This Irish House (12 page)

A single shot rang out followed by a volley of sharp cracks. Horrified, Kevin watched a man in a green uniform fall to the floor. Panicked, he backed away, holding out his arms, eyes closed, pushing the entire ugly scene far away, beyond his reach. He wanted his mother and Deirdre and his grandfather. He wanted away from this place of drugs and death and filth and noise. He was Kevin Nolan of Ardara. What was he doing here?

Neil Anderson, his face expressionless, focused on the boy who sat across from him. The only furniture in the bare room consisted of two wooden chairs and a scarred desk that had seen better days. Two RUC officers manned the door.

Castlereagh Detention Centre, once proclaimed a torture chamber used by the RUC to obtain information from reluctant Catholics, had been ordered closed months before. Neil had never seen Castlereagh in its heyday. He had never been to the North of Ireland before his current assignment and he was very much looking forward to never seeing it again.

“Kevin,” he began in his most reasonable voice, “tell me what you're on.”

“Nothing.”

Neil didn't need a confession. The boy had been caught with a large amount of cocaine, too large for personal consumption. “Who gave it to you?”

“I've done nothing.”

“I'd like to help you, lad, for your mother's sake, but you're making it difficult.”

Kevin deliberately turned away.

Neil took in the boy's flushed cheeks, the twitch in his left eye, the leg that wouldn't stop shaking and the involuntary clenching of his fists and drew his own conclusions. He tried once more. “I know you're not a regular supplier, Kevin. But you were caught with more than an ounce of cocaine in your pocket. A man was killed, a police officer shot. If someone put the goods there for you to take the blame, I'd like to know. There's no sense in your taking the fall for someone who wouldn't give you the time of day.”

Kevin shook his head.

“They've arrested you for distributing. An ounce is too high for personal consumption. Do you understand what I'm telling you, Kevin? This is a serious offense. You could go to prison for up to three years.”

“I don't know anything.”

“That's not a convincing argument.”

“Have you called my mother?”

“A message was left on her machine at home. We've had no answer yet.”

“It's Wednesday. She's here in Belfast on Wednesdays.”

Neil stood. “I'll ring her immediately. Until then, you can stay behind bars for the night and think about answering my questions.”

Kevin looked around. “Here?”

Neil shook his head. “At the station. After that you'll go to prison until your sentencing.” He called out in a voice loud enough to be heard by the policemen at the door. “Take the lad into custody.”

Ignoring the boy's gasp, he walked through the door and out to the car park.

K
ate pulled into the car park at the back of the Ormeau Road Police Barracks, set the brake, pulled down the window shade where her hand mirror was fixed and applied fresh lipstick. Not that Robbie Finnigan deserved new lipstick, but knowing she looked put-together gave her confidence. It was past noon. Lunch was over. The timing was perfect for a thorough inspection.

Stepping out of the rented car, she glanced into the window at her reflection. Tucking the collar of her blouse into place, she buttoned her navy jacket and walked toward the entrance.
Keep
it
professional,
Kate,
she told herself. She rang the bell and listened for the signal allowing her inside.

“Mrs. Nolan.” A young officer behind a desk stood. “May I help you?”

“Tell the chief constable I'm here to see him.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

She smiled sweetly. “I have a standing one.”

He punched three buttons on the phone line. “Mrs. Nolan is here to see you, sir.”

The silence stretched out between them. The young man's face flushed a deep red. Carefully he replaced the phone. “If you'll wait, Mrs. Nolan, Constable Finnigan will be out in a moment.”

“First, I'll have a look around.”

“I'm not sure—”

Kate had never seen anyone quite that shade of scarlet. “Yes?”

“Perhaps the chief constable would rather speak with you first,” the boy managed to say.

Again Kate smiled. “Tell him I insisted on exploring and that you couldn't handcuff me.” She smiled conspiratorially. “It will serve him right to keep me waiting.”

The station appeared a hub of activity. She approached a man at his desk and smiled. “I'd like to interview a new recruit.”

“We haven't any in at present,” he said.

“No one here has been hired in the last three months?”

He shook his head. “No one here has been hired in the last six years.”

Kate's throat closed and a fierce burning sensation traveled to the pit of her stomach. Damn Robbie Finnigan. He'd defied her. More importantly, he'd defied the prime minister of England. Keeping her face expressionless, she pulled a pen and notepad from her handbag. “Tell me your name, please.”

“Garret Wilson,” the man stammered.

“Tell me, Constable Wilson, how many police officers in this division make their homes in West Belfast?”

She could see the Adam's apple bob in his throat. “No one that I know of, Mrs. Nolan.”

Her voice was crisp and clear and very cold. “Let me be sure I understand you. Not one officer, not a single one, lives in West Belfast and hails from a Catholic parish.”

