by OMJ Ryan
‘He died a couple of months ago.’ Phillips allowed this information to land as Logan’s upper body appeared to soften. ‘Matt, why would Father Donnelly want to make a complaint about you?’
‘Because he’s a lying, abusive bastard who would say anything to save his own skin. That’s why.’
Recalling Entwistle’s info on the allegations of abuse, Phillips changed tack. ‘Around the time this photo was taken, you made allegations of abuse against a priest, didn’t you? Was Donnelly that priest?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Matt, it’s okay,’ she said softly. ‘He can’t hurt you anymore. Please, tell us what he did to you.’
Logan took a long drink of water, as if hiding behind the cup.
‘You’re safe here. You can tell us.’
Logan said nothing for a while before finally responding. ‘I’ll talk to you, but he has to go.’ He pointed at Jones. ‘I’m not having him taking the piss out of me.’
Phillips nodded and Jones stood quickly, leaving the room to watch on a monitor in another room farther up the hall.
‘It’s just you and me now, so please, tell me about your relationship with Father Donnelly.’
‘It wasn’t a relationship. It was abuse.’
‘Okay. Can you tell me about the abuse? Maybe I can help you.’
‘How can you help me? Can you make it all go away inside here?’ Logan tapped his temple with another filthy finger. ‘Can you get me off the streets and off the shit? Can you take away my criminal record?’
Phillips shook her head. ‘I can’t imagine how frightened you must have been as a young boy.’
‘You have no fucking idea!’
‘So please, help me understand.’
‘You can never understand, no one can. Not unless you’ve had a predator manipulating your every thought until you don’t know your own mind anymore.’
Phillips could sense Logan was close to cracking, so continued gently, using his name over and over to personalise the conversation.
‘What did Donnelly do, Matt? Tell me.’
‘Look, forget I said anything. Let’s just drop it.’
‘I’m a police officer. I’m sworn to protect people. I can’t drop an allegation of abuse, Matt.’
‘It was almost thirty years ago – and you’ve just said he’s dead. So what’s the point in dragging up shit from the past?’
‘Because I want to give you justice, Matt. I want the church to admit what happened to you.’
Logan scoffed. ‘Justice. You’re having a laugh, aren’t you? They covered it up once before. What makes you think they’ll tell the truth now he’s dead?’
‘The truth about what? What did Donnelly do to you? Tell me.’
Logan finally lost control and slammed his fists down on the printed picture on the table. ‘I’ll tell you what that bastard did, shall I? He raped me, over and over again!’ Tears began to roll down his cheeks. ‘He raped me. You happy now?’
Phillips reached up and passed Logan a box of tissues from the top of a nearby cabinet. She felt a sudden pang of guilt that she’d elicited such painful memories from him in a soulless room like this. People like Logan deserved better treatment. Still, catching the killer was her main priority. She had to keep pushing. ‘I can only imagine what you went through, Matt, and I’m sorry to keep asking such difficult questions, I really am, but I need to know something. Did Father Donnelly abuse you on the trip to Lourdes?’
Logan’s whole body was shaking now. He began to sob, ‘Yes.’
‘How long did it go on for?’
There was a long pause before Logan answered, clearly fighting to control his emotions. ‘Two years.’
‘And you told someone what he was doing to you, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who did you tell? Who was it, Matt?’
Another long pause followed. ‘My parents.’
‘And what did they do about it?’
‘They didn’t believe me at first, but eventually they talked to the local police. The coppers wanted nothing to do with it, though. They advised them to speak to the church directly.’
‘And did your parents speak to the church?’
‘Yes, stupidly, they went direct to Donnelly, who of course denied it. He told them that I was making it up because he’d caught me masturbating on the Lourdes trip. He said I was trying to shift the focus onto him, away from my own sinful behaviour.’
‘And they believed him over you?’
