‘Derry,’ he said grudgingly.
‘So what are you doing here?’
‘I was asked.’
‘Who asked you?’
‘The residents.’
‘What residents?’
‘The residents’ group.’
‘Which takes us back to my earlier question. Are there any residents present?’
‘I can’t answer that. You’ll have to ask them.’
McNulty looked at him narrowly. ‘I’ll be back to you shortly.’ He walked over to the dozen or so protestors. ‘Which of you lives here?’ There was silence. ‘I asked which of you lives here.’ Still silence.
After about fifteen minutes, individual questioning elicited the information that all of them came from across the border.
McNulty stormed back to Murphy. ‘This is completely preposterous. You’ve no right to set yourself up as a residents’ group when there are no residents in it.’
‘Who says? We’re here to represent their interests and their legitimate right to freedom, justice and equality. We cannot stand idly by and see fellow nationalists insulted by triumphalist sectarian parades.’
A garda came running up the main street still fastening his tunic. ‘Sorry, sir. I wasn’t there when your message arrived.’
‘McNamara, have you ever had trouble in this village with Orange parades?’
‘No, sir. There’s only this little one every year and no one takes a blind bit of notice. Sure, they’re all neighbours anyway.’
‘It is our democratic right to protest,’ said Murphy. ‘Civil rights campaigners came from all over the US to stand by their black sisters and brothers in the fight for their human rights. We have to do the same.’
‘But there isn’t a problem here.’
‘You may say that. But we know there are residents here who are offended by this parade.’
‘Where are they? Who are they?’
‘I can’t tell you who they are. They fear for their lives.’
‘You are full of shite,’ said McNulty. ‘Now I’d like you to get out of town, quietly and quickly.’
‘We will not. We have a democratic right to protest for the human rights of our fellow citizens.’
‘They aren’t even your fucking fellow citizens,’ said McNulty. ‘They’re the citizens of the Republic of Ireland and you come from another state.’
‘I shall be reporting that comment to the Department of Foreign Affairs. I carry an Irish passport. I’m as good an Irishman as you are. I’m not going. We’re staying to make a peaceful protest.’
‘It had better be peaceful or you’ll be sorry. McNamara, keep an eye on them. I’ll be back.’ He and Amiss walked round the corner where McNulty exploded. ‘Of all the brass neck. Those guys could start trouble in a Trappist monastery.’
‘And then claim they were doing it for the sake of the Trappists.’
‘Exactly. Mind you, what do you expect when you know he comes from Derry. Now there’s a Fenian hole. Those bastards’d steal your eye and come back later for your eyebrow. And then they’d claim they brought the yellow maize to Ireland.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘Have a word with one of my opposite numbers in the RUC and find out what to expect. Come on, I’ll give you a lift back. Nothing will be starting here for another hour or so.’
‘But the parade will go ahead.’
‘It certainly bloody will. I’m not going to put up with their ould nonsense. Jaysus, I wouldn’t give a fella like that the smell of an oul oil rag if he was out of petrol and late for his mammy’s funeral.’
***
Amiss stuck his head into the bar. ‘Do you want to come and watch the parade, Jack? Apparently there might be trouble.’
‘Excellent,’ said the baroness. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for anything. Especially since it’s stopped raining. Fancy a walk, Pascal?’
‘Are you off your head?’
‘Ah, you’re anxious to attend the ecumenical service?’
O’Shea threw back the remainder of his drink. ‘I wouldn’t go next, nigh or near it if I had the choice, but it’d get back to Dublin if I didn’t. God deserves better than to have that creeping Jesus wailing shite songs at him, but don’t tell anyone I said so. Are you sure you won’t have the other one?’
‘Positive, Pascal. Have it for me. Come on, Robert. Let’s go.’
***
They caught up with Steeples’ parade a few minutes later, parked the car nearby and followed at a respectful distance. Ahead of them were a dozen or so mostly elderly men, each wearing an Orange collarette and a bowler hat, walking slowly to ‘Abide with Me’ played by a single accordion.
‘They’re not the most threatening bunch of people I’ve ever seen,’ said the baroness. ‘Mind you, I can’t say that Gardiner’s improved by a bowler hat.’
