by Rita Harling
On one occasion, Brian told me that he was bringing Joey with him on a job. He was planning to steal a cherry picker from a premises on the North Road. When I went mad and told him not to do it, Brian pushed me and backed me into a corner between the bathroom and the attic stairs. With one hand he lifted me and slid me up the wall by the throat as I struggled for air. Joey tried to help and begged Brian to stop. With just one punch Brian sent Joey flying across the hallway. When Brain eventually relented, both Joey and I were crying. He was just a kid. I sat on the bed with Joey and tried to comfort him. I cradled him, as he sobbed like a baby. It didn’t seem to bother Brian that Joey had not only witnessed my attack, but had suffered as a result. There were many times that Joey and I stood up for each another. There were many times that we found ourselves pacifying Brian and agreeing with him when we feared that he was getting angry. We both knew what Brian was capable of. We both knew how important it was to try to prevent him going off on one.
After that attack, Brian didn’t stop and continued to use Joey to help with his activities. I remember he set out late one night with Joey. It was a dark, dark night and it was pouring down. I had no idea where they were going. A few hours later they arrived home with a boat hitched up to the tow bar on the back of Brian’s van. It just proved that nothing was safe. It wasn’t an expensive boat; it looked more like one of those tug boats that you see in the movies guiding the larger ships into harbour. That week, Brian and Joey set about painting the boat to disguise it. Brian then had the boat moored in Drogheda. He used it occasionally to sail off Clogherhead in County Louth.
I was growing more anxious as I witnessed young Joey’s participation in Brian’s criminal activity. In a way I think that Joey was enjoying the excitement and the element of danger. In the beginning I think it seemed like fun to him. But I was also sure that Brian bullied him along the way, and, because Joey was so young, he probably would have been afraid to say no to him. I remember having a few arguments with Brian about Joey and I remember demanding that Joey return to his family home. I was becoming more aware of the activities that Brian was involving himself and Joey in. On one occassion they had tried to steal from a garage somewhere on the North Road. The garage was closed up for the night and the owners had left. Brian opened a window to the rear of the garage. Because Joey was relatively small, Brian got him to climb inside and scour the garage for money or anything else of value. I believe that the owner returned and the two had to make a run for it.
Brian was getting Joey into a lot of sticky situations. Joey had seen Brian as a father figure in the beginning, but they had become friends and partners in crime. Joey couldn’t see how Brian was manipulating him or how the petty crimes they committed would escalate.
Brian was also getting deeper into things that I was not fully aware of. He had become involved with two brothers who were known to the gardaí and who were classified as being career criminals. The two had been at the house on several occasions, and I knew that Brian was involved in some way with them. I was losing track of all the comings and goings at the cottage. There was more and more activity at the house, and there was a constant flow of stolen property being shifted in and out of the shed.
One evening a white truck similar to Brian’s reversed into the garden. I automatically thought that it was Brian and went back to watching the television. I could hear several voices outside in the yard and went to the kitchen window to see what all the commotion was. I could see Brian and a group of guys offloading pallets of bottles of whiskey and brandy onto the forecourt. Some of them fell and smashed. I could hear them all laugh. I put the outside light on to have a better look and Brian quickly signalled for me to turn it off. I had seen enough.
A few minutes later, I saw flashing blue lights and then heard more glass smashing. I went to the window and saw garda cars on the road. People scattered everywhere. I heard a bang on the kitchen door. It was a young garda beckoning me to open the door. When I opened the door, he asked if anyone had come through the house. No one had. but he searched anyway.
A while later four detectives came into the kitchen. They questioned me for a long time. I thought, if only they had been quicker to respond when I was being beaten in the past. They fired questions at me from every angle; questions that I couldn’t answer. They stayed for a few hours and waited to see if Brian would come home. He didn’t.
One of the detectives pointed out the significance of the length of time that I had lived at Mitchelstown Cottage. He told me that I was Brian’s common-law wife and was entitled to half the property as I had lived there for over four years, but that also made me responsible for half the blame for the theft of the stolen goods on the forecourt. I was terrified. I had never had any dealings with the gardaí before, other than meeting Brian’s garda friend, who was a detective. They continued to question me until one of them got a phone call from another garda, who appeared to tell them to lay off me. One of the detectives said that he had been told to go easy on me as I was from a different background than the suspects.
The detectives and patrol cars left. I could see blue and white forensic tape in the garden. There was still no sign of Brian. I heard nothing more about that botched robbery either from Brian or the gardaí.
Brian continued stealing. He and his friends had purchased a scanning device that enabled them to tune in to the garda radio transmissions. When he was heading out on one of his missions, he would plug it into the socket in the kitchen and turn the volume up. He would leave it on the kitchen worktop, tell me to listen to it carefully and to call him on his mobile if anything came across the airwaves. When he had left the house I would turn the volume down. Leaving it in its position on the worktop, I would go and watch the television. Young Joey used to think that was hilarious. We often joked about Brian getting caught; we often prayed that he would be. Then, when we heard anyone come into the drive, we would make a dash for the kitchen. I would turn the volume back up, and both of us would take our seats at the kitchen table.