Logan snarled, his contempt for his parents etched across his gaunt face. ‘Of course they did. His lies were much easier to accept than the truth – that their parish priest had raped their own son’
‘Did you ever think about harming Father Donnelly, Matt? Revenge for what he did?’
‘Sure, I thought about it. Watching him prancing around, up by the altar every Sunday like he was God Himself, pretending to the world to be pious and holy when all the time he was abusing young kids. I used to sit and fantasise about staring into his eyes as I took his last breath.’
‘And did you ever fantasise about suffocating him?’
Logan shrugged. ‘Sometimes. Other times I wanted to stab him or beat him over the head with a crucifix. That was my favourite. Didn’t matter, though. All I really wanted was to see his face full of fear, like mine was whenever he came for me.’
‘Did he ever abuse Susan or Deidre?’
Logan looked at the photograph again. ‘I don’t know. After Mum and Dad didn’t believe me, I never spoke about it again.’
‘Did Susan and Deidre know you were being abused?’
‘We talked about it once, but as far as I know they never told anyone else.’
‘When did the abuse finally stop, Matt?’
Logan thought for a moment. ‘I guess when I was about fourteen or fifteen.’
‘What changed?’
Logan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms tightly across his chest. Phillips could see the early signs of drug withdrawal filtering into his movements. He let out a mirthless chuckle. ‘I did. He liked them young – and I grew up.’
Phillips watched Logan in silence, studying his face, trying to look for any signs he was telling the truth. He was nervy and twitchy, as she’d expect from someone in need of his next hit, but still, he appeared genuine enough. However, she knew from experience that someone capable of murdering three women so methodically was also capable of concocting and delivering a powerful cover story.
‘Matt, can you tell me where you were on the nights of Monday the twentieth-eighth of January, Thursday the thirty-first, and Tuesday the fifth of February?’
Logan blew his nose on a tissue, then looked up at Phillips. ‘What’s today?’
‘Friday the eighth of February.’
Logan thought for a moment. ‘So Tuesday was three nights ago?’
‘Yes.’
‘In that case, I was with Mitchy under the arches at Castlefield. We scored there before crashing at his sister’s in Levenshulme.’
‘Do you know what time that was?’
‘What was?’
‘What time you were under the arches, and what time you got to Mitchy’s sister’s?’
‘Nighttime.’
‘Can you be more specific?’
‘I live between hits; that’s the only time I use.’
‘Ok. Where does Mitchy’s sister live?’
‘Like I said, Levenshulme.’
‘You don’t know the address?’
‘No. Those terraced houses all look the same to me.’
‘So where can we find Mitchy?’
Logan began rocking lightly in his seat. ‘You can try the hostel where you picked me up, or just go where the beggars go. That’s how he makes his money. Like me.’
‘And what about the other dates I mentioned: Monday the twentieth-eighth, Thursday the thirty-first of January?’
Logan looked at her blankly. ‘I have no idea.’
‘You don’t remember where you were on those days?’
‘No.’
Phillips studied him a moment, then closed her file. ‘Right. I think that’s all I need for now. Thank you, Matt. You’ve been very helpful. For the purpose of the tape, I am drawing this interview to a close.’ She shut off the tape and stopped the video.
‘Can I go now?’
‘Soon, Matt.’
‘Can I have a fag, then?’ Logan’s face was pained, almost desperate.
Phillips stood and walked over to the door. ‘I’ll get one of the officers to escort you to the smoking area.’
Stepping out into the corridor, Jones was waiting for her, his eyes wide and expectant. ‘What do you think, Guv?’
They began walking down the corridor back to the incident room. ‘Either he’s a bloody good actor or he’s not our guy. I know he’s got form, but I can’t imagine him cleaning a crime scene of every single trace of evidence when he can barely clean himself.’
‘So what now?’
‘Let him go but keep an eye on him. See where he lands. He may still be connected to this somehow.’
‘Got it.’
‘And you and Bov should head over to see Thomas Dempsey. See if he has anything he can share on Logan and the victims.’
