by Toni Parks
A few hours in and Barnham’s mind wandered, but in a good way. He had promised Emma that he would look up her family’s details, even though she had not been over enthusiastic about the idea. He began anyway. Only problem was that he had not asked her enough details to hit the correct records. So he popped outside for a smoke, although he had given up and sent her a text. Once furnished with the relevant details he set about his task with relish.
‘First I’ll see what Auntie Kathy brings up,’ he thought.
KATHERINE FLYNN D.O.B. 16/05/1955
‘Bloody hell,’ he thought. ‘That was quick, the computer must have been expecting me.’
KATHERINE FLYNN D.O.B. 16/05/1955 (File - 496/83) Address: 16a, Crown Street, Liverpool 7 02/06/1983 Brought to police attention by investigative editorial of Liverpool Echo reporter – Giles Hornby (see attached pdf). Questioned over involvement reference to trafficking children from Southern Ireland. Alleged to have transported the bodies of two young children from Dun Laoghaire to Holyhead in late May 1983. Verification that a vehicle (TBX182W) registered to the accused boarded Connacht vessel and crossed on 28/05/1983 on 15.10 sailing. No record of custom search.
Accusation is that two females, both 3 – 4 years of age, residing at Nazarian House Laundry, Dublin, died from diphtheria. Neave OʼReilly (mother) under alcoholic influence; was witnessed by Bill Delaney and Kaitlyn Devlin as saying that, upon the babiesʼ deaths, she had received payment from an English nurse for their bodies. No record of burials/cremations. Further investigations by Mother Superior St Jude (Irene Coghlan) proved fruitless and Neave OʼReilly vanished approx. two months later, on 19/07/1983.
Records show that Neave O ʼReilly had been taken into custody and interviewed but denied making the statement. No further evidence was forthcoming and the case was suspended indefinitely.
Pdf Liverpool Echo Editorial Comment 04/06/1983 Did it really happen in this day and age? Could there be anything worse than a mother losing her two children to a serious illness? The answer is yes, if the children disappear before receiving their rightful Christian burial. Investigations have been ongoing into the plight of the so-called Southern Irish ‘fallen women’. A section of society spurned by their families and peers for becoming unmarried mothers. The lucky ones were given refuge in various Catholic workhouses, run predominantly by nuns and situated throughout the country. Kaitlyn Devlin, a close friend of the heart broken mother said, “My friend and I were having a drink with Neave O’Reilly (the mother) and we noticed that she was spending more than usual. Turns out she had been given the money by an English nurse in exchange for her recently deceased children’s bodies. Now I looked at Bill, my man-friend like, and thought it must be the beer talking but now I’m not so sure.” When contacted Neave O’Reilly was not available for any comment, not even by way of denial. Sister St Jude, The Mother Superior, running the workhouse, was unavailable too but confirmed that it was a sad situation and was offering her prayers for both the mother and her deceased infants.
My quest is to bring justice for these two innocents and I throw down a challenge for the police to do likewise. A heinous action of this nature can not be condoned as anything other than hypocritical to any nurse’s, let alone a British one’s, oath to care for humankind.
Pdf Liverpool Echo Editorial Comment 17/06/1983 No Sympathy
Those of us who portray our lives in a humane and compassionate way have hounded the recently named nurse, Kathy Flynn, from her own home and community. Humanity has found her guilty where the law was incapable of doing so. And so her sentence is to leave the trappings of the life she has embraced for many years and start anew. Let her conscience be her jailor, in full knowledge that God will never offer repentance for her despicable actions. A mother’s silence is the only barrier that stands between prison and this woman’s downfall, and if either wishes to challenge my accusation, then our next meeting will be in a courtroom.