“No,” he whispered.

“Is there anyone in this entire station who would know something that you would not?”

“I don't think so, Mrs. Nolan.”

“I see.” Apparently oblivious to the silent stares of the entire division of the Ormeau Road Royal Ulster Constabulary, Kate flipped her notebook shut, and marched down the hall to knock on the door of Robbie Finnigan's office.

Without waiting for permission, she turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

“Mrs. Nolan.” Constable Finnigan did not stand. “I wasn't expecting you today.”

Kate sat down, her expression cool, her eyes blue ice. “I'm surprised at you, Constable. You knew there would be unscheduled visits.”

“I did.”

“Why then, have I no progress to report on the integration of your police force?”

Robbie Finnigan's mouth twisted into the mockery of a smile. “I've answered that question in my report which I've already forwarded to the first minister. To be blunt, the Nationalist community does not encourage young men and women to join the RUC.”

“I'm very sure the first minister will read your report with great interest, perhaps by next spring. Meanwhile, I've been assigned to take care of the matter. Therefore, I should like my own copy.”

“I shall mail it to you immediately.”

“I'd like it now.”

“It isn't copied.”

“I'll wait.”

Finnigan's fingers formed a pyramid on his desk. “I'm surprised and quite touched that you would show such concern for your position at a time like this, Mrs. Nolan, when personal matters must be weighing on you considerably.”

Kate frowned. “Excuse me?”

“You don't know?”

“Know what?”

“Your son, Kevin, has been taken into custody. The charge is a serious one. Weapons were involved. A man was shot.”

The room tilted and swayed. Kate clutched the edge of the desk for support. “There must be a mistake,” she whispered. “Kevin is at school in Ardara.”

Robbie Finnigan shook his head. “His grandfather's automobile has been impounded.”

Kate forced the darkness back. Swallowing, she wet her lips. “Where is he?”

“The Castlereagh Detention Station.”

She couldn't have heard correctly. “Castlereagh is closed.”

“Special Forces opened it again. The chief is with your son.”

Special
Forces.
Neil
Anderson
was
the
chief
investigator.
The blood drained from her face. She stood. “Mail the document, Constable. I'll be waiting.”

Her hands shook. She could barely manage the keys. Backing out of the car park, Kate pressed the gas pedal and shot straight back into a pole. The metallic crunch of her bumper jerked her back into a semblance of control. Cautiously she shifted and the car moved forward. She breathed a sigh of relief. The body was damaged but the car was still mobile.

Kate's terror intensified with every stoplight. Robbie Finnigan's words echoed in her brain.
A
man
was
shot
and
Kevin
was
involved.
The horror of it threatened to bring on another spell of the dreaded asthma. She tightened her hands on the steering wheel and deliberately willed herself into calmness, maneuvering the car through the familiar streets of Belfast on automatic pilot. Kevin was a child. He couldn't be involved, drugs perhaps, victimless crimes, certainly not violence.

“God help me,” she prayed out loud. “This time, please help me and I promise I'll never ask you for anything else again.”

Neil spotted Kate immediately. He waited for her to park her car in the lot and walk to where she stood.

She came directly to the point, no greeting, no pleasantries, as if their last meeting had never been. “What have you done with my son?”

“I've questioned him. He'll be taken into custody.”

The poise for which she was renowned broke. “He's sixteen years old. You had no business speaking to him without my knowledge. I have a right to be with him at all times.”

“Kevin is an adult in the eyes of the law,” he began, sighed and started again. “This may be difficult for you to believe, but I'd hoped to make it easier on him.”

“You're right. I don't believe you.”

“Kate—”

She froze him with a look.

“Mrs. Nolan.” He stopped and began again. “Kevin is deeply troubled. He's trafficking in drugs. A man is dead, a peace officer shot. Whatever you're doing isn't working. Unless he presents a very convincing argument for why he's carrying more than an ounce of cocaine, he's going before a judge.” His voice gentled. “This isn't unheard of, Kate. A number of young people his age are going through the same thing. Kevin needs a mother who will help him, not one who sticks her head in the sand. Convince Kevin to cooperate with us.”

Waves of color flamed in her cheeks. “Where is my son?”

“He's under arrest. After the paperwork is completed, you'll be able to see him. It will go easier on Kevin if you can persuade him to tell us who is supplying West Belfast.”

“I shall be consulting an attorney.”

Neil shrugged. “I suppose that's the best way, if Kevin has something to hide.”

Kate laughed contemptuously. “You can't possibly believe I'll fall for that one. My husband was a barrister.”

“Your husband was a great deal more than that.” The words burst from his lips, damaging words he should never have said, words he could never take back.

