Do or Die

by Rita Harling

  Karl got my car keys from the office and followed the ambulance to the hospital. I called Mam from the hospital, and told her were I was, just in case she was worried when I didn’t arrive home on time. The doctors did all of the necessary checks, and a few hours later returned with their diagnosis. They were not sure what was wrong with me. They thought that I possibly had an infection in my trachea. I was given a prescription and sent home. I drove Karl home and then I made my way to my mam’s house. When I got to Mam’s, she told me that Brian hadn’t come to collect Conor. I thought that was odd as I had told Brian that Conor was in Mam’s. I went home and changed out of my uniform. I made some supper and unwound as I watched TV.

  A few minutes after midnight my phone rang. I was just about to go to bed. I could see from the caller ID that it was Brian and I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want him going off on one abusing me. It was late and he was the last person I wanted to talk to, so I let it ring out. It rang again another three times, until I gave in and answered it.

  Brian’s voice was calm and quiet — I was surprised. I listened to what he had to say. He was suspiciously apologetic. He said that he was sorry for everything that he had done to me. He spoke to me for about twenty minutes and told me that he couldn’t collect Conor that day, as his dad had been taken very ill. He said that Billy had been taken into hospital and that he had gone with him. I told him that I’d also been taken to hospital, to Beaumont, because I had been sick at work. Brian asked if he could collect Conor the next day, Sunday, and I agreed. He ended the call by asking me to meet him for a drink sometime. I had no intention of doing that but I agreed so that the call would end. I was left puzzled. The week before he was furious with me, and then this week he was being apologetic. I could never tell which way he was going to be.

  A week earlier Brian had arrived at my doorstep on a motorbike on two occasions, dressed in black leathers. One of these times he had Amanda Joyce’s child with him. He hurled abuse at me and threatened me. He was not due to collect Conor and I wouldn’t allow him to take my son on the motorbike. I told him it was far too dangerous. Brian was furious when he left. Later that day, he came back again and threatened to shoot me on the doorstep. I took his threat with a pinch of salt.

  When I got up the next morning I was feeling fine but I decided to take the day off work. I took the prescription from my dresser and went to the pharmacist to get my tablets. The doctor had prescribed two types of tablets; one was an antibiotic and the other was a painkiller. I already had the painkillers at home, so I just got the antibiotics. The pharmacist handed me back the prescription for the remaining tablets, should I need them at a later time. I slid the prescription into one of the pockets in my purse and went home.

  Later that day Brian arrived to pick up Conor. I could not see any sign of a motorbike, so I let Conor go out to him. I hated letting Conor go with him; I was so worried about him. Brian stood at the door speaking to me, only this time he was calm and friendly. This cool, calm and collected behaviour made me wonder why he was suddenly being civil to me. I knew that Brian was up to something. I knew this was just an act; nothing had changed between us. I still hated him. There had to be a reason but I didn’t know what it was.

  In May 2004 I was studying hard with Servisair. Even though I had been offered the job with with Servisair, I still had to sit an exam. The exams would take place in Clontarf Castle. I had to score no less than 86 per cent in each exam. It was tough going. I was having fun though and I was enjoying working there. I was also excited about my new position as a passenger service agent.

  I was over the moon when I passed all of my exams. I felt that things were looking up for me. I had a lot of fun with the girls that I trained with, but none of them knew about the past that I had left behind. Working in the airline industry and dealing with Customs and border controls was not an ideal place to announce that you had been connected to a major drug dealer and criminal. That was something that I would have to keep to myself if I wanted to get on. It was hard trying to avoid certain conversations and lying when I had to. A lot of people that I have met in the past, either working with United Airlines, ICTS (International Corporation for Targeted Security), Servisair or Aer Lingus@Stream would be shocked to know how much I hid from them. I had no choice. I had to protect myself and my job so that I could continue with some dignity and provide for my two wonderful children.

