by Menon, David
When DS Adrian Bradshaw and DC Joe Alexander got to the hotel on the east side of Manchester close to the Etihad stadium they found Patricia Knight and her husband Dennis in fairly jaded mood. Patricia looked at both Adrian and Joe with great suspicion.
‘I’d forgotten how much the journey takes it out of you’ said Patricia. She sat alongside Dennis on the sofa in their room. Adrian and Joe occupied two chairs on the other side of the low coffee table.
‘Can I get you two gentlemen any coffee or tea?’ Dennis offered.
‘They won’t be staying’ said Patricia, cutting her husband off and earning a very disgruntled look from him. The last thing she wanted was to sit exchanging small talk with these two characters. She was still hurting from her family’s absolute refusal to see her and they’d also made it perfectly clear that she would not be welcome at the house of her sister Maria from where the funeral cortege of her brother Padraig would be going from. She hadn’t exactly expected the red carpet from her siblings especially when they all probably knew that it was her fault that Padraig had gone down for the murder of James Carson. But for God’s sake she’d crossed the bloody world and brought her dear husband Dennis into a situation that was completely unknown to him until just a few days ago. She’d wanted to reach out and make some kind of amends but not one of them had even offered them a cup of bloody tea! Yes, she’d walked out on them all those years ago but couldn’t they work something out? She’d appealed to Maria but it had all fallen on deaf ears. It had broken her heart.
‘That’s not very friendly, Mrs. Knight’ said DC Joe Alexander.
‘I know firsthand just how unfriendly the British police can be and I’ve probably still got the scars to prove it so don’t you dare lecture me on manners’.
‘The IRA always behaved like a bunch of gentlemen then?’
‘We were defending ourselves against your terror’.
‘I don’t think we were the terrorists, Mrs. Knight’.
‘Oh don’t you? Well you see it’s funny how when impoverished communities who’ve been discriminated against for decades are called terrorists when they fight back. But the people who they’re fighting back against are never called terrorists because they’re the state so they’re excused murder’.
‘No’ said Joe. ‘I have to admit I hadn’t looked at it that way’.
‘Oh that’s no surprise to me’ said Patricia. ‘In fact, I’d have been surprised if you had given a second’s thought to the social injustice inflicted on minority communities’.
‘Mrs. Knight, this is Manchester in twenty fifteen. It’s not Belfast in the early nineteen seventies. We’re not always perfect and we don’t always get it right but you’ll find that the police today behave rather differently from what you allege in your previous experiences’.
‘I don’t allege anything’ said Patricia. ‘I speak the truth however uncomfortable it is for the likes of you’.
‘We probably wouldn’t have chosen this particular hotel if we’d know how potentially difficult it is to get into town’ said Dennis, who didn’t know why the hell he’d said that but he didn’t like the way the mood was going. ‘But we weren’t to know that it’s a five minute walk even to the bus so we’ve been taking taxis all the way into and out of the city. We went there this morning to buy gifts for our grandchildren but we’ll probably eat here in the hotel tonight. Neither of us can stomach going into the city again although we do like it. We’ve quite taken to Manchester. It’s not a bad place at all with all the shopping and the bars and the restaurants. It certainly seems thriving’.
‘So it’s your first visit to the UK, Mr. Knight?’ asked DS Adrian Bradshaw.
‘Yes’ said Dennis. ‘It is’.
‘But I’m sure our rating of the city isn’t why you’ve come to see us?’ said Patricia. ‘Or rather, isn’t why you’ve come to see me?’
‘This is when I’m made to feel like Prince Phillip’ said Dennis, laughing. ‘It’s all about my wife’.
Adrian thought that he would also use pretty lame attempts at humour as a means of dealing with this particular situation. How else could you cope with finding out that your wife is a former terrorist?
‘How does it feel to be back, Mrs. Knight?’ Joe asked.
