Brian McGilloway - Gallows Lane

I slept uneasily that night. Several times in my dreams I saw McLaughlin as if from above, thrashing at the water beneath him with a log till it turned red and a faceless body floated to the surface.

In the morning I phoned the station and told them I would be late. I took breakfast with Debbie and the kids, and we went and visited my parents. Afterwards, I collected up all the notes and scraps of paper I had gathered about the case in my study at home, and put them in the boot of the squad car I had commandeered. I worked until I had removed every shred of police work from my house.

By mid-afternoon, I’d reached Letterkenny General, bringing Peter with me. He went in to see his mum while I went to Daniel McLaughlin’s room, where Dempsey, Deegan and Meaney were all gathered.

‘What are you doing here?’ Dempsey asked. ‘Your boss seemed to think you’d be off for a while, asked us to take over questioning.’ He looked at the mass on the bed. ‘Not that’s there’s been much conversation, really.’

McLaughlin had yet to regain consciousness. He was connected to several machines beeping in steady rhythm, tubes in his nose and wires attached to his fingers. His chest rose and fell slowly. He was a short man, but made up for it in sheer mass. His shoulder muscles looked swollen, tensed, despite the fact that he was asleep. His arms were thick and toned; the left bearing a large tattoo of Cuchulain, leaning in death against a barren tree, a crow on his shoulder, waiting.

‘Anything?’ I asked, aware of the fact I was whispering slightly.

‘Sent off for toxicology. Took a DNA sample as well. See if it matches with any other sex offences. It’s hard to believe this guy just started recently — we’ll probably trace back a load of stuff on him.’

‘What about the toxicology?’

‘Steroids, apparently. And that breast drug you’ve been chasing down. And various other things, too, including traces of Viagra. A walking medicine cabinet, all things considered. Forensics turned up your date-rape chemical too: GBL? Seems it’s used in industrial solvents, paint remover and the like.’

I nodded. ‘I know.’

‘Well, it’s also used in alloy wheel cleaner. His garage was coming down with the stuff. He’ll be able to claim he needs it for his work, but it’s still something else to tie him to the girls. Plus forensics got a positive match with the fingerprints taken from the condom found near the Doherty girl. We’ve more than enough to wear him down. If the big bastard would ever wake up.’

We talked for a few moments, about Sinead Webb, who had been released, and then how the NBCI team had settled into Donegal (‘fine’), the changes in our relationship with the PSNI (‘promising’), and the quality of breakfast in the B amp;B where they were staying (‘terrible’).

Finally I told them I was heading back to the station. I asked Dempsey to get in touch with me if he heard anything, and promised to do likewise. A uniformed officer would be placed at McLaughlin’s door until he woke.

Dempsey walked down the corridor with me to see Caroline before we left.

‘I thought you and her were, you know, an item,’ he said.

‘Oh no,’ I said, ‘I’m married.’

‘I know,’ he said, smiling. ‘Just initial impressions, maybe. She’s a lovely girl.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I suppose she is.’

We walked in silence for a moment, neither of us really addressing the most important connection between us now.

‘Thank you, by the way. For last night. You saved my skin there, I reckon,’ I said.

‘Forget about it,’ Dempsey said, to cover his embarrassment. ‘That’s what us NBCI boyos do — swoop in and save the yokels!’

‘My hero,’ I joked.

‘You better believe it,’ he replied, winking.

On the way home, I stopped off at the station to get rid of the folders of notes from home. The place was as normal: Burgess still slouching at the front desk, a few uniforms making coffee and chatting at the back fire exit, where the smokers gathered. I don’t know what I had expected in my absence. Whatever it was, it had not happened.

Coming out of the office, I walked almost smack into Harry Patterson. He was dressed in his civvies, clearly only there to see Costello or drop something off.

We both tried to pass one another without speaking, but in the battle of manners which ensued, each moved in the same direction as the other.

‘How’s Caroline?’ Patterson finally asked, giving up on getting past me in silence.

I stared at him, wondering if his question was an implicit expression of guilt, or simple genuine interest.

‘She’s still in hospital,’ I said.

He nodded. ‘I’d heard.’

I moved past him.

‘About your nose,’ he said, nodding slightly at me. ‘I’m sorry.’

I stopped again, though was unable to turn and face him. I heard his steps as he came closer behind me.

‘I’m sorry. Costello told me you didn’t say anything. I just. . you just, you were being a bit of a prick over the whole thing.’

His bluster long gone, I hardly recognized my colleague, nor could I wholly accept the sincerity of his apology.

‘Strange that my car gets sabotaged the same day, though, Harry. Funny coincidence.’

Patterson stepped towards me, a flash of his old personality shining through again. ‘Listen, Devlin,’ he said. ‘Don’t push your luck. I’m sorry for what happened to Caroline, but it had nothing to do with me, so don’t start spreading that shit now.’

I looked him square in the face for a second, then turned and walked away, uncertain what to say that could satisfactorily express the mess of thoughts and emotions I was feeling.

Late that evening, I sat in the back garden having a smoke, watching the sun dip behind the massive cherry tree at the top of my lawn. It was just past ten o’clock and the night would probably not grow properly dark. The sky would remain a charcoal grey right through till morning. Before too long the days would be on the turn, I thought, the air soon sharp with the tannic smell of autumn. But for yet, there was still much summer to enjoy.

I was roused from my thoughts when my mobile phone rang. I did not recognize the caller ID. Nor did I immediately place the voice.

‘Seamus Purdy here, Inspector.’

‘Mr Purdy,’ I said. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘I hear on the radio you’ve arrested someone. For what happened to Rebecca. And the other girl.’

‘Karen Doherty,’ I said.

‘Yes. I hear you’ve arrested someone. I thought you would have phoned me.’ The comment was not accusatory, rather a simple statement.

‘I apologize, sir,’ I said. ‘I should have. We have someone under police watch in hospital. We have every reason to believe that he is Rebecca’s attacker. We don’t know for definite, though, sir. He was shot during his arrest, and he hasn’t woken yet. I would have called you when we were certain he was the man we wanted,’ I added. ‘We might need Rebecca to identify him at some point, if that’s okay?’

‘Who is he?’ he demanded.

‘I can’t tell you that yet, sir. The victim liaison team will keep you up to date with everything as soon as they can.’

‘You said he was shot?’ Purdy said, more a question than a statement.

‘Yes, sir — that’s right.’

‘Is he going to die?’ he asked, his voice animated for the first time in the conversation.

‘No, sir,’ I said, ‘I don’t believe he will.’

‘Oh,’ he said, the disappointment in his voice palpable. Then the line went dead.

*

I knew that I had not told the man what he wanted to hear, but I hoped that the knowledge that someone would be held to account for the attack on his daughter would offer him at least some relief from the anger he felt. And from the guilt I suspected he felt for not being there for his girl when occasion demanded it.