ the shootin? What did they want?” Mac asked.

  “They didn’t introduce themselves,” Pete sniped.

  “Pete,” Viv said. “Please sit down.” She turned to Mac. “I was warned not to poke my nose in where it wasn’t wanted. It’s not the first time this has happened. The man with the gun specifically mentioned something that Dermott…Freeman and I talked about. Something that happened twenty-four years ago.”

  “Is that the same thing you were askin’ me about at the Reel Inn?” Mac said. “About what happened in the old days, when Freeman and I were on our first operation?”

  “I believe that the person the two of you targeted that night…the prison officer who died, was my father,” Viv said. “His name was Sean Hunter. A decent Irish man. One of your own.”

  “We’ll go to the authorities if you don’t tell us where we can find your pal,” Pete said. “In fact, the two of you should be banged to rights.”

  “You’re? he was?” Mac stuttered. “Jesus Christ…”

  “Tell us where we can find Dermott,”
Viv said. “He’s the one I’m most interested in.”

  “I don’t know. Honest to God. I told ye I wanted nothing to do with all of that anymore. I tried to get out. To do the right thing. But look, look what they did to me. I was told to keep my mouth shut.” Mac pulled up the left leg of his track suit. His knee was a criss-cross of pink and purple scars.

  “So, you’re claimin’ someone else must have put them up to it?” Pete said.

  “Ye said you’d talked to Maeve and Noreen O’Reilly,” Mac said, looking at Viv. “You stick out like a sore thumb, with yer English accent and Rab, the barman, has a big mouth. He talks to a lot of people. He could have been earwiggin’ our conversation. What do you want with Freeman anyway? Do ye intend to hand him in, or what?”

  It was a good question.

  “I’d just like to let him know how much I was hurt and to hear what he has to say,” Viv said. “After that it’s up to him… If you had asked me the same question two weeks ago, I would have killed him with my own bare hands if I had the chance. But…I’ve realised that nothing good comes from paying hurt forward. From creating another victim. From perpetrating another crime.”

  “I’ll help you in any way I can, but you must promise to keep my name out of all of this,” Mac said. “I know a few places we could try.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “Yer not thinking of trustin’ him, I hope?” Pete said, as soon as they had stepped outside.

  “What choice do we have? Better to have him with us than somewhere else.”

  Mac had elected to drive his scooter. “We might need to split up later,” he told them.

  Their first port of call was Dermott’s mother’s house. Mac promised that if Dermott was there, he’d do his best to allow Viv time to speak with Dermott alone… and, if not, Dermott’s mother would be more likely to answer their questions if she saw a familiar face. Before they left Mac’s house, Viv had asked Mac if he knew where they might find T.P. or The Sherriff. “I’m pretty sure one of them waved the gun in my face on Tuesday,” she said.