‘What about Entwistle?’
‘Tell him to keep digging on Noel Gillespie and Kevin McNulty – see what else he can find on Logan. Plus ask him to find out if the city division have anything on this guy Mitchy. We need to talk to him, or his sister, to verify Logan’s alibi; preferably both. In the meantime, I’m off to see Father Maguire again and find out more about Donnelly. Call me if you come up with anything, okay?’
‘Will do, Guv,’ Jones replied as they went their separate ways.
26
Thomas Dempsey opened the front door of the end-of-terrace house and peered out tentatively. Jones was immediately struck by his heavy black-framed glasses, curly brown hair and thickset beard. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Jones and this is Detective Constable Bovalino.’ Both men presented their credentials. ‘May we come in?’
Dempsey stared at Jones, frowning. ‘Is there something wrong, officer?’
‘We’d like to talk to you about Matt Logan, if we may? We believe you were friends.’
‘Matty? Wow, I’ve not spoken to him in over twenty years.’
Jones glanced up at the sky. ‘Can we talk inside, Mr Dempsey? It’s starting to rain.’
‘Oh God, where are my manners? Please…come in.’ Dempsey opened the door wide. ‘Go straight through to the lounge on the right.’
Jones and Bovalino followed his instructions and found themselves in a rather dated, sparsely decorated living room where an ancient net curtain covered the front window overlooking the street. A small two-seater couch and an armchair pointed towards an old tube TV, with a small glass coffee table between them.
‘Please, take a seat.’ Dempsey pointed towards the couch.
As they sat, Bovalino pulled out his notepad.
‘Is Matt okay? Has something happened to him?’ There was a concerned look on Dempsey’s face.
Jones forced a smile. ‘He’s fine.’
‘I just wondered, you know, with his drug problem and everything.’
Never one for small talk, Jones pressed on. ‘Can I ask how you know Matt Logan?’
Dempsey produced a warm smile. ‘We met at primary school when we were just five years old. St Patrick’s – it’s attached to the church in Cheadle. We became good friends. We’d play out on the weekends and see each other at church every Sunday.’
‘And when did you last speak to him?’
‘Like I said, I’ve not spoken to him in over twenty years, but I have seen him a couple of times in the last twelve months; begging in the city centre by Piccadilly Station. It’s so sad to see him like that.’
‘You still recognised him after all that time?’
‘He’s always been very distinctive looking. That thin face and wiry frame haven’t changed much. He’s just got older and even thinner – if that’s possible.’
‘And you never spoke to him on any of those occasions at Piccadilly?’ asked Bovalino.
‘Not really, just to say hello. I always give him some money, but he doesn’t seem to recognise me. He’s usually in a bit of a state, to be honest. I presume it’s the drugs.’
‘You mentioned that earlier. If you’ve not seen him for twenty years, how do you know about his issue with drugs?’
Dempsey glanced at Jones and Bovalino in turn and let out a nervous chuckle. ‘Well, it doesn’t take a genius to spot a junkie, does it?’
Jones paused a moment before asking his next question. ‘Can you tell us what he was like as a kid?’
‘Sure. Matty was a bright, fun-loving kid. Very smart and academic. We went to different schools, but his mum was always telling my mum, at church, how well he was doing. I think it’s because I went to the grammar school on a scholarship. She seemed determined to let Mum know Matt was just as bright as I was. Competitive parents and all that.’
‘You say he was academic. Did he ever show any interest in chemistry?’
‘Funnily enough, he did. He was never any good at sport, so he focused most of his energies on learning new stuff. It’s fair to say he was more interested in science than soccer.’
‘And what sort of stuff did he like learning about?’
‘Well, my lasting memory is of this amazing chemistry kit his dad brought back from a business trip to the States. I’d never seen anything like it at the time. His shed looked like Frankenstein’s lab.’
‘And what was in this chemistry kit?’