  I still do not know how I have remained so strong. There were a couple of friends I made over the years who I was able to open up to about what had happened to me in the past. These were people that I had grown to trust and it felt right at the time to tell them. Although they could sympathise with me and understand to a certain extent, I could never tell them everything. I was afraid of saying too much and frightening them away. I was trying to rebuild my life, not knock it down again. I also didn’t want to relive everything that had happened; some of it I simply wanted to forget about completely.

  I could always have a laugh at work and I was able to forget about any worries. There is one funny moment that I will never forget. It happened at the safety training while we were doing our exams for Servisair in Clontarf Castle. Our supervisor, Kevin, had decided that we would share the class with some of the newly hired baggage handlers. All the girls were laughing and joking because we were going to have some male company. It was hysterical. Kevin arranged the desks so that they formed a square, and everybody took their seats while he remained in the centre so that he could demonstrate some safety techniques. Because we would be dealing with passengers and large amounts of luggage, he showed us the correct way of lifting a heavy item: back straight, knees bent, arms straight and lower yourself down to the item on the floor. Then we all had to demonstrate the correct way to lift an object from the floor and Kevin corrected us if we did it wrong.

  There were about twelve of us in the room, eight women and four guys. Everyone else took their turn, and then it came to me. I jumped up and went to the centre of the square and proceeded to demonstrate the position. But just as I lowered myself towards the floor there was an unmerciful rip. The back of my trousers had burst open and everyone could see. I went into a state of hysteria and so did the rest of the class, although my friend Bernie was crying — I mean really crying: she was mortified for me. I, however, was completely entertained by the rip in my six-euro trousers from Penney’s. I wore my jacket tied around my waist for the rest of the day. The guys got a great laugh out of that. The following morning I took my seat at my desk only to find that they had changed my nameplate. It now read: Rita ‘The Ripper’ Harling I laughed and it stayed on my desk until the training was over and we were qualified. However, my laughing was about to be brought to a sudden halt.

  I had spent the morning with my colleagues at Clontarf Castle; we were wrapping up our studies and preparing to take up our new positions the following week. We were all in good spirits and were busy organising a night out together to celebrate. When all of our desks were cleared and we had said our goodbyes for the time being, I headed home to mam’s house to collect the kids

  I was driving home past DCU on Collins Avenue when my mobile phone rang, so I pulled to the kerb and answered it. It was a detective garda. He told me that he and a colleague were at my mam’s house. My immediate reaction was one of panic. I asked him if my mam and the kids were OK. I knew it was something to do with Brian Kenny; it had to be. There was no other reason why the gardaí would want to speak to me. The thought went through my head that Brian had done something terrible to my mam or that he had abducted Conor. I was panicking. I asked him if it was about Brian Kenny, and he said yes. I told him that I didn’t want to speak to them in front of my mam, as I didn’t want her to worry. I also didn’t want either Conor or Robyn overhearing what they had to say. I told them that I was on my way along Collins Avenue and I would meet them in Finglas garda station. He agreed to that and left Mam’s house.

  I met them in the garda station and was quickly brough
t into a small interview room where I sat facing them. I was nervous. They started the interview with a stern approach. They asked me where I was on 17 April. My mind was blank. I just could not remember. I had so much information stored in my head from all of my training and exams. They continued questioning me, so much so that my head felt that it was going to explode. We were nearly two hours into the interview when I pleaded with them to tell me why I was being held for so long I had not committed any crime and I was feeling the pressure from the barrage of questions. They eventually told me that Brian was being questioned in relation to firearms. I told them that I had nothing to do with any of that and had no knowledge of any firearms. I no longer had any communication with Brian Kenny other than in relation to our son. It was very uncomfortable sitting there for so long. They offered me some coffee and let me out the side door so that I could have a cigarette. I was drained. I begged them to let me go home to the kids, but they continued with the questioning.

  ‘Rita, you must know where you were on 17 April. Try to think back,’ they insisted.

