by David Hough
I sent Will a proof copy of the book before it was published in case he wanted me to delete anything. In the event I didn’t hear from him until a year later when I received a picture postcard from the Canary Islands. I assumed the family were on holiday. It said simply, Hated the book.
I understood exactly what he meant.
POSTSCRIPT TO THE SECOND EDITION
Tom McIlroy no longer lived in Belfast, but I was able to make contact with him indirectly through the Retired Police Officers Association. When the first edition of the book was edited and ready for publication, I sent him a typed copy of the manuscript and asked for his agreement for the things I wrote about him. He said it was all pretty accurate, especially the description of his wife. Publication went ahead with no changes and I sent him a hardback copy. Two weeks later I received a long letter from him. He gave me an address in Fermanagh and a telephone number, so I called him. We had a long and interesting conversation.
This is what he told me:
***
Four weeks after he was shot in the groin, DCI Thomas McIlroy attended the opening of the trial of ‘Mad Mac’ McKinnon. The evidence was strong, especially his inky fingerprints on the threatening note left beside the body at York Road Railway Station. There was every expectation he would go down for the murders of both Bridie and Barbara Mulveny. His accomplice, Blair, was charged with conspiracy to murder. He had a very weak defence and was destined for a lengthy spell in prison.
McIlroy left the trial in a happier frame of mind.
Three days later McIlroy set out to speak to Detective Superintendent Boyle at North Castle Street. On the way he called in to see Will and Milly Evans. They were busy packing up their belongings, hindered by the twins playing on the lounge floor. Will’s face was still lopsided, and would be for a long time to come, but his arm was healing well and he seemed in good spirits.
Milly had a cheerful smile for the DCI.
“You look happy,” he said to her and he gave her a peck on the cheek.
“And you still look like you’re suffering,” she replied, indicating his prominent limp.
“Another operation next week. They know what’s wrong, but putting it right isn’t proving too easy. When do you leave?”
“In two days. Will starts work in Wales next week; a desk job at a rural police station where the worst crime they have is tourists dropping litter.”
“No bombs?”
“God forbid.”
“I hope you’ll both be happy.”
“We are already.” Her continuing smile indicated the truth of it.
Will led him into the kitchen while Milly carried on with the packing, surrounded by cardboard boxes. He closed the door to keep out the sound of the two girls at play.
Will gestured to a chair at the kitchen table and switched on the kettle. “How are things at home, Tom? How are things with your wife?” He no longer called him, boss. No longer needed to.
McIlroy eased himself into the seat and noted a whiskey bottle nearby. Was it there to fortify the coffee?
“According to her lawyer, she still wants a divorce. Still won’t believe me when I tell her what actually happened. You know what it was all about, do you?”
“I can guess. Maisie O’Hare, wasn’t it? You know, when I was in the canteen earlier, on the day of the bombs, she made a pass at me.”
“You refused, I hope.”
“Of course. But that was when she made an accusation against you. She said that was why your wife walked out on you.”
“And you believed her?”
“Frankly, no. I don’t believe it then and I don’t believe it now.”
“Thank you for that.” McIlroy replied. His educated Belfast accent was softly spoken now. “Do you really think a young woman like that would want sex with an old duffer like me? Old enough to be her father. Of course she wouldn’t. But, like all stories, Will, there is an element of truth in it.”
“Do you want to tell me?” Will poured out the coffee, added the whiskey and handed McIlroy a mug.
He took it with a grin.
“It was all because the job was getting on top of me, Will. Just like it was getting on top of all of us. One night I got absolutely pissed at a party. Drowning out the reality of life in CID. Maisie was there and she took me away and put me to bed at her flat. I was so plastered I knew nothing about it until the next day when I woke up with a splitting headache. I was in her bed, but I was still fully dressed, dammit. It would all have ended there if the vindictive bitch hadn’t told my missus that I slept with her.”
“But nothing happened between you and Maisie?”
“Nothing. I wasn’t capable of it, even if I’d wanted to.”
“So, what will you do now?”
“The wife’s lawyer has been on to me and I’ve told him she can go ahead with the divorce. What’s the point of contesting it if she refuses to believe me?”
“And then?”
“Then I shall divorce myself from the RUC. Just like you, Will. Just like you.”
Will was not surprised. “You’ve another job lined up?”
“I’ll go freelance. Escape to the countryside beyond Belfast and take on private jobs… make a new life for myself. When the medics have finished with me.”
“The countryside? You think that will be far enough?”
“I’ll give it a try. I’ll aim to settle somewhere new just like you. Besides, my mum in Fermanagh is getting on in years and I feel a need to be closer to her.”