‘I don’t think anyone is. Isn’t that why they died out?’
As they followed the parade around the corner, the ‘REROUTE SECTARIAN MARCHES’ banner suddenly appeared forty yards or so in front of them, and several of the protestors jumped from the pavement to form a human barrier to the parade. Prominent among them was Kelly-Mae. Another dozen protesters appeared from nowhere with posters of a faceless Orangeman with a line across his front and the legend ‘SECTARIAN BIGOTS NOT WANTED.’ Another was carrying a placard with very rough lettering: ‘SLIEVENAMNá SAYS NO WALKING WITHOUT TALKING.’
The baroness and Amiss gained on the parade. As they passed it, she caught Steeples’ eye, waved merrily and received a nod and a big grin in return. ‘He improves with time,’ she observed. ‘Like a decent port.’
They reached the barricade and circumvented it. ‘Ah, Kelly-Mae,’ said the baroness. ‘I see you are taking your observer responsibilities extremely seriously. We’ve come to join you.’ She looked her up and down. ‘My, combat boots. You do come well prepared, don’t you? And a T-shirt saying “OBSERVER?” What a good idea. You wouldn’t have a couple of spares, I suppose, would you?’
‘No,’ said Kelly-Mae. She tossed her head. ‘And I wouldn’t give them to you if I had. The British can’t be observers. They’re occupiers.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of Ireland.’
‘Really? Now I was definitely under the impression that we abandoned this part of Ireland a good eighty years ago, Kelly-Mae. Or do you know something we don’t?’
‘You’re still occupying the six counties, so it’s all the same.’
‘I don’t think I follow that, but I can’t be bothered to talk it through.’
McNulty appeared suddenly leading four uniformed men and a small army detachment. ‘Stand aside,’ he said.
‘I will not,’ said Murphy and as one man all the demonstrators lay down on the street.
‘By Jaysus, lads, if you think we’ll tolerate that sort of stuff here, you’re well mistaken,’ said McNulty. ‘This is the Republic of Ireland you’re in, and we tolerate no shite from troublemakers. The bleeding hearts aren’t in control the way they are up north. I’d advise ye to get off the road now or ye’ll regret it.’
‘This is a disgrace,’ cried Kelly-Mae, and she rushed forward and lay down beside Murphy. ‘And don’t forget. I’m an American citizen and if you hurt me I’ll call the American embassy.’
McNulty looked at her appraisingly. ‘Well, madam, I grant you we probably don’t have the manpower to lift you and it’s hard to get hold of a crane on a Sunday morning, but the parade can get round you when we’ve shifted the others.’ He waved at his men. ‘Clear a corridor on the left.’
The police formed two pairs and each picked up a demonstrator. One who kicked out wildly and caught a guard in the stomach received a blow on his shoulder from a baton that caused him to scream. Hearing it, the other one struggled less. Another guard was almost knocked flying by a young man who leaped on his back and began to pummel his head and kick his legs. The baroness grabbed a poster from one of the recumbent protesters and hit the assailant v
igorously over the head. He emitted a loud cry and she stepped back beside Amiss looking triumphant. When the guards had consigned the bodies to the military, the man she had helped returned and said, ‘Thank you, mam. I appreciated your intervention.’
‘A pleasure, Constable.’
Her victim was rubbing his head. ‘I’m going to sue you,’ he said. ‘I’ve suffered bruises and cuts.’
‘Think yourself lucky that’s all you’ve suffered,’ said the guard.
‘She has no right to attack me,’ said the youth. ‘She’s not an officer of the law.’
‘There’s guards and soldiers here who’ll say she never touched you and if you try any funny business you’ll find yourself charged with slander and assault. We don’t put up with this sort of stuff down here.’
‘Well,’ said the baroness. ‘I must say you have a more robust attitude to policing than we are used to these days in the United Kingdom.’
‘More fools ye,’ he said. ‘I tell you we won’t put up with that old shite. We’ll take these lads off to the station now and give them a few good kicks and send them home. They won’t be back in a hurry.’
‘Blimey,’ said Amiss, ‘if that happened in Northern Ireland you’d all end up in the European Court of Human Rights.’