‘Oh God, all sorts. Must have cost a fortune. It had white coats, goggles, real glass test-tubes, a Bunsen burner with a refillable gas bottle. It even came with dry ice.’ Dempsey smiled. ‘Can you imagine that nowadays? Propane gas and dry ice for kids? They were different times back then, for sure.’
Bovalino scribbled the elements in his notepad as Jones continued. ‘Did Logan ever talk you about being abused?’
Dempsey’s demeanour grew serious. He appeared uncomfortable with the question. ‘Yes, I’m afraid he did.’
‘How old were you when he told you?’
Dempsey thought for a moment. ‘It was after a trip to France. Not straight after, though. It was probably a couple of months later when he mentioned it to me.’
Jones produced a printed copy of the Lourdes photo and handed it to him. ‘Was this the trip?’
Dempsey studied the image. ‘Wow, Lourdes. Look at the state of me with my bowl-cut hair. That seems like a lifetime ago now. Yeah, that was the trip.’
‘And what did he tell you about his abuse?’
‘Well, he said it started on that trip.’
‘Did he say who was abusing him?’
‘Not at first. He just asked me if it was ok for an adult to touch you, you know, down there? I said no, and that was the end of that. Then a couple of weeks later he came to me and asked me if Father Donnelly had ever offered me “special attention”? I asked him what he meant, and he told me that Father Donnelly had kissed him on his genitals.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I said no. I’d never let anyone do that to me. That made him cry and he got really upset. I told him he had to tell someone about it – that it wasn’t right. Eventually he agreed and said he was going to speak to his parents.’
‘And did he?’
‘Yes. The next day.’
‘What did they say?’
‘I don’t know. I saw him a week later at church and when I asked him about it, he clammed up, told me to be quiet and said it didn’t matter. That it had all been a misunderstanding. We never spoke about it again.’
‘And do you think it was a misunderstanding?’
‘I really don’t know. I never saw anything happen, but you do wonder why Matt would make something up like that?
Plus, Donnelly did have a bit of a funny way about him.’
‘What do you mean by funny?’
Dempsey bit his bottom lip. ‘I feel bad saying this about an old priest, but he was always a bit creepy, if I’m honest. He kind of made me nervous. I never actually saw him do anything to Matt or any of the other kids, but when we were away on church trips, he’d regularly come into the boy’s bedrooms when we were getting dressed or ready for bed. It sometimes felt like his eyes would linger on us in our underwear for longer than was necessary. Do you know what I mean, Sergeant?’
Jones nodded. ‘So, in your opinion, was Father Donnelly abusing Matt as he claims?’
‘I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure something went on in France.’
‘And do you think the abuse continued after your conversation?’
Dempsey sighed. ‘I’m afraid so.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Just the way Matty changed. We used to have such a laugh after mass each week. After Lourdes, he seemed to go into himself, did everything he could to avoid church outings. He stopped hanging out after mass to play anymore and always went straight home. I’m ashamed to say it, considering what was probably happening to him, but after a while I lost interest and found new friends.’
‘Do you recognise anyone else in the photo?’ asked Bovalino.
Dempsey glanced down at the Lourdes image again, his face grave. ‘Mrs Clarke, Dee-Dee and Susie. So unbelievably sad.’
Bovalino took the lead now. ‘So you’re aware they were all killed recently?’
‘Yes, I saw them named on the news last night. I couldn’t believe it.’
‘Did you have contact with any of them lately?’
Dempsey shook his head. ‘Not since our late teens. Once I was old enough, I stopped going to the church group altogether. In fact, I think all of us did bar Susie, and we just drifted apart. It’s hard to keep friendships going once you get to a certain age.’
‘And how about Father Donnelly. Have you had any contact with him? Did you continue to go to church?’
‘Me? No way. My mum made me go whilst I was living at home, but once I moved out, I never went back. I had better things to do on a Sunday morning.’