  ‘I honestly can’t remember. I know that 17 April is my niece’s birthday, but I cannot recall where I was. Please let me go home and I will look at my work roster. My head is so full of exams that I can’t think straight, and I’m tired.’

  Three hours passed before they agreed to let me go. I left the station and headed to mam’s to collect the kids. Mam was concerned but I told her not to worry.

  When I got home I ran upstairs and searched for my work roster. I quickly scanned through the dates and times, and then the penny dropped: Beaumont Hospital. I ran down the stairs to the phone in the hall and called the gardaí.

  ‘It’s Rita. I remember where I was that day. I was taken to Beaumont Hospital from work with chest pain. I just remembered — I still have the prescription.’

  ‘That’s great. We may need to speak to you again tomorrow. We’ll call,’ the detective said, and thanked me.

  ‘OK, but before you go, has this anything to do with the shooting at Cloverhill Prison?’ I asked.

  Yeah,’ he whispered, and hung up the phone.

  Chapter Eight

  THE TRUTH

  I was confused about Brian’s participation in the shooting at Cloverhill. I didn’t know what role he had played in the gunning down of Jonathan O’Reilly, who was shot by a gun man on a motorbike. I spent the remainder of the evening rummaging through presses in search of old newspapers, looking for an explanation, although there was no doubt in my mind that the gardaí had the right man. I could believe that Brian was the assassin. I remember seeing the RTÉ news report about the shooting and thought about the motorbike that Brian had arrived on when he threatened to kill me at my home. He was wearing a full black leather biking suit, and I was surprised by his sudden interest in motorcycles. But I didn’t make the connection to the murder at the time.

  I wondered why he had gone down the road that he had chosen, but I knew that money, power and notoriety were important to him. He would do whatever it took to satisfied his craving for danger and excitement. He did not fear anything. He thought that he was untouchable. He was a compulsive liar but a lousy actor and it was hard for Brian to keep track of the yarns that he spun.

  Brian was now involved with a violent Clondakin-based drugs gang. He was buying his supplies from them, mostly heroin and cocaine. As his dealing increased, he got more involved with criminal activity. However, there had been some feuding going on within the gang. The Doyle brothers, Paul and Simon, were the lead players in Clondalkin and the surrounding areas. On 22 December 2001 Simon Doyle was shot dead outside the family home in Clondalkin while his brother Paul was still serving time behind bars. The two had served time for attacks involving a cement block and a machete on two separate occasions. Simon was released a few months earlier than his brother Paul. I had never met either of these young men, and I wondered if these were the guys who had spent their weekends with Brian in the shed at the back of the cottage. I was still living in Kilshane when Simon Doyle was murdered on 22 December 2001. I had never heard Brian mention their names and do not recall him telling me about the slaying of one of these young men — mind you, we didn’t speak much about anything back then.

  When Paul Doyle was released from prison he vowed to get revenge for his brother’s murder. The gardaí feared a gangland bloodbath between rival gangs trying to claim each others’ territory. There is no honour amongst thieves, as they say, and there was a shift in the gangs make up. Les Rowan, Thomas Hinchon, Jonathan O’Reilly, Ritchie McCormack and Robbie O’Hanlon were all part of the Doyle gang. Brian Kenny was one of the Doyle gang’s customers. However, the gang was having problems.

  Les Rowan owed a lot of money to Paul Doyle. The amount was estimated to be approximately €44,000. Rowan had continued with the gang’s drug dealing while the two brothers, Simon and Paul, were serving time. The amount that he owed the Doyles had grown. Rowan started looking for a way to get out of his debt. The gang wanted rid of Paul Doyle. They wanted to take control of their patch — the patch that they had secured while the Doyle brothers were serving time. The idea of wiping out Paul Doyle was appealing, especially to Rowan, as he would also be wiping out his debt.

  An attempt was eventually made on Doyle’s life, but he survived, receiving only minor injuries after he was shot by Rowan. Rowan went on the run at a later stage after he was convicted of additional drugs charges. Doyle managed to avoid being eliminated by the gang. However, he was convicted after a raid on his home — €340,000 worth of drugs was seized. It fitted right into the gang’s plans for control of Clondalkin and the surrounding areas. The remainder of the gang began to feud amongst themselves: all battling for leadership.