She whitened. Straightening, Kate brushed her hair away from her cheek with a shaking hand. “Yes,” she said, “he was.”

Involuntarily he reached out. “Kate—”

She shrank back. He dropped his hand.

“Where will you take Kevin?”

“For now, he'll be detained at the Antrim Road RUC Barracks. Later, until his sentencing, he'll be in Long Kesh.”

He watched her turn and walk back to her car, a slim, straight figure who just now was functioning on the edge of her nerves. What was it about this woman that touched him so? He wasn't new to his job. Over the last two decades he'd seen hundreds of women, wives, mothers, daughters, all victims, all hanging on by a thread, all experiencing a similar devastation, tied together by a sense of frantic hopelessness, the same blank despair as they watched husbands and sons, brothers and fathers in colored jumpsuits, their hands and feet shackled, climb into armored transports destined for prison terms.

But they weren't like Kate Nolan. She didn't fit the profile. Neither did her son. They weren't uneducated, poor or living on the dole. What made a boy like Kevin with a mother who loved him, a designer home in the Republic and every other advantage a lad could want, go south?

Cursing under his breath, Neil climbed into his car, taking the turn into the traffic lane a bit too quickly. He didn't like this part of his job, especially the part that involved children. This was supposed to be a break for him, a change from the hard-edged, dangerous world of international terrorism. Instead he found himself wishing he were back again, in the world of unshaven men with wicked minds and hair-trigger tempers, men who deserved to be put away for whatever remained of their lives.

The Antrim Road RUC Barracks was a fortress like every other police facility in the Six Counties. One of the recommendations of the Patten Commission was to humanize the police structures, making them citizen friendly by hiring civilians, creating lobbies and friendly waiting areas. That was as far as it had been taken, a recommendation.

Kate pushed the bell. A voice spoke to her through the harsh metal. “State your name, please.”

“Kathleen Nolan.”

“You've been authorized to enter, Mrs. Nolan.”

She pushed open the door and stepped inside. It was cold, bone-chillingly cold. Kate shivered and raised her arms while a policewoman passed a wand down one side of her body and up the other. The woman stepped aside to let her pass.

“I want to see my son,” Kate explained to the man at the desk.

“He isn't allowed visitors, Mrs. Nolan, not until he's brought before the judge.”

She lifted her chin, prepared for battle. “What about an attorney? Surely you can't stop Kevin from seeing an attorney.”

“Of course, as soon as his paperwork is processed.”

Without another word, Kate turned and walked back out the way she came.

Dylan McCarthy was the best barrister that Belfast offered. A Catholic, educated at Trinity and Queen's, he was an expert on juvenile crime. Kate had seen him in action many times during her years as a social worker. Not in her wildest dreams had she imagined needing him personally.

She sat across from him in an office that barely escaped the description of luxurious; leather chairs, wooden bookshelves, plush carpeting. “Are you saying Kevin won't be released today? He'll actually have to stay there again tonight?” She was incredulous.

“He must go through the process, Kate. You know that. I can't do anything until he's charged. That takes time, as much as thirty-six hours.”

Her eyes filled. She kept them wide-open and fixed on his face, attempting to keep the tears from spilling over. It didn't work. Embarrassed, she wiped them away with her hands.

McCarthy pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “It isn't as bad as you think, Kate. This isn't the seventies. We have rights. Kevin has rights. He'll manage.”

She returned the handkerchief. He stuffed it back into his pocket.

“Besides,” the barrister continued, “it might give him something to think about. We haven't addressed the issue of what will happen to Kevin once he's released.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was arrested for narcotics possession. That doesn't go away. He'll have restitution to pay, a work program, counseling, recovery. You won't be able to just take him home to a happy ending. Surely you know that?”

She shrugged. “I hadn't thought that far ahead. Right now I want him away from that place.”

“I recommend staying away from a trial. Kevin is a minor. This is a first offense. If he pleads guilty, he'll be allowed to make restitution under the penal code. A trial is dangerous. One never knows what the outcome will be. Drug issues can be inflammatory.”

“What happens if he gets into trouble again?”

“Let's cross that bridge when we come to it, shall we?”

Kate shook her head. “I don't think so, Dylan. I need to know what Kevin's options are. It could be dangerous for him to plead guilty if his habits don't change.”

“That part will be up to Kevin. You can't fix everything for him, Kate. He has to want to change.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her lids. “I can't believe I'm sitting here. How can this be, Dylan? What's happened to my family?”

Dylan McCarthy reached across the desk and patted her hand. “You aren't alone, Kate. Many young people are troubled, especially here and now, in Belfast. Everything will come around. Some hard lessons will be learned but, in the end, most of our children turn out very much like us. I'm not sure that's a comfort, but it's the best I can do.”