‘Let me make one thing very clear’ said Patricia, leaning forward intently. ‘I know you two haven’t come here to have a cozy chat with me and my husband about what we think of your city. And quite frankly I resent you using my husband to get through to me and don’t try and say you’re not doing that because if you do I’ll call you the liar that you are. And I’ll make something else very clear too. If you think I’m going to take a nice little stroll down memory lane and incriminate either myself or anybody else I know then you can think again because it’s not going to happen’.
‘Have you spoken to any members of your family since you’ve been back?’ asked DS Adrian Bradshaw who’d decided to ignore Patricia Knight’s ardent pleading. ‘I mean, that’s not if you think the question is leading in any way?’
‘Haven’t you got me under surveillance?’
‘That’s not a question I’m permitted to answer’.
Patricia threw her head back and laughed sardonically. ‘The British police are still the most devious bunch of bastards on the planet’.
‘Oh I think we’ve got a little competition for that title if you have a serious look around the world and the various situations that are going on, Mrs. Knight’ said Adrian. He was angry at the woman’s stance but he could clearly see that the bitterness, hatred, and resentment from a lifetime ago hadn’t abated. She must’ve been storing it all up all these years under the pretence of some sort of acceptable suburban life. But that didn’t mean to say that his understanding didn’t have limits. ‘In fact, I find your statement rather insulting’.
Patricia shrugged her shoulders. ‘Ask me to care about whether or not you find what I say is insulting and I’d advise you not to waste your breath’.
‘We’re just curious about something, Mrs. Knight’ said DC Joe Alexander.
‘Oh I support Australia in the rugby, the cricket, the tennis, in fact any sport you can mention’ Patricia stated with a wink to Dennis. ‘Even if it’s against Ireland, I still support Australia because that’s the country, the only country past and present, that deserves my loyalty’.
‘I’m sure that’s very laudable’ said DS Adrian Bradshaw. ‘But going back to when you first moved to Australia. Why is there no official record of either your departure from the UK or your arrival in Australia?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Dennis questioned. ‘It was perfectly legal when my wife married me and became an Australian citizen. What are you trying to suggest here?’
‘Mrs. Knight?’ said Adrian. ‘Do you know what happened to your official records and why?’
‘I wouldn’t have expected someone of your rank to know’ said Patricia, smiling as patronizingly as she could.
‘Patty, what the hell is he talking about?’
‘I made a deal’ Patricia revealed. ‘And part of that was hiding my departure from this country and my entry into Australia. I wasn’t the only one who was disappeared by the British in those days after they’d tricked me into doing their dirty work. Both sides were at it. The IRA and the British security services’.
‘Does that make it right?’ Adrian questioned.
‘Well then we’re back to what I said before about the so-called terrorism carried out by groups who were fighting back on behalf of their community like the IRA and those that were terrorizing that community like the British government’.
‘It’s a thin line, Mrs. Knight’ said Adrian.
‘It is not a thin line!’ Patricia roared. ‘It is exactly the same and one of those days you arrogant, murdering Brits are going to have to acknowledge the thousands you murdered in the name of so-called democracy. Well it was only one kind of democracy that interested you in Northern Ireland. Democracy as long as the union
ists remained in charge and kept the nationalists down in whatever way they saw fit. And if that meant anything illegal then bury it. That’s what you did. The British Army and the RUC were allowed to act illegally to preserve what you defined as democracy. We weren’t allowed to. Now stick that up your pious arses if there’s room what with all the other official shit that must be up there’.
‘Patty!’
‘Well I’m sick of the two of them sitting there as if they’ve a right to judge me! I will not be judged, not by them or anybody else’. Patricia then stood up and marched into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
‘My wife is … rather emotional at the moment as you can imagine’ said Dennis.
Patricia looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and watched as her face crumbled and she burst into floods and floods of tears. If only she could say sorry to Padriag. If only the rest of her family would let her say sorry to them. If only she could’ve moved to Australia all those years ago when so many young Irish people did but without all the baggage that she took with her.