“I suppose we’re not the only ones who want to pull out of Belfast. And more will follow.” Will nodded towards McIlroy’s groin. “And that… that’s a wife-shattering thing, isn’t it?”
He put on a false air of bravado because he couldn’t think of any other immediate response. “That’s one way of putting it. It certainly puts me out of bedtime action until they finally get things sorted.” Then he quickly changed the subject. “On a happier note, I had a letter this morning from that young man, Martin Foster. He’s actually got himself a job, which is good. It’s in Belfast but that’s his choice.”
“In Belfast? He wanted to join the British army, didn’t he?”
McIlroy grinned. “I talked him out of that. He came to see me a couple of times while I was in hospital and I had some fatherly chats with him. He may be naïve, but underneath he’s a hell of a nice lad. I managed to persuade him to try for something better than the army. I urged him to leave Northern Ireland, but he said he wanted to stay because of a girl.”
“Sorcha Mulveny?”
“I think so. I think he felt a need to be close to where she’s banged up. I argued with him but he wouldn’t budge, so I wrote to a pal of mine who works for an accountancy firm in Belfast, and I put in a good word for Martin. They agreed to interview him. In the letter he says they’ve offered him a job as a junior clerk. It means starting at the bottom of the tree, but it’s a job and I have this feeling he’ll soon work his way up the ladder. I hope so, anyway.”
“Things would never have worked out for him with the Mulveny girl, would they?” Will said.
“Of course not. He’ll not forget her easily, but in time he’ll move on.” He worked up a cheery smile. “We’ll all move on, Will. You and Milly and the kids. Martin Foster. Even me, in my own sweet way. We’ll all move on.”
“Amen to that, Tom.”
McIlroy finished his tea. “And now I must move on to an important meeting with Detective Superintendent Boyle.”
“I hope it goes well for you.” Will put down his own coffee and shook the hand of his one-time boss. “I shall miss you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Reckon I do, Will.”
An hour later McIlroy limped into the North Castle Street RUC station. The ache in his groin was persistent, but he tried to look comfortable. Sergeant Billy McRee came from behind his reception desk to shake his hand and welcome him back to work.
“Glad to see you back on duty again, sir,” he said.
McIlroy thanked him and asked, “Is Superintendent Boyle in his office?”
“He is that, sir.”
McIlroy went straight to Boyle’s office and walked in without knocking. The Detective Superintendent blinked at him in surprise but made no effort to rebuke him. Neither did he speak straight away. He remained solidly behind his desk while McIlroy took the empty seat opposite.
“You were expecting me?” McIlroy said.
Boyle nodded. “Yes. I was told you might call in today. Are you fully fit once more? Or at least fit enough to resume your duties?”
“Partially fit.”
“That’s good enough. We’re under-manned at present.”
“I said I was partially fit. I didn’t say I would actually return to duty.” McIlroy leaned forward and placed a document on the senior officer’s desk. “This is my resignation. Signed and dated. I’m handing it to you in person so there will be no doubts about my intentions.”
Boyle stared at the document, but he made no attempt to pick it up. He leaned back in his seat and scratched at his cheek. “Well, now. That is somewhat unexpected. What are your plans? What will you do now?”
“That’s my business.”
“Does your wife know about this?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell her.”
Boyle shook his head. “No. I can’t do that. She’s no longer with me. We had a disagreement and now she and your daughter are staying with a cousin in Lisburn. For the time being.”
“Really? Well, well. There’s a surprise.” McIlroy suppressed the urge to laugh out loud. In truth, he wasn’t at all surprised. He even felt a little sympathy for his erstwhile boss.
“You didn’t know?” Boyle said.
“I do now.”
“I understand she plans to move back in with you. You’ll take her back?”
“I’m not going to discuss my plans with you.” McIlroy stood up slowly. The ache in his groin persisted. “I’ll be on my way now. If you hear from my wife, do pass on my regards. I hope she finds whatever it is in life she’s looking for.”
“That’s it? So soon.” Boyle rose up from behind his desk. “You’re off already.”
“Into the wide blue yonder.” McIlroy waved a hand as he turned and headed for the door. “I’ve done what I came to do. We won’t meet again, which will be no loss to me.”
“But you’re throwing away your whole future.”
“Remember what Scarlett O’Hara said.” McIlroy paused by the door, one hand on the handle. “One of the best closing lines in film history. Tomorrow is another day.”
He was tempted to slam the door behind him, but he didn’t. He closed it quietly, politely leaving behind a world in which he had no further interest.
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Chapter 1