A month or so passed and Brian really had me in fear for my life because he was becoming more volatile. We were heading into Finglas one day, I can’t remember what for exactly, probably for grocery shopping, when an argument erupted in the car. The kids were sitting in the back. They were scared and crying. Then Brian grabbed my hair and slammed my head into the dashboard a number of times. I tried to fend him off but he was too strong. My forehead hit the dash hard. I was lucky that he didn’t break my nose. I recall another motorist’s female passenger pointing in my direction as they travelled in the opposite direction towards Meath. I didn’t cry. I wouldn’t let him see how much pain I was in. Instead I leaned back over the seat and tried to calm the kids. I remember looking at Brian as he continued with the journey. I felt repulsed by him.
As time went on Brian was getting increasingly out of control. I remember one winter’s evening it was pitch dark outside and lashing rain. I was at home with the kids and Joey when Brian came through the door like a madman. He started rummaging through the kitchen drawers and was muttering and ranting on about something or other. I had no idea what he was talking about. He handed Joey and me flashlights and he ordered us out into the dark rainy night. He marched us across the road and into the field on the other side. Both of us looked at each other curiously, not knowing what was happening. Brian then pushed me and shouted at us to to search the ditch. He told us to look for a plastic bag. It was freezing and raining heavily, and it was very hard to see. Brian pushed me further on along the ditch, ordering me to look closer. I told him that he was wasting his time and he became angry again. We both gave up our search, and I told Brian that I was heading back into the house to the kids. He was furious as we started to make our way out of the field. He continued with the search himself but came back into the house a few minutes later. He made a call on his mobile.
‘It’s not fucking there. I’ve fucking looked,’ Brian growled at whoever it was on the other end of the line. ‘There’s
eight in it. Eight. It’s fucking gone!’ Brian was frantic.
We were drying ourselves off with towels in the bathroom and I eavesdropped on the conversation. It became obvious that he was talking about hash; either he had left it in the field or it had been dropped there. All I knew was that Brian was now furious and I worried that I would have to bear the brunt of his fury. However, not long after that a car pulled into the drive and Brian left the house.
Brian thought that he was invincible. You could see that he craved power and notoriety. He admired notorious gangsters like Martin Cahill. He also lovedThe Sopranos and would never miss an episode. I think that Brian thought he was the Tony Soprano of Finglas — when really he was a weak little man who got off on other people’s misery. He always groomed himself well. He always wore the best clothes, and boasted about his Louis Copeland or Remus Uomo shirts and suits. His body may have been clean but his mind was repulsive, sick and rotten to the core.
Joey remained living with us and brian continued to bring him out on runs with him. I was really worried for Joey. His mam visited the house once while Brian was out. I told her that Brian was beating me, in the hope that she would take Joey out of our house, out of the violent situation. Joey had witnessed domestic violence in the past. He had witnessed his own poor mam being beaten by a violent man. I thought that she would maybe see past Brian’s charming exterior. He was a fake. She thought that Brian was helping her son, when really the only one Brian was helping was himself. But I don’t think she understood just how serious the situation was.
On the odd occasion that Brian and I did go out, Joey would sometimes babysit. On a couple of occasions, we went to the Harbour Bar in Balbriggin. Brian had made a few friends there and I enjoyed playing in the pool competitions. We never really could go out and say that we genuinely enjoyed ourselves. There was always a situation at the end of the night. I just went for some peace, though I rarely got it.
On one occasion an argument erupted in the car on the way home. Brian drove the car up a dirt track off the main road that led into Balbriggan. The surface of the dirt track was uneven and the car bounced as he sped along it. He brought the car to a screeching stop. He got out of the car and came around to the passenger’s side. He opened the door and dragged me out. He walked further on into what seemed like a field, dragging me behind him. It was so dark that I couldn’t keep my footing, and fell. He continued to drag me along the ground. Then he stopped and placed his hand under my throat. I was terrified for my life. It was pitch black and I thought there was no point in screaming for help. He took a penknife from his pocket, held it to my throat and told me that he was going to kill me. I told him to do it and put me out of my misery. His threats continued until we were disturbed by the voices of courting couples talking nearby. When he heard them, Brian pulled me up off the ground and told me to get in the car. I think I came very close to losing my life that night.
I read in Paul Williams’ book that Joey said Brian had held a penknife to his throat and threatened him because he refused to babysit. I wonder was that the same night and was that the same penknife.
It was coming up to 2001. The Millennium year had passed and a new year was beginning. It would be a year of change for me. I was stronger and I was angry. I was angry with myself for not getting out of this madness sooner. Another year had gone by and I was still in the cottage and still suffering in silence. Joey had left the house, and I was happy that he had got out. I spoke to him a couple of times on the phone, and he had told me that he was doing well and that he had a job. I was delighted for him. I strongly advised him to stay away from Brian and he promised me that he would.
By 2001 I had had enough of Brian. We were not sharing the same bed and the sight of him disgusted me. I knew that it would not be long before I followed in Joey’s footsteps and made my escape. But I had to have a plan.