Dennis came into the bathroom. ‘I’ve got rid of them’ he said before reaching out to his wife who came willingly into his arms, her body shaking as she sobbed her heart out. ‘Oh Patty. I’m here, love. I’m here’.
THROWN DOWN FIFTEEN
‘London is amazing!’ Collette enthused as she and DSI Jeff Barton walked along hand in hand from their hotel across the river from the houses of Parliament. It was a bright morning and they’d decided to forget the underground and walk across Westminster bridge and then right up into Whitehall where the location of their meeting with Major Gerald Cotton of the British Army was due to take place at the Ministry of Defence. ‘Look at big Ben! I’ve only ever seen these places on the telly and in books before. To stand right up close is just breathtaking’.
‘I wish we had time to show you more’ said Jeff. ‘I like London and I’d get a kick out of it too’.
‘I think you showed me enough of what the whole of Britain can offer last night and not just London’ Collette purred. Oh boy she’d got it bad. Jeff was a good lover who hadn’t let her down in any way and what’s more she really liked him. They got on so well. It was as if they’d been heading towards this for years. She’d never got on so well so quickly with a man before. Why did he have to live on the other side of the fucking world? She was already dreading the day when she had to say goodbye and catch the flight home. She hated all that putting on false smiles goodbye stuff.
‘Yes’ said Jeff who’d already spoken to his son Toby back home that morning and seen to it that he was okay. He’d had a great night out with his Uncle Lewis and Uncle Seamus and couldn’t wait to tell his Daddy all about it when he got home. Jeff had lost some of the guilt he’d felt at spending the night away from his son. It didn’t feel quite as sharp as it had done yesterday. ‘It was pretty awesome Detective Constable Ryan’.
‘We were meant to come together at this point in our lives for some reason, Jeff’.
‘Yeah, I feel that too’ Jeff agreed. Last night he’d taken her to an Italian restaurant he knew on Old Compton Street called D’Amalfi’. It was right in the middle of the gay part of London but Jeff had never felt uncomfortable there. And it was close enough to Leicester Square and Piccadilly Circus for him to give Collette a very quick whistle stop tour of those areas along with Shaftesbury Avenue and theatre land. The whole evening, let alone the night under the duvet that came later, made Jeff realise just how bloody good Collette was making him feel. He hadn’t seen this coming but he was excited about life again.
‘I don’t know why though’ Collette went on. ‘Considering we don’t exactly live at the end of the road from each other’.
‘Well let’s not think about any of that just now’ said Jeff. ‘We’ve still got a while yet before you’ll have to go back home. Let’s just enjoy ourselves’.
‘Wise words’.
‘Well they’re not from me’ said Jeff, laughing. ‘They’re from my brother Lewis. Every straight man should have a gay brother. They’re worth their weight in gold sometimes’.
‘You’ve told him all about me then?’
‘I tell Lewis absolutely everything’ said Jeff. ‘I told you before we’re very close’.
‘I’ll have to get on to Skype and tell my friends back in Melbourne about you’.
‘Yeah’ said Jeff who smiled and then clipped the end of her nose with his fingertip. They held each other close face to face. ‘You do that’.
‘I think I will’.
‘I think you should’ said Jeff who then exchanged several kisses with Collette before remembering that they were actually there on official police business. ‘More of this will have to wait though I’m afraid, Detective Constable Ryan’.
Collette smiled. ‘Well don’t worry Detective Superintendent Barton. I’ll keep it moist for you’.
Walking into the Ministry of Defence was another milestone that presented itself to Collette like some kind of weird history lesson. She was Australian and she was damn proud to be Australian and she certainly didn’t feel like she somehow had to be subservient to the supposed mother ship. But this was a place of great historical decision making that had made an undeniable impact on her country. This was where the planning for winning the war against fascism in World War Two took place. This was where the interests of Australia were dealt with in the context of the Commonwealth and the threat of a Japanese invasion. This was where Australia meant something in the context of international planning when it came to war and she had this curious feeling of stepping into a part of her own nation’s history.
