Кен Бруен - The Magdalen Martyrs

I could hear music coming from Busker Brown’s. This pub includes part of the “Slate Nunnery”, a building presented to the Dominican nuns in 1686 by John Kirwan. It was to become the first convent of the Presentation nuns.

I didn’t know what put all that in my head. The only history I obsess with is my own.

Maybe I thought I could use it to erase the present.

Some chance.

I did know I badly needed to talk to someone. Found a phone kiosk that hadn’t been vandalised and rang Nestor’s. Jeff answered. I said,

“It’s Jack, are you busy now?”

“No.”

“Could we meet somewhere?”

“Sure.”

We met in a coffee shop on Quay Street. He said,

“I never get down this side of town.”

“This is where it all happens.”

“That’s why I don’t get down here.”

He looked like a biker. Beat-up Harley jacket, Jethro Tull sweatshirt, black cords and heavy boots. I said,

“That’s retro.”

He gave an easy smile, said,

“I was going to take the Soft Tail out to Clifden, just open her up, feel the surge.”

Clifden had very bad memories for me. Before they could grip, Jeff asked,

“What’s on your mind? You don’t look so good.”

I took a breath, said,

“Recently, two people I met, a priest and... a drinker... Well, I don’t know how to put this, but they seem not to have been real.”

He didn’t appear fazed, thought about it, asked,

“Tell me about them.”

“How do you mean?”

“The kind of people they were, what you felt about them.”

So I described the meeting with Fr Tom and then the encounter with Danny. If he was surprised by my night in jail, he was keeping it under wraps. He said,

“Let me see if I got this right. You were comfortable, could talk easily with them.”

“Yes.”

Then he gave me a studied look, said,

“At a guess, you’re doing ‘hides, beauties, some other heavy downers and still pouring the booze in. Am I right?”

I felt exposed, vulnerable, and couldn’t find an answer. He said,

“Jack, I was in a band, remember? I’ve done all the trips and I sure recognise the signs.”

“You think I’m losing it?”

“I think it’s predicable that usage like yours brings some vivid hallucinations.”

“I’m tripping out?”

“It’s interesting that those people didn’t threaten or condemn you. In a perverse way, they’re like manifestations of your personality.”

“I’m fucked.”

“Jack, pay attention. You’re under some heavy stress, and your unconscious provided friends you could relate to.”

“What am I going to do?”

“Get off the drugs.”

“Jesus.”

We sat in silence for a time, then he asked,

“What’s going to happen with your assault charge?”

“I’ve got a lawyer.”

He smiled, said,

“Sounds like you’re going to need one.”

I gave him the background as to why I’d hit the guy, let him digest it, then asked,

“If you’d been me, Jeff, would you have done any different?”

“I don’t know, Jack. I’d like to think I’d have intervened, but I’d probably have walked by.”

The cafe was beginning to fill up, so we headed out. Walked towards Shop Street. I said,

“I appreciate you taking the time, Jeff.”

“I’m your friend, you should call me more often.”

Back at the hotel, I sat on my bed and wondered if I should just head for London. Toyed with that but couldn’t get it to fly. Laid the guns in the bed, thought,

“I’m armed to the teeth.”

I knew I should ditch the Browning. When the body of Neville was found, they’d have the bullet. How hard was it going to be to tell the type of weapon it came from? If they ever got the gun, it would be game, set and match.

I decided to hold on to it. I held the envelope with Michael Neville’s name and address and wondered why I’d taken that, more incriminating evidence. I put it with the gun and stashed them.

It was three days before they found the body. At first the reports said only that a man had been found dead in a city centre apartment. Then later, that the police were treating it as suspicious.

Bullet holes do that.

Finally, a full-scale murder inquiry was launched. The guards were said to be following a definite line of inquiry. A spokesman said,

“We will not allow drug trafficking to escalate in the city.”

I could breathe, if not easily, at least without constriction.

My barrister summoned me.

His offices were on Mainguard Street. Up two flights of stairs, past a receptionist and into his den. His certificates were framed along the wall. We both admired them for a moment, then he said,

“Right, Mr Taylor, I have some encouraging news.”

“Great.”

“It’s possible the case will be dropped.”

“Why?”

“The... victim ... not that we’d ever use such a term outside this office... am I right?”

I had no argument there, said,

“You won’t hear me calling him a victim.”

“Capital, that’s the ticket. You’ve just learnt a whole chunk about the law.”

He was wearing a suit that quietly proclaimed,

“I’m a winner

You... most definitely

Are not.”

He flicked through some pages, said,

“Now, the guards may press ahead on the criminal damages.”

“Oh.”

He waved a hand in dismissal.

“They’re just making noise, letting us know they’re on the job. If you’re willing to pay compensation, I can make it go away.”

He paused, adopted a sterner tone, said,

“You are willing to do that?”

“Of course.”

“Good man. I’ll get that attended to right away. Looks better if you’ve paid before the case gets called. Shows you’re contrite... and you are... aren’t you, Mr Taylor?”

“Completely.”

“Okey-dokey, that covers it. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have further information. My nose tells me you won’t have to even appear in court.”

“That’s amazing.”

He leaned back in his swivel chair, said,

“No, it’s expediency.”

“What about your fees?”

“None of your concern you’ll be happy to hear.”

“Why?”

“Let’s say I’m glad to be in a position to accommodate Kirsten.”

We both were aware of his use of her first name. I let that linger, then said,

“Thank you.”

“Mr Taylor?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t depend on expediency in the future. It’s not ongoing.”

I’d reached the door when he added,

“You wouldn’t want to fall foul of the people who’ve helped you.”

“Gee, that sounds a lot like a threat.”

He raised his eyebrows, exclaimed,

“I’m in the legal profession. I don’t make threats.”

“You’re kidding. You never do anything else. The only difference is you have certificates for it.”

I’d cut down on the pills. Instead of the usual two for break-fast, I held out till noon and took one. Called it maintenance. Cold turkey was the last thing I could face. I headed back for the hotel, wondering why I didn’t feel relieved at the solicitor’s news. It looked like I wasn’t going to jail, but I knew I wasn’t off the hook. Somebody was going to expect payback.

In the lobby, Mrs Bailey said,

“There’s a young man to see you.”

“Oh.”

“He’s waiting in the lounge.”

“Right.”

“Mr Taylor, he seems a very angry young man.”

“Aren’t they all?”

It was Terry Boyle. In an expensive suit, not unlike the solicitor’s; definitely in the same price range, a level that remained for-ever beyond me. He was, as they say, spitting iron. I said,