07/04/1988 (File - 340/87) Taken into custody. Accused of being accomplice to Evelyn Lambert from Seahouses, North East. Case dismissed. (See File - 339/87)
EVELYN LAMBERT D.O.B. 26/06/1928 (File - 339/87) Address: 62 St Aidanʼs Seahouses Northumberland NE68 07/04/1988 Suspect questioned reference to North Sea boat trip, where a Mr George Murray, partner to Evelyn Lambert, accidentally fell overboard and was presumed drowned. Witnesses saw 3 people leave the harbour on 05/04/1988 at approx 11.00 hours. Three hours later only 2 sailors returned. Evelyn Lambert and Kathy Flynn (daughter of E. Lambert). Both statements corroborated the fact that once at sea, the deceased became seasick and leaned over the side retching as a swell lifted the boat. He lost his footing and ended up in the sea. The distraught mother and daughter, threw in a lifebelt and rope, but the search was in vain, so they headed back to port to raise the alarm.
No evidence of foul play found on boat. No body ever recovered. Case closed. Barnham read both files several times over and questioned himself as to what he was really buying into with relighting his relationship with Emma. Jessica’s genes certainly had history on their side backed up by what seemed like rows of skeletons hanging in her family’s cupboards. And only by the grace of God was Barnham himself, still alive to tell the tale, and not strung up beside them.
‘But surely lightning doesn’t strike three times, or is it four now?’ he questioned as he pressed print. ‘This sort of knowledge can’t do the girls any good,’ he surmised, ‘particularly, Jessica in her delicate state.’ He decided to produce the hard copies but hold on to them until he found the right time to hand them over, if ever.
He was surprised how tired he felt after just spending several hours keying in a few updates into existing files and then searching for the Flynn/Lambert saga. But having been told to take a break, on doctor’s orders, he went on a walkabout with a view to looking up old mates. This exercise would not only act as stimulation to his brain whilst it refamiliarised and recognised the various rooms and functions from his past but also it would give Barnham the opportunity of reccying the evidence room.
As he travelled around the building he was conscious not to place a too positive spin on his recovery and wellbeing, so allowing him to assess people’s perspectives and to ensure he had sufficient time to process his own thoughts before articulating them. And he had no intention whatsoever of mentioning his impending fatherhood. That would only lead to questions of, ‘who’s the pretty girl, then’, and he did not want to be associating Emma and his name in the same sentence.
In time, he arrived at the counter, a barred entrance to the evidence room. Here he was pleased but surprised to see PC Tranter, who was neither the first nor the last recognisable face that Barnham now stopped to chat with. Even Barnham knew that he was looking at a man who had suffered demotion and Tranter soon put him out of his curiosity.
“Hello, Sir, Good to see you back. Hope you are feeling as well as you look,” beamed the PC.
“Yes, I am much better now, thanks, PC Tranter, Paul isn’t it? Although my memory can still play tricks on me; I almost imagined that I had you working on the Borders killer case with me? But stupid me, as is normal these days, I must have been wrong.”
“What you mean with me being stuck down here, Sir. Eh, pardon me, I don’t mean to be derogatory about the orders I’m given. I mean it is a responsible post, looking after all the items of evidence but it can get boring, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“That’s OK, Paul. And don’t be calling me sir either. I’ve already been infomed I’m a former acting DI now. I’ll have to be medically reassessed and proven of sound mind if I want to get the old title back.”
“Well, I hope you do, Sir … Mr. Barnham … Terry. It would be good to have you back in whatever capacity. I’ll be needing some counselling too, doing this job. I just sit here logging evidence in, logging it out, logging it back in again and nobody ever informs me as to what benefit the items coming and going have brought to anyone. And I’ve another six more weeks to go.”
“We
ll it can’t be as boring as Record Updates. I’ve only half a day and even my limited brain power is revolting at the prospect of more.”
“Don’t be saying that, Terry. That’s where I’m posted next!”
“Poor you. Enjoy this whilst you can, then. Who set it all up anyway?”
“The new Detective Superintendent, Tommy Monroe. Do you know him? Came in, supposedly to clear up the mess of the Borders’ murders and made sure that the rest of us left paid the price, having muckied our tickets, sort of thing. Topdown, management retraining. Looking at me I’d say it was more bottom-down, wouldn’t you?”