‘Well thank God ye’ve these problems and not us,’ he said. ‘Yet, anyway. I wouldn’t have that republican crowd for all the money in the lottery.’
‘Well, well, well,’ said the baroness. ‘I think that’s enough excitement for this morning. It’s time we had a preprandial celebratory drink.’
The street was emptying quickly. Except for Kelly-Mae, the remaining protesters had chosen prudence over valour and were packing away their banners and posters in their cars under McNulty’s vigilant eye.
‘You’re not waiting till they come out of church?’ asked the baroness genially.
‘They are not, mam,’ said McNulty. He jerked his thumb towards Kelly-Mae. ‘Except for her, anyone who is not away in ten minutes will be arrested. And down here they won’t be martyrs.’
‘Very impressive,’ she said. ‘See you again, no doubt.’
As they passed the recumbent Kelly-Mae, she called out, ‘Can you help me get up?’
The baroness looked down at her. ‘No,’ she said. ‘At my age one shouldn’t lift weights.’ Grinning delightedly at her own wit, she marched around the corner, leaving Amiss hovering indecisively behind.
Chapter Twelve
‘So how did Knock affect your romantic soul, Simon?’ asked the baroness, as they sat down to lunch.
‘I’m not cut out to be an Irish Catholic. Either old- or new-fangled.’
‘That’s what I expected. You’re one of these cerebral Evelyn Waugh kind of converts, very happy in Catholicism as long as its practitioners have country houses with priests’ holes, aristocratic confessors and not an Irish maidservant in sight.’
‘That’s a bit harsh, Jack. Simple faith is something I can respect, but I have to say that the rosary procession and hymns to Saint Patrick were not quite what I joined up for. Vulgarity is all right when one is sneering at it in other people, but it hurts when associated with one’s own side.’
‘So when the Honourable Father Jeremy or whoever coaxed you out of the synagogue and into Brompton Oratory, he wasn’t tempting you with Irish plebs?’
‘My particular Father Jeremy was more a man for Gerard Manley Hopkins and exquisite theological debates about transubstantiation than for improbable apparitions and sanguinary hymns.’
‘Perhaps the fact that you find yourself religiously in bed with MOPE will yet drive you back to the rabbi?’
‘My dear Jack, MOPE aren’t Catholic in any religious sense. They just use it as a weapon in their tribal struggle—like Billy Pratt uses Protestantism. The only person here—apart from Call-me-Cormac and I’m not sure about him—who I’m certain believes in God is Gardiner Steeples, with whom I couldn’t possibly make common cause because his religion is too austere and logical. And I can’t stand all that Old Testament. Didn’t like it as a Jew. Don’t like it as a Catholic. It’s all so very…unsubtle.’
‘Better keep your voice down,’ said Amiss nervously. ‘Here come the ecumenists.’
‘How did your hands-across-the-religious-divide service go, Pascal?’ enquired the baroness cheerfully.
O’Shea looked nervously over his shoulder at a frowning young man in a clerical collar. ‘Grand, grand, wasn’t it, Canon?’
‘I hope my few words did something to help Father Cormac deal with the hurt feelings of which he sang so movingly. It was inspiring to hear of his mission to root out injustice in every part of our island.’
‘Unctuous toady,’ said the baroness, as he passed almost out of earshot. ‘Let’s hear from Willie. Willie! Willie! Come and join us.’
Hughes looked surprised. ‘I can’t stop, but I’m looking for Billy.’
‘What did you think of the ecumencial service?’ she asked.
He looked at her suspiciously. ‘Why weren’t you there?’
‘We had business elsewhere.’
‘Well, I wish I’d been somewhere else, so I do.’ He pointed at the Canon, who was sitting apparently very happily with Father O’Flynn, Laochraí and MacPhrait. ‘It’s the ones that are supposed to be on our side give me a headache. Everyone knows what the Free State did to the Prods so what’s that weasel doing bowing and scraping to that mad priest?’ And shaking his head, he walked away.
‘That’s a bit unexpected from him, isn’t it?’ said the baroness. ‘I assumed he’d take his pal’s pro-MOPE line.’