  Brian had been dealing with this gang for a long time and had become trusted. A close friendship was growing between Hinchon and Brian. Brian blamed the Finglas brothers for the attempt on his life, although he couldn’t prove that they were responsible. Hinchon now thought that Jonathan O’Reilly was trying to take over from him and feared that O’Reilly planned to kill him. Hinchon felt that he would have to get to O’Reilly before O’Reilly got to him. Brian also sought revenge on the Finglas brothers. Brian and Hinchon came up with a plan. It was the perfect ‘I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine’ scenario. Brian would help Hinchon take out O’Reilly and Hinchon would help Brian take out the one of the Finglas brothers.

  Unfortunately for young Joey O’Callaghan, he found himself slap bang in the middle of a murder plot. There’s no way he could have even seen that coming. On 17 April 2002 Hinchon and Brian Kenny masterminded a plan to murder O’Reilly. Hinchon, Kenny and Robbie O’Hanlon concocted a plan to take O’Reilly on a day out. First shopping at Liffey Valley and later a trip to Cloverhill Prison, where Robbie O’Hanlon’s brother was an inmate. O’Hanlon told O’Reilly that he needed to deliver some clothing to his brother. What O’Reilly did not know was that Kenny and Hinchon were waiting on the call from O’Hanlon. O’Hanlon left the car to go into Cloverhill Prison, conveniently parking on the opposite side of the road, leaving O’Reilly exposed as he sat in the front of the car on the passenger’s side.

  David Murray, a friend of O’Reilly’s, had spent the day with O’Reilly and sat in the back of the car. Gordon Kelly, another known drug dealer, was also in the car. Kelly and Murray were unaware of what was about to happen.

  Hinchon drove the bike that day, a Kawasaki 400cc, and Brian fired three shots through the window of the BMW, hitting Jonathan O’Reilly in the chest. After the shooting they sped off on the motorbike.

  Brian Kenny shot Jonathan O’Reilly in cold blood. The thought of it made me sick. This was a person that I had once shared my life with He was the father of my beautiful son. I often think about that day, and how I had suddenly felt sick in Dublin airport. Brian fired three shots that day at Jonathan O’Reilly, and I had three pains in my chest at around the same time that the shooting occurred.

  I later learned that Joey had be
en forced to get rid of the clothing worn by Hinchon and Brian. Joey was told to burn the biker suits they had worn. I’m sure that Joey was terrified. Brian would have threatened him. I know Brian and I know that the only option open to Joey would have been to agree to his demands. Brian put the fear of God in Joey, as he did to me. He would have to do as Brian said or suffer the consequences.

  Thankfully, Joey was brave enough to talk to the gardaí. I admire his mother, too, for taking steps to ensure that her son did the right thing. I believe Brian tried to reach Joey on his mobile phone to pressurise him into returning to the cottage. If Joey had gone back, Brian probably would have held him prisoner. Or maybe Brian had more sinister plans for Joey — he might have been trying to orchestrate Joey’s disappearance, so he could hide his vicious crime.

  One of the detectives who had interviewed me previously visited me at my house on a couple of occasions to question me further, as they wanted to build a solid case against Brian. Brian was trying to build an alibi by claiming that he had been with with Conor that day, which was untrue. I knew where I was that day and I knew exactly were my son was. Jonathan O’Reilly was someone else’s son — I could not condone what Brian had done to him. It was soul destroying to think that someone could do such a thing and carry on, unremorseful.

  The detectives didn’t discuss the case with me; all I knew was that Brian had been involved. They questioned me about my life with Brian. I was as honest as I could be. I guess that they were trying to build a profile of Brian. They needed to know what made him tick and what made him such a complicated person. I could not give them all the answers. All that I could do was tell them about my experience.