They had to go through full on airport style security before entering the building and then at reception they were given temporary ID badges to wear on chains around their necks. The woman behind the desk who talked at them and raised her voice if either of them tried to speak said that they must be ‘visible at all times and surrendered immediately before leaving the premises’. She then told them to take the lift to the second floor where ‘meeting room 9’ was on the left hand side halfway down the corridor and ‘please help yourselves to the light refreshments that will be available in the room’. Duly instructed they went on their way.
It was barely before seven in the morning and yet Collette noted there were a lot of people about getting down to the day’s work. This was a pretty serious place. She and Jeff made their way up to meeting room 9 and, as instructed, helped themselves to coffee from the pot on the table. It was welcome. They’d made themselves one each in the hotel room but they hadn’t had time to finish them.
‘I wonder what this Major guy has got to tell us’ said Collette as she sipped her coffee.
‘Well we’ve come all the way down here so I hope he’s going to make it worth our while’ said Jeff.
‘I thought we’d already done that’.
Jeff winked at her. ‘Too right’.
Major Gerald Cotton came into the room and introduced himself. Collette looked him up and down and assessed him quickly. He was well over six foot and was one of those gangly type of tall, thin men with absolutely no sign of a beer belly and the kind of short cropped hair that would immediately identify him as military personnel if you saw him in any kind of outside context. He seemed friendly, if a little distant, shaking hands with them both in a crisp almost functional style leading Collette to believe that he was the kind of upright, military officer sort who wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye when talking about personal stuff. But if the talk turned to guns and battlefield strategies he’d probably maintain eye contact with such intensity that you would start to feel somewhat uncomfortable. She might be wrong. She would concede that she did have a tendency to prejudge somewhat and that wasn’t always useful in a police officer.
‘I’m so sorry I had to get you here so early’ said Cotton.
‘Oh we’re early risers’ said Jeff who then couldn’t help but let the images of last night with Collette flash through his mind. ‘So don�
�t worry about that’.
‘I can’t even get up to my house before I leave for Brussels’ Cotton went on. ‘My wife and my parents are going there today’.
‘Well they won’t be able to see much’ Jeff warned. ‘It is still a crime scene’.
‘Yes, I thought it would be’ said Cotton. ‘But you see, my parents live in Lancaster and my wife is going to stay with them until they can get back into the house. I dropped her off at Euston station on my way in’.
‘It must have come as quite a shock to find out what had happened?’ said Collette who then looked for any reaction from the Army Major that might give away any trace of complicity with what had gone on. She didn’t see any. She hadn’t made her mind up about him yet. He could be upfront or he could be a born liar. Her jury was out for the moment.
‘You’re not kidding’ said Cotton, shaking his head. ‘It was a profound shock I can tell you. Someone I know well, or at least I thought I knew well, has murdered someone in my house. You could say that’s rather hard to take in’.
‘We understand, Major Cotton’ said Jeff. ‘But you talk about your best friend? So can you confirm that he is the man we know as Chris O’Neill and can you then tell us his real identity?’ He shifted a picture of O’Neill across the table at Cotton just to confirm that they were talking about the same man.
‘Yes, his name is David Carson’.
Carson? Jeff immediately made the connection with the name of the lover of Patricia O’Connell. This could be about to get very interesting indeed.
‘How long have you known him?’ Jeff asked.
‘About fifteen years’ said Cotton. He cleared his throat. ‘We met when we were starting off as young officers and since then we’ve climbed the ranks together’.
‘So he’s a Major too?’
‘Yes, he is’.
‘The name of Carson is significant to us’ said Jeff. ‘Do you know why?’
‘I imagine it’s because David’s father James was the special branch officer who had an affair with the IRA double agent Patricia O’Connell back in Belfast in the early seventies?’