‘You’ve got Willie wrong,’ said Gibson. ‘Maybe it’s my fault, since I have a tendency to be rather sweeping in my judgements, but actually I’ve some time for Willie. He hasn’t lost touch with his roots, I think and he’s never really swallowed all that PRB that is Billy’s stock-in-trade.’
‘PRB?’
‘Peace-and-Reconciliation-Bullshit.’ He looked around cautiously. ‘Don’t mention it because it’s not yet widely known, but there’s a bit of a territorial war going on between those two, in fact. They affect to be great friends but in fact they’re deadly rivals for the next council seat. Willie has the upper hand at present owing to having form. He blew himself up in the early eighties trying to do for a republican and served five years. Whereas Billy’s never done time.’
‘I’ll be glad to get back to dear old straightforward Blighty after this is over,’ said the baroness. ‘Philomena, Philomena, come here and tell me what to eat.’
***
The Sailor’s Hornpipe sounded as people began to drift towards the seminar room. ‘Hello…What! Yes, of course. At once.’ He switched his phone off, chased after the baroness and pulled her aside. ‘Come out and see Ellis. Billy Pratt’s had an accident. And he’s dead.’
Pooley and McNulty were waiting for them at the entrance. ‘He fell off one of the battlements,’ said McNulty.
‘Definitely an accident?’
‘Very likely, though I can’t yet rule out murder or suicide. But why would anybody come all the way to a conference to commit suicide?’
‘It might have been the conference brought it on,’ said the baroness. ‘I’ve been feeling pretty suicidal on occasion during the last day or two.’
McNulty looked at her disapprovingly. ‘Hardly an occasion for humour, mam.’
‘Nonsense, Inspector. Straightforward philosophy. As my granny always said, you should learn to laugh at nothing since most of the time there’s nothing to laugh at.’
‘Who found him?’ asked Amiss.
‘Routine patrol.’
‘Where?’
‘Round the back. Keep this quiet for the moment, but it looks as if the probability is that he fell when he was trying to put up a Union Jack.’
‘Why the hell would Billy Pratt be doing that?’ asked Amiss. ‘He was a Grade A appeaser.’
Pooley shrugged. ‘He was up to something. Why else the flag—and in
this weather—wearing just shorts and a T-shirt?’
Amiss looked at them. ‘What was on the T-shirt?’
McNulty looked at the baroness as if daring her to laugh. ‘It said “PEACE.”’
‘I have to admit,’ she said, ‘that while every man’s death diminishes us and all that stuff, Billy Pratt’s passing is not going to leave me inconsolable. Now if you’ll excuse me. I’ve been harping on about punctuality, so I’d better go in and tell them the afternoon session will start a bit late. Come on, Robert. We’ll need to confer.’
McNulty eyed her as she went off in a flurry of plaid. ‘Tough old bird, isn’t she?’ he said to Amiss.
‘Bark worse than bite,’ said Amiss, as he went off in pursuit.
***
‘What the hell are we supposed to do now?’ asked Amiss. ‘This afternoon was earmarked for examining what the questionnaires revealed about our prejudices. Is it really possible to go through with it now?’
‘Of course it is,’ said the baroness. ‘For one thing, it’ll keep the little jerks under control and away from the telephone. If they’re not corralled, MOPEs’ll be roaming around looking for attention.
‘This is what we’re going to do. You call them together and we’ll agree a pious statement about what a loss to the universe and the human race was Billy and then we’ll agree that he would have wished us to go on in the name of reconciling our differences, sharing our hurts and feeling each others’ pain. Not to speak of reaching out to hearts and minds, building bridges and walking hand-in-hand in the new millennium.’
***
‘A tragic accident about which we know nothing yet,’ said the baroness firmly. ‘Now, unless there are any sensible objections, I propose to issue this statement on behalf of all of us: “We sincerely regret the death of Mr Billy Pratt, whose contribution to our deliberations has been invaluable. Our sympathy goes out to his family and friends.”’
‘There should be an Irish version too,’ said Laochraí.
Hamish Wallace groaned loudly and Steeples stared at the MOPEs. ‘We’ll not be starting all that again, will we?’
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