“Every job’s important Paul, but you’re certainly not going to catch many criminals down here, are you? Chin up though, you could have fallen as far as me, down this ladder of success we call a career. Talking of ladders, I’d have probably been better off as a window cleaner. Anyway, enough philospofying, philistoplying, fillyos … enough of talking bollocks. See you later, OK.”
“Yes Sir … Mr. Barnham … Terry. Keep updating!”
On his way back to his desk Barnham bumped into the ever-effervescent DC Blister. A jack-in-the-box in the making, if ever he saw one. “Hi DI Barnham. Em Mr Barnham, I heard you were in the building and wanted to catch up with you. Hope this computer work is helping with the old noggin?”
“Yes, hello to you too, Denny. My noggin’s refilling up nicely, thanks for asking. Although with the sort of tasks I’ve been allocated, I’m sure it’s all dribbling back out the other side.”
“But at least it’s progress. I remember the other week when you couldn’t even recall those twins; Jessica’s one, how can we forget Jessica the serial killer, but even I can’t recall the other one’s name now.”
Barnham waited patiently, a slight gormlessness seeping out of his face as he opened his mouth slightly, purposely to dribble from its corner. Blister looked somewhat aghast and said quickly, “I remember, Emma, that was it.”
Barnham perked up as if the name had meaning. “Emma? Emma Quinn? Emma Quinn,” he exclaimed the last name with feeling.
“Flynn actually, but you were close. Anyway, you know I had the brainstorm about the DNA? Well I’ve had another and what with you being so close to the case before your accident I wanted you to be the first to know. The procurator fiscal didn’t seem too interested but I think it’ll run. You’ll get the pun when I tell you what I’m thinking.”
With that, he told the story of Jessica’s part time job in the chemist’s where she could have familiarised herself with the different drugs. And then her penchant for jogging, and putting them both together, his leap of faith was to what her running gear may reveal. Terry got the pun, after having to be told it a second time, or maybe that was just his way of annoying the young upstart. He then returned to his terminal and half-heartedly set to inputting new material and so updating existing files. His mind was now able to concentrate on two different things at once, which meant that his plan would inevitably come together more quickly than first imagined.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE Eduardo, although he would never admit it to Pernille, felt totally impotent. Even the might of SpiyWeb, seemed to have no answers to his predicament and for once he was at a loss as to what to do next. But if ever an Italian unknowingly experienced a ‘back-handed’ compliment first hand it was now to be Eduardo.
*
Fortunately Queen Laelia was neither impotent, nor of like mind. If she could have pictured his turmoil and the inducement by which it was caused, along with his involvement in the saga now presented, she may have expressed disdain for his economy with the truth, and the tread of lies he wove, in trapping a long standing member of their village, even if he was a gaje. With friends like him, who indeed needed enemies?
Instead she just sat, lit and placed a candle on the table in front of herself, composed her inner being and, only then revealed a magnificent shew stone from under a black velvet drape. Her mind cleared to intensify her crystal gazing, and her soft caresses over the flawless sphere facilitated her in seeing beyond her surroundings. The acoustics from the gaiety, shouts and barks of everyday gypsy-life distractions faded as the seer saw. The candlelight flickered refractively through to the near side of the orb, so heightening her focus. Time stood still, excepting the caress, a diaphanous sweep across the stone’s surface, over and over. And then it was done.
Queen Laelia dispatched one of the young children to fetch Balloch to her palace. The lucky messenger received a newly whittled whistle for his troubles. As Balloch awaited admittance, he stood outside the palace door teaching the boy the best method for its use. “Phral,” signified his permission to enter.
On entering her palace, he bowed and said, “Pey,” in reply to her greeting. The phrases being: ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ in the gypsy language.
“Please be seated and take a cup of tea with me,” she continued, fussing over the cups and kettle. Once settled, and after having fulfilled the courtesy of her hospitality, she elaborated, “Your granddaughter, Rawnie, I see her on a busy high street, overshadowed by buildings and pestered by the constant stream of vehicles. There’s a horse at one end with a jubilant bari gadgi, but it’s not one of ours, I can see that.” She now bowed her head as her slim fingers invigorated her temples, encouraging more recall. “She is not as far away as we first thought. She’s in a former mill town, close to this horse statue, I feel. I’m seeing Hawick, yes, I recognize it as the town of Hawick and the name Oliver.”