In May 2001 I began a full-time college course in Coláiste Íde in Finglas. It was a certificate in computer maintenance and upgrading. Personal development was one of the modules. I had enrolled Conor in pre-school, which allowed me to take the course. My sister Mary started the course with me. She was very supportive. I think it was her way of keeping an eye on me. If I did not show up for class one day, she would immediately know that something was wrong at the house.
I enjoyed my time on the course. I made good friends and I felt that I had accomplished a lot and come a long way. I was proud of myself and as a result I was becoming a stronger person. Brian would mock and jeer when I sat and studied in the kitchen. I suspected that he would sabotage my studies, but he didn’t. He knew I was getting stronger and that I had my sister beside me.
I remember cooking dinner one day around this time. I was getting a lot of verbal abuse from Brian and I thought to myself, any minute now ...
I waited for the attack. I was still chopping the onions for dinner when he lunged for me. I swung around and held the carving knife to him, begging him to Taring it on’. I could see the shock in his face. Then he just laughed and backed off. I continued making dinner, but something had changed inside me.
Brian’s involvement in criminal activity continued throughout this time. The shed was always crammed full of stolen property. Now it was filled with stolen cars too. One evening, while I sat studying in the kitchen, I could see Brian and his mates playing music, drinking and snorting cocaine in the shed. This had become a familiar weekend occurrence for Brian. I think he was enjoying his new lifestyle. There I was studying away while he was up to no good hanging out with his dodgy friends in the shed. He was like a big teenager — a violent teenager. I was growing increasingly afraid. I didn’t like the company he was keeping, but most importantly, I hated being in his company. I didn’t want anything to do with him.
It was clear that Brian was interested in a new kind of criminal activity. I often heard the names Shane Coates and Stephen Suggs mentioned, and I knew that the two were known to the gardaí for drug trafficking. It was a well-known fact on the Northside that these two were trouble. I also heard Mario Hyland being mentioned on one occasion. (All three of these men have since been murdered by gunshot.) They were all in some way knitted in to the same drug gang. I am unsure as to what exactly Brian’s connection to them was.
At that time, drugs were readily available to me if I wanted them. It would be stupid and dishonest of me to say that I didn’t try them. I was curious and they were there in abundance. Though I was getting stronger and was starting to get my life back on track, I was still not in a good place. Then there was the peer pressure, and the desperation that I felt also pushed me to try them. But I never really understood what exactly it was that they were supposed to do for me.
Cocaine was their drug of choice. After experimenting on few occasions, it totally lost its appeal for me. Thankfully I did not go down that road. I would have wiped away my future and my children’s futures if I had. That’s a scary thought. I had battled for my life after the birth of Conor and I was not about to give in and succumb to a life of drug addiction. I had my focus set firmly on the future and I knew what direction I wanted my life to take.
During that time I could see Brian’s involvement with criminals increasing. He was getting into much bigger deals with harder criminals. His ego was getting bigger. Though Brian was a cold person and totally insensitive to all around him, he was enjoying the fact that his popularity with these people was increasing. I think it made him feel more powerful.
One morning I had bathed Conor and had gone to get a large bath sheet from the press over the drier in the kitchen. Conor was running around the kitchen naked and Robyn was sitting at the dining table having breakfast. When I pulled the towel down from the shelf, I could feel that it was unusually heavy. I let it go. As it fell to the ground it revealed an object that was black and brown in colour. When I opened the towel up I saw that it was a sawn-off shotgun. My heart sank. Robyn watched in disbelief. I was completely stunned. I wondered if it was loaded and was nervous pick
ing it up. I ushered Robyn and Conor into another room. If it was loaded, it could have gone off and injured or killed one of us. I quickly wrapped the gun back up in the towel, and placed it back in the press in the exact position I found it in. I told Robyn not to say that she had seen it if Brian came home. I was relieved that Conor had not seen it. I would have to get rid of it, but how? Everything went through my head. I feared for my safety and the safety of my kids. I was afraid that Brian would use it on me if he got high enough and angry enough.
What was I going to do? I was so angry that Brian had brought a dangerous weapon into our home. It just showed me how deep his involvement in crime had become. I thought then that he really was capable of anything. If he’d threatened me with a knife, what was to stop him threatening me with a sawn-off shotgun? Then I remembered the detective that Brian had been in touch with. I had his phone number stored in my mobile. Brian had given it to me before, and asked me to call him and let him know which garda station he was being held in when he was in trouble.
I called the detective and I told him that I had found a sawn-off shotgun in my home and I wanted it removed. I didn’t care how he got rid of it. I wanted it gone. He told me to calm down and then said that he would call Brian. He said he would tell him that the house was going to be raided and he would advise Brian to remove anything he had that should not be there.
About ten minutes later Brian arrived back to the house. He rushed in through the back door and immediately ran to the press and removed the gun, before making a quick exit. I sighed with relief. To this day I don’t think Brian knew about my phone call. He never mentioned it. If it had been true that the house was in fact about to be raided, Brian did nothing alert me or the kids. He just left us there like sitting ducks.