Although not far, it was still 22 miles. Balloch thanked Queen Laelia for her seeing and left to organise the search, unaware that Rawnie’s mother had supplemented the Queen’s seeing. Blunt hints had been furnished by the mother intimating that she was sending discreet but regular financial assistance to Rawnie, care of a PO Box number at Hawick post office; totally against their code and totally unknown to her husband. Two of the younger travellers known to Rawnie, and thus who knew Rawnie too, were dispatched at once. Surveillance was their only brief unless there was a real option of abducting her and bringing her home.
Within the hour, they were cruising along the High Street as envisaged by the Queen. Hawick as with other mill towns, had seen its lifeblood leeching away with the bulk of its textiles industry resourced abroad. It was now in the process of trying to boost retail and business trade. On the ground, the ubiquitous charity shops were in evidence along with a good selection of local suppliers of everyday necessities, plus a few micro businesses working from the office premises above. The two had spotted the statue at the northeast end of the High Street and were now looking for the first available parking spot. Success on that score then saw them hunting for ‘Oliver’. Jal and Catarina split up, one left and one right, with a view to meeting up under the statue within 30 minutes. Both were there within 10 as Catalina’s text brought Jal, and his smiling face, back. “Found it,” she laughed, “right under the horse’s muzzle. Oliver Place. That’s the easy bit done, now where’s that pest Rawnie.”
The previous 10 minutes now turned into two hours and Jal was considering leaving the seclusion of the small garden behind the bus shelter when Catarina squealed. “That’s her.” Jal followed the direction of her words and caught sight of the mass of red hair, sitting atop a young vixen face. It struck a ‘Merida’ pose, as it deliberated which way to go on leaving a building’s doorway. The two pursuers had no such rumination as they formed a pincer movement to entrap their prey.
Luck being on their side saw Rawnie heading up the High Street and so nearer to their parked car. Each step brought them closer to success and her further from security. Her babysitters had become annoyed with her constant whining about being bored. So for the second time today they had sent her out on a fool’s errand, to get her out of the place, give themselves peace and a chance to do some real work. Since SpiyWeb had introduced Eduardo to them, the studio business had earned several thousands of pounds. With an added bonus for, ‘no questions asked’. The stills shoot had been easy and the photoshop magic f
it like a glove. But Rawnie’s raw beauty and talent in front of a static camera struggled to match up when put into motion. Not only was she unable to act, but also now it transpired that certain proposed situations were alien to her sensibilities and gypsy values. So, whilst the director wrestled with the conundrum she was dispatched out of the way.
She drew nearer and nearer to their vehicle and was still unaware that she was being followed. Then they pounced; Jal and Catarina took a firm hold of an arm each and overly loud and in a jocular manner, said, “Rawnie, fancy seeing you here. Long time no see. Your Grandpapa was only asking me the other …” and other such nonsense, which had the desired effect of disorientating Rawnie and not allowing her protestations to become too audible. Within 30 seconds she was secured in the vehicle behind a child-proof locked door. Her thoughts were her own for the next hour, as Jal drove steadily back to Yetholm, but even on arrival, their blackness had not lessened one iota.
And nor had Balloch’s embarrassment, in his capacity as bandolier, at having to call a kris Romani for his own grandchild. Rawnie’s first banishment, some years ago, had been only temporary and it had been her wish to stay away for longer than dictated. But a crime of this nature would leave their court no alternative but to deliver ‘marime’ or permanent expulsion from the community, as their verdict.
And that was the verdict until Queen Laelia intervened. “The punishment is just, and even more so considering the compromising positions in which you have dishonoured your body, but it does not help our gaje friend who has been seriously wronged in this matter.” Seth, first acknowledged the fact that he was allowed to be present at the kris Romani, and then also concurred with Queen Laelia’s desire to right such